The Birdman's Daughter. Cindi Myers
hand, he slowly typed in a number: 8000.
Karen nodded. “The number of birds you’ve been trying for.”
He typed again: 7,949.
She studied the number, wondering at its meaning. “The number you’ve reached on your list?”
He nodded, and punched the keyboard again. Another number appeared on the screen: 1.
She shook her head. “I don’t understand. What’s the one for?”
He grunted, and typed again: Brazil.
“One more bird you haven’t seen in Brazil.” Her eyes met his, and the anger and pain she saw there made her stomach hurt. Her father was so upset over a single species of bird that had escaped him in Brazil. Had he ever cared so much about another person? About her?
She patted his shoulder. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to clean up Brazil while you were there. But the doctor says you should be able to regain a lot of function on your left side, and you can learn to talk again. Going back to Brazil and finding that bird can be your motivation.” Never mind staying around to see his grandchildren grow up, or to enjoy his own children in his old age. Some people were inspired by goals like that; for her father, the only thing that mattered were birds.
The next morning, very early, the phone rang, jolting Karen from sleep. She groped blindly for the receiver, her hand closing around it as her other hand reached for the light. “Hello?”
“Have you heard from Casey?” Tom asked, without bothering to say hello.
The urgency in his voice jerked her wide awake. She sat on the side of the bed and clutched the receiver with both hands, heart pounding. “No. Why? What’s going on?”
“He went out walking before supper last night and hasn’t come home.”
Fear, like a freezing wind, stole her breath. She stared at the phone, as if she were staring down the barrel of a gun. “What do you mean, he hasn’t come home?”
“Just what I said. At first I thought he was at a friend’s house, or was staying late at the mall, but I’ve called everyone he knows and driven all over town looking for him and no one knows anything.”
News stories of missing children flashed through her mind, the headlines stark and chilling: Abducted. Missing. Gone.
“Karen, are you still there? Have you heard from Casey?”
Tom’s words jolted her to life again. She forced herself to breathe deeply. Now was no time to fall apart. “No, I haven’t heard anything.” She looked at the clock. 6:00 a.m. Five in Denver. Tom must have been up all night. “Was he upset when he left? Did you have a fight about something?”
“No. We hadn’t talked at all since morning, when I’d agreed to let him apply for the lifeguarding job. He seemed happy about that.”
“What does Matt say?”
“He says Casey seemed fine. I don’t know what to think.”
Tom’s voice was ragged with exhaustion. She imagined him, unshaven, running his fingers through his hair the way he did when he was upset. Of course he had handled this for hours by himself. “Maybe you’d better call the police.”
“I already did. They promised to keep an eye open, though they’re treating it like a runaway situation.”
“Why would Casey run away?” Granted, he didn’t like school, but he’d always been happy at home. Things that would get other kids down didn’t seem to touch him. More than once, she had envied her youngest son his easygoing demeanor. “Maybe he has a friend we don’t know about, and he’s staying with them.”
“Maybe. His backpack is gone, and Matt thinks he took some money with him, but his clothes are still here.”
“He’s probably with a friend.” He had to be. Surely he wouldn’t be one of those kids you read about in the news—children abducted by strangers. She resolutely shoved the thought away.
“If he was going to stay with a friend, he should have called us.”
“He should have. But you know Casey. He doesn’t think about things like that.” When he was little, she could always find him in the house by following a trail of his belongings to the room he occupied. She used to berate him for being so inconsiderate, but he’d look at her with genuine confusion. “I wasn’t doing it to be inconsiderate,” he’d say. “I was just thinking about other things.”
That was Casey, head in the clouds all the time, dreaming big dreams no one else could comprehend. Lost in thought, had he stepped off a curb and been hit by a car? “Did you…did you check hospitals?” she asked, her breath catching on the words. “Maybe he’s been hurt and can’t call.”
“I’ll do that as soon as I get off the phone with you. I’m sorry to worry you, but I was hoping you’d heard from him. He talks to you about things more than he does me.”
And if I was home, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. The unvoiced accusation hung between them.
“Please, let me know if you hear anything.”
“I will.” He sighed. “I’d better go.”
After he hung up, she cradled the receiver to her chest, fighting tears. Casey might be sixteen years old, but he would always be her baby; the sweet, contrary boy, the child she worried about the most.
Tom was right—Casey did confide in her more. If she’d been home, he might have talked to her about whatever was bothering him. And if she’d been there, she could have run interference between him and his father. Though Tom denied it, she was still convinced he’d said something to upset their youngest son. Casey was sensitive, and Tom had a way of saying hurtful things without even meaning to.
Every part of her wanted to get on a plane and fly straight to Denver. Surely she, his mother, would be able to find him when others had failed.
But the sensible part of her knew that wasn’t true. And if she went back to Denver, who would look after her father? She couldn’t count on Del for anything, and her mother was too self-centered and argumentative to last for long. Within half an hour, Mom and Dad would be fighting, and only sheer luck would keep her dad from having another stroke.
They could all use a little luck now. She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer for Casey’s protection. Please let him be all right. Please let us find him soon.
She was still sitting on the side of the bed, eyes closed, when she heard the bell ringing. She’d given it to her father yesterday, so he could summon her without resorting to banging on the furniture. The ringing meant he was awake, and impatient for something. She sighed, stood and reached for her robe. Somehow, she’d get through this day. Whether she did it without snapping someone’s head off or raiding the liquor cabinet remained to be seen.
Casey woke with a start when the bus pulled into the station in Texarkana, Texas. The sign identifying the stop glowed dull red in the hazy gray dawn. Casey squinted at it, rubbing his eyes. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head, then realized the seat beside him was empty. Skinny Denton must have slipped past him and gone into the station to use the men’s room or something.
He retrieved his backpack from the overhead bin and went in search of breakfast. He’d buy enough to share with Denton, and maybe some snacks for later on down the road.
He hit the men’s room first, and washed his face and combed his hair. He stroked a finger over the faint moustache showing over his upper lip, and ran his palm along his jaw, hoping to feel some sign of whiskers there.
He hadn’t packed a toothbrush, so he swished his mouth out with water, then headed for the station cafeteria. He looked for Denton, but didn’t see him. Maybe he was already back on the bus.
In the cafeteria, he filled his tray with two breakfast sandwiches, two muffins and two cartons