Birdie Sullivan

Birdie Sullivan

I have a secret. I nearly blurted it to the police when they came to arrest the girl who threatened me with a gun. I’m exhausted. After the police left, I sat on the little dock and dangled my feet in the cool Willamette River.

“I knew I’d find you here,” David said as he sat down beside me. “I love looking back at the house. It looks so welcoming.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” I joked. “It was weird when the girl with the gun asked me about a briefcase. Probably means nothing.”

“It might be important, Birds. The police were just doing their jobs with all the questions. You were great.”

“You’re my brother. You are supposed to say things like that.”

“I may be your brother, but the vandalism and the fire in the boathouse need to be addressed. The police can help. It was good to see Stan again. I didn’t know he was a police captain.”

“Yep, I guess he’s been doing well since he dumped me.”

“Birdie, that was 30 years ago.”

“Seems like yesterday.” That familiar lump ached in my throat. “At least he came to the funeral.”

Four months earlier, I moved back home when my mom got sick. Two days before I arrived with all my stuff in a U-Haul, my mom and Aunt Laurie were found floating in the river. They called it a double suicide.

“Say what you will, but this is a community that cares for one another. I tell ya, Birds, you’ve got to give people the chance to show their true selves. I think you’d be surprised. People often go to extremes to protect someone they love, and those choices take on lives of their own.” David stood and reached down for Birdie’s hand. “Come on, old girl, let’s go in and I’ll make a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Grilled cheese sandwiches and watching jeopardy had become our routine since the funeral. David had arrived the day after, and I never asked him why. The only thing that mattered was that David was here, helping me through this unimaginable time.

Stan Larsen adjusted the collar of his uniform before he got out of the squad car. He looked at the front porch that wrapped around Don’s house. Don and Birdie’s houses hadn’t changed much since they all played together as kids. He remembers one late summer sleepover at Don’s house when they were ten. Vincent was there too. Yes, he remembers that night with their sleeping bags on the big porch. He thought they would all be friends forever.

“Well, saints alive! As I live and breathe, it’s Stan Larsen.” Don moved with quickness as he welcomed Stan into the living room. “I told Pop you called, and I promised him you’d peek your head in and say hello. And I’m so glad you haven’t retired yet. Feels good having you involved with all this.”

“Of course. You look well, Don.” They sat in the two matching wingback chairs.

“Aw, go on, you’ll turn this old queen’s head.” Don blushed as he adjusted his clip-on earring. “So, tell me, what did you want to talk about? Birdie?”

“Good guess. I didn’t want to talk at the funeral out of respect, but I have some concerns. I’d be lying if I said it, was all business. I’m still unnerved about the boathouse. We have no real leads.”

Don moved forward in his chair and looked Stan in the eye. “I trust you, Stan, not sure why, but I do. Birdie is in a world of hurt she refuses to admit to. It’s not denial, it’s something more. Since I’m her only neighbor down here, I’ve noticed things. She never leaves the house. Lately, when I try to talk to her, she can’t seem to focus and keeps talking about some stinky cat. I can’t explain it, but something is going on, and it feels weird.”

“Well, a double suicide is not common, as I’m sure you must know. How she will ever adjust to that or find any shred of peace is going to be almost impossible without professional help,” Stan felt his emotions start to creep into the conversation.

“You know, kid, I’ve suggested that to her, but she said, ‘I’m a therapist. I know what to do and how to deal with this.” Don shook his head in disgust. “Maybe she’s right, but tell me, why did that girl pull a gun?”

“Birdie started seeing clients at home rather than renting an office downtown. For some reason, Brit showed up for her appointment and then insisted Birdie give her a briefcase. None of it made sense. Brit didn’t give us anything to go on after we questioned her, and we didn’t have enough to charge her.” Stan stood up to go. “I wanted to get your hit, and it helps knowing you’ve got your eye on things. Don’t hesitate to call. Let me say goodbye to your dad.”

“Sweet. Pop can’t talk these days, and he doesn’t always follow along, but he’s still sharp enough to know you.”

Don led the way to the den, where he found Don’s dad, Kenny, lying with his feet up on a recliner, watching basketball. The room was like the rest of Don’s home, clean and set up for comfort.

“Hey, Mr. Ferris. Good to see you,” Stan reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “Looks like a good game. Go Celtics!”

Kenny grinned and gave a thumbs-up.

As Stan drove away up the hill and past Birdie’s house, he saw an old pickup truck parked on the side of the driveway under some big trees near Birdie’s front gate. He knew he had seen that truck there once before. He ran the plates. It was not the answer he was looking for.

David cleaned up the dinner dishes and made sure the back door was locked before entering the TV room. When he saw me, he noticed that I was wearing two different shoes. He knows I’m scattered and deeply depressed. He doesn’t have much time.

“Let’s drive to the coast tomorrow. What do you say?” He put his feet up on the coffee table and stretched his six-foot frame at the end of the couch.

Zombie-like, I walked into the kitchen and looked out at the river. There were some fishermen out even though it was almost dark. “I love this river. So did Mama and Aunt Laurie. She used to say it was her favorite place in the whole world. She had been all over the world touring with her band, you know. What an amazing person she was. I always felt so safe with her, and I was in awe that someone like her, who was so famous, would want to spend time with Mama and me. She never seemed unhappy, at least, I don’t think she was. They knew I was on my way. Why did they…”

“Birds? Who are you talking to?

“Oh, David. I’m sorry. I wasn’t talking. Was I?”

“You didn’t answer my question. Let’s drive to the coast. We can eat at Mo’s and people-watch on Cannon Beach.”

Still no answer. David bent down and picked up Stinky, petting her on the head. “Birdie?”

“Do you feel it?” I asked, still looking outside. “I do. It’s a darkness that’s pushing down on my body. It gets heavier and darker, like it’s swallowing me. Sometimes, I want to give in. Why did they leave me like this?”

As usual, the engine needed coaxing. Finally, Vincent was on the road headed for home. His old blue pickup truck bounced and made a grinding sound when he shifted into third gear. It had been another non-eventful day. No one had come over to Birdie’s house after the police left. He had found an old gas can in the bushes by the iron gate along with a pair of swim fins. For a moment, he thought he should tell Stan, but since he had a good idea who they belonged to, he decided against it. Stan would find out sooner or later.

After dropping the truck off at his office, Vincent Carol got into his navy blue, 2024 M2 BMW. He checked the glove box for his revolver, then turned on the satellite news station. He wondered what was at home waiting for him. Whoever it was, he was ready.

I held the picture in my hands. The frame was old, and the paint was starting to peel, but it was precious to me. I kissed the baby in the photo, like I had done every night, and put it back on my nightstand. David stood in the doorway, holding Stinky.

“Goodnight, Birds. Get some sleep. We’ll have a good day tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”

“Thanks, bro,” I laughed. “Maybe you can find a better sweatshirt to wear. That one is getting on my nerves, and I’m not a fan of the mantra. The truth will set you free seems like a useless phrase. Maybe if I were 25 again, I wouldn’t mind finding out the truth, but these days, it’s a lot of work and I want to sleep.”

David gently closed the door, then closed his eyes.

Laurie looked at the redheaded baby and was amazed at how pink her skin was. “We could call her Francine or Tabatha.”

“No, let’s call her Birdie. It’s a happy, bright name, and it feels like a smile when you say it. There’s no name on her birth certificate; it could end up being a problem for her later in life. We could say she was born at home, and we didn’t know the laws.” Pauline adjusted the baby in the bassinette and took Laurie’s hand and led her out of the room.

Laurie sat in the armchair by the back window. “Oh, Pauline. I don’t know how I could have gotten through this without you. I’ve been afraid, embarrassed, and completely confused. I don’t think I’ll ever recover. Are you sure we’ll be ok? I mean, we are kind of isolated down here. I hear the Ferris’s are building a house by the boathouse. Maybe some young family will move in with kids.” They both smiled at each other and sat in the twilight on the river.

“It’s OK. Nobody will ever know, and we’ll create a safe, happy world for her. This is your home, and it will be her home. Everybody has secrets, and this is ours. We have the power over our own lives and don’t need to turn any of this into anything ugly. If we agree.” Pauline felt the sadness of the situation creep into her thoughts, and she hurried to brush them aside. Her grief was dark and sticky like being smothered in hot tar, but now with another baby in the house, life seemed lighter.

“The most important thing is for you to finish school and find all the opportunities waiting for you. A full tuition music scholarship is quite the coup.”

Time dimmed the dream.

With her car parked near the convenience store, Brit made her way along River Road to Birdie’s big iron gate. The police cars were gone, and so was Vincent’s old truck. ‘Guess he doesn’t want me to keep an eye on her house,’ she told herself. If she were brave, she would confront Birdie and demand that she find the briefcase, but this time, she wouldn’t back down. Vincent had told her about the briefcase the night Birdies boathouse went up in flames, and he came home drunk. When Vincent was drunk, he would curse the army and then top it off with a dose of regret and grievance about the Sullivans. She hated the Sullivans. Vincent was a terrible stepfather, but at least a predictable drunk. Vincent treated her like she was invisible. Maybe if her name was Sul…

“Hello there.” Don was walking Frisco. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, ya. I have just been out walking around the neighborhood. Thought I lost a hubcap.”

Don stood his ground. “Is your name Brit?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Lucky guess.”

Brit turned and started back towards the road. Her hands started to shake, and she wanted to run.

When Vincent pulled into his driveway, he saw Officer Stan sitting on the front steps. He stood up when Vincent got out of his car.

“Hey there, old friend. This is a surprise.” Stan reached out to shake hands. Vincent walked into the house.

“I thought you might like to know. When she told me her name, I knew I should call you.”

“Thanks, Don. I appreciate the heads up.” Stan hung up and returned to Vincent’s living room.

“That was Don. He saw Brit at Birdies. You want to fill me in on what’s going on? Oh, I found the gas can and dusted it for prints with an old pair of swim fins. It was in the back of the old pickup.”

Vincent poured himself a drink.

Brit sat in her car and finished her fourth beer. She was a strong swimmer. She knew she’d be ok. She mistook her buzz for courage. She wouldn’t need the swim fins.

Diet coke was still fizzing on the carpet near Kennys recliner.

“It’s ok, Pop. I’m going to move this bookcase out of the way to clean underneath it.” That’s when he found the briefcase. “Pop? Where did this come from?” Don pulled it away from behind the old books and boxes on the bottom shelf. Kenny motioned to Don to get him something to write with. Kenny wrote one word, Pauline.

“David? Look. It’s that girl, Brit. She’s out on the dock. I’ll be right back.”

When the back door slammed, I didn’t hear my phone ring.

“Hey, Brit! What are you doing?” Brit looked back, then dove into the water. “Stop! Come back. The currents are bad. David, call 911!” I couldn’t make her stop. I got into the water and heard Brit cry out for help. I started to swim, but before I got too far, someone’s hand was on the back of my shoulder. It was Don, pearls and all.

“No, you don’t, my friend. Come on, we’re going back.” He tugged at me, and slowly we made our way back to shore. Brit had disappeared, but Stan and Vincent were waiting at the house.

“She’s still out there. We’ve got to get her.” I pleaded.

“I’ll deal with it.” Stan’s voice was commanding.

We reconvened at the kitchen table. “Thanks for your call, Don. Brit is fine. In fact, she’s down at the station. I had her picked up. Ok.” Stan took a deep breath. “We found the briefcase. It was at Dons. Pauline gave it to Kenny for safekeeping, and then Kenny forgot about it.”

“Poor Pops, he’s such a love. Had I been a better house cleaner, this wouldn’t be this far gone.” Don put his arm around me. “I looked inside, so Stan, I suggest you just spell it out.”

“Birdie, there are birth certificates in here and one death notice. There are letters and pictures between the sisters.” He felt awkward, like he was looking at secrets that didn’t belong to him.

“Pauline and your mom were sisters, but Laurie was your biological mother. She was 15 when you were born.” He handed the original birth certificate to me. “Your mom was several years older and a widow, so she raised you.”

“What?” I was stunned. “My father?”

“It was my dad, Birdie,” Vincent spoke carefully. “He was in Laurie’s class at school. They were just kids, and he screwed up. Never took responsibility.” Vincent had tears in his eyes. “Pauline kept all the secrets safe. Those sisters were completely devoted to one another.”

“Apparently,” Stan continued. “Pauline had a child—a little boy who died shortly after birth. There’s no information about who the father was, but the date suggests it wasn’t Pauline’s husband.”

“That’s the picture I fell in love with when I was little, and mama told me he was an angel. He wasn’t real.” Everything hit me at once. “I knew it all along! David?”

“How did you know his name? Anyway, your mama never stopped thinking about him over the years, as though he were alive. Her letters are full of outpourings of love for her little boy.”

I grabbed the briefcase and started looking through it.

“As far as the suicide is concerned, it was no suicide. We have Brit’s hatred to answer for that. She wanted the Sullivans to disappear forever. She is responsible for the boathouse and vandalism. Brit tricked Laurie into swimming out to save her, and when Pauline thought Laurie was in trouble, even though Pauline was weak and ill, she swam out to save her.” Stan looked surprised. “The simple truth is, they drowned trying to save each other.” The room fell silent.

I saw David on the boat dock. He was holding Stinky and stroking her soft orange head.

“Hey there.” I stood beside him. “They’ve gone, and so is the heaviness.” I turned and looked at his face. “You are my best secret. I think I knew all along you weren’t real.”

“The love was real. Truth triumphed. The love that existed between the sisters and their pretty pink baby is that powerful. The baby in the photo was a part of that love. If I hadn’t been here, you might have felt alone, and there’s one solid theme to everything in the Universe: we are never alone.” David put his arm around me. “How about one last grilled cheese sandwich before I hit the road?”