Sorry, big bird

Susan was having a sandwich. In a daytime, when the blanket of sky gently covered anyone in the street with its patches of water blue and white, she went to the porch and inhaled the salty air of her youth. Her rocking chair was directed towards the shore where fatty seagulls would become a threat to her pleasant snack. Thank God, she was sitting there near the walls which she painted with her father when she was ten; the walls which were keeping the warmth of kind talks and quiet support. Each creaky sound was within her.

Canadian winds would probably become an obstacle for her comfort, but she was safe, right next to a flowerpot with an old plant, which name she forgot two years ago. One day, Susan got scared when a woman, who she didn’t recognize, approached her and asked for the plant’s name. Susan yelled at her to walk away. When Mrs. Shepard, with an irresistible shock, described Torry the accident that happened to her thirty minutes ago, Torry called the doctor. She then asked Susan to respond politely and nod, if strangers waved to her from a distance. 

 “Those are just people wishing you health, momma,” Torry repeated each time it happened since then until Susan obeyed. At least once in her life.

 “This sweater is itchy,” her fidgeting from side to side was a ritual of a search for Torry.

 “Torry-y-y…” her scream would make all Torries in the world watch out, but the one she needed didn’t appear.

 “Torry-y-y…” the freezing coldness of winds was permeating through the sweater fibers. The armory made of her family’s love and care weakened.

 “What’s that, jo?” a handsome man in his forties with a Scottish accent went out of a curtain made of wooden beans compiled on threads. That curtain didn’t let others’ eyes in but was giving as much ocean air as a regular door wouldn’t. He put his hand on Susan’s shoulder.

 “Torry!” Susan didn’t want anyone to touch her except her daughter.

 “Don’t be afraid, dear. I’m Torry’s husband…” James took his hand off, but Susan felt that the coldness retreated.

 “How about dinner? We have a freshly-roasted chicken. I hope, it won’t be roasted by our company,” James joked.

  An elderly couple who were crossing the garden towards Susan and James stared at the object of an animal scream.

 “Susan, these are my parents: Meghan and Stephen.”

 She suspiciously looked at her guests and nodded.

 “Susan, you look very nice!” With all her heart did James’s mother wanted Susan to be like she had been again.

“James, where is your jacket, for God’s sake?”

 “Can I give you a hug, darling?” Stephen extended his hands to Susan. She nodded.

 “Where is Torry?” Susan mumbled.

 James paused for a second, then replied, “Torry is out of town...She has some work to do in Toronto.”

 Susan felt like severe coldness was slowly squeezing her skin, restrained her muscles, was taking the last scraps of warmth from her body. She thought it was wind, not the words which the man said.

 “Tory,” she whispered sadly and grabbed his arm to stand up.

 “Let’s go inside, sweetheart. The chicken will catch a cold if we don’t close the door and catch a piece…Here we go,” he carefully took her hands. Susan felt like his warmth stopped the freezing.

 “Is Torry coming soon?” she asked.

 “In a week,” his sad tone almost revealed the truth, but Susan felt saved and didn’t notice it. When they told her the truth a year ago, Susan had a stroke. The right part of her body was paralyzed for six months. Her memory had become as short as a phrase that expresses all the tenderness of one’s heart. Her dear pearl, like she always called her, was gone.

 The dining room in the cottage that was on a cliff near the ocean was made by the hands of another human being, except Torry, who Susan kept in her heart. Her husband’s. In the days of her childhood, that room looked simple with a black table and chairs of different designs. When Admiral Potter stepped into Susan’s life, he also stepped into her home. Spending his life in the ocean as a commander, he turned into a studious craftsman at home.

 “This house is a masterpiece, sir,” James’s sister, Sara, was cutting a salad under a huge mahogany chandelier and threw a glance of respect to the former admiral.

 “Not bad, I think,” Mr. Potter critically ran an eye over the room. “That clock with a bird inside is still not finished. I asked my darling to buy more paint, while I served, but she was always postponing it. I would love to finish that clock before we meet for next Christmas.  

 “Mommy! Can we try the chicken? It’s so good-looking!” A five-year-old Melissa goggled her eyes and shook her head with persuasion. She was a girly copy of her father. Sometimes Sara felt that they were like spiritual twins.

 “Tell your dad to wait,” Sara looked up and saw a grin on his face. “It’s a good skill he lacks,” she smiled in return.

 “And also tell him what a beautiful representative he has chosen to hold a parley,” Sara gently rubbed her daughter’s chin. Melissa blushed and returned to her father.

 “James! You are moving like a snail!” the door flew open and a man with a cartoon snail on his T-shirt came in. Susan was stepping next to him. 

 “I'll get you next slime!” a sly smile flashed on his face.

 Until then Susan didn't notice that that handsome man didn’t wear anything warmer than a T-shirt.

 “Weren’t you freezing?” she asked.

 “A bit. Winds here are icy, for sure… Torry would bring me a jacket…” James rounded his eyes in reproach to Sara, but a lump appeared in his throat. Sara didn’t respond and turned the salad onto a bowl.

 A family of ten gathered around a Christmas table. It was perfectly set with fresh violets like Torry did. Two giant dishes with a mouthwatering savor were surrounded by bowls with mashed potatoes, Brussels sprouts, a salad mix with a cranberry sauce… It would be fair if the first prayer was for Sara to repay all the toil. 

 “Grandma, I made it for you!” a little boy passed Susan a wooden boat with a crooked spar.

 “A wooden boat,” Susan whispered and wrinkles came out in the corners of her mouth. “Thank you, dear.”

 ”Talents do inhabit in this family,” Stephen raised a glass to Mr. Potter.

 While toasts and comforting talks were breaking the silence, James passed a plate with appetizers to a girl, who was sitting quietly next to him, “Pick something tasty, little bird.”

 “Don’t call me little,” she whispered.

 “Sorry, big bird,” James loved to see how Kris quickly forgot about that invisible wall she was building and giggled like an ordinary girl. “Is it better?”

 “Daaad…” At such moments she was ready to jump to the sky and scream how much she loved her father… and her mother.

 “Who is she?” Susan pointed at a lady in a purple sweater and earrings which perfectly matched her fluffy item.

 “It’s your reflection in a mirror, Susan” James looked at it and saw that Kris was endeavoring to ask Sara for chicken.

 “Honey, will you pass us your deliciously made main dish?”

 Sara came to the side where James and Kris were sitting and put a piece to each plate. 

 With a corner of his eye, James noticed that the old lady’s reflection turned red, her lips started to tremble, and her eyes hazed with tears.

 “Susan!” James jumped up from his seat.

 Sara embraced her as strongly as she could hoping to share all the gratitude she had for being a part of this family. Susan's grandchildren ran to them and hugged both of them as much as they could.

 “Is Torry dead?” Susan's body was shaking without control as if she was freezing.

 “Why did you think that?” James put her hand over his heart.

 “Tory never left on Christmas.”