Part 24 (1/2)
”Me too. You want to hear something else?”
”Yes.”
”The geese take care of the falcons too. I just remembered that. The geese make a great loud alarm call that warns the falcons when the fox is approaching.”
”Oh! I like the geese!”
”Me too,” said Henry. ”I like the way they work together. Its kind of like...magic.”
”Like a magic!” said Osprey.
A magic.
Henry liked that.
”Zavion has a magic,” said Osprey.
”He does? What is it?”
”Its a secret.”
A secret.
Henry knew about secrets.
But a secret that was a magic?
”Maybe my leash is a magic, Henry,” said Osprey.
”I bet it is,” said Henry. He gripped the leash. ”Ill take a picture of Brae wearing this and send it to you.”
And then he had a flash of an idea. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiny wooden car from the Salvation Army. He had almost forgotten he had it. ”This is from Vermont,” he said. ”Its for you.”
And he knew, with certainty, that it was.
”And maybe this is a magic too!” squealed Osprey.
She took the little car and then leaned back again on Henrys chest. She ran the car up and down his arm. ”This is where you live,” she said, placing the car on Henrys wrist. ”And this is where I live,” she said, driving it along his arm to his shoulder.
”Not too far,” he said.
”Nope.”
Henry stared into the sky and the moon stared back at him, watched him as he looked down at Osprey, who closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him. As he rested his chin on Ospreys head, he felt that tugging feeling again. He imagined that the peregrine falcon and the red-breasted goose felt it tug between them too. It was a funny feeling. Funny, but good. A rooted kind of feeling, pulling him to the ground, even though he was up in the sky.
chapter 55.
ZAVION.
Up on a ladder, Papa was painting one of the living room walls. Zavion needed to tell Papa that they should go to Vermont with Henry and Jake. He ran his hand down Tigers wing feathers, felt the muscles under them, felt how strong his wings were and imagined just how high he could fly. He tried to soak in some of Tigers strength through his fingertips.
”What are you going to paint?” said Zavion.
”This is it,” said Papa.
”No jazz band?”
”Nope.”
”No fis.h.i.+ng boat?”
”Nope. Just this green and then wait for it to dry and then another coat of green. Like a professional painter, right?” Papa looked happy. He was comfortable, way up there, balanced on a rung. He was comfortable anywhere if he had a paintbrush in his hand. ”I spoke with your uncle Gabe yesterday. He says he has room for us.”
”No!” said Zavion. Tiger squawked and flapped his wings. The no had more force than Zavion expected such a tiny word to have.
”Room for us for what?” he said quietly.
”To live with him.”
”To live with him? I dont even want to visit him! Papa-” he said, trying to calm his voice as he scrambled inside his head for something to say. ”It looks like youre painting another mountain on a wall.”
”Its a green wall.”
”Well, mountains are green.”
”Enough with the broken-record mountain song over and over again, okay?”
Zavion watched Papa paint some more. He tried not to speak. He tried to keep the words from rising up like a wave and cras.h.i.+ng over the levee. But sometimes waves have a pull and a push and a force that one single person cant hope to control.
”But its true,” Zavion blurted out. ”They are green. Especially Vermont mountains.”
”Ive never seen a Vermont mountain, Zav. So I dont know if this looks like one or not.”