Bluebirds
Amanda Hamilton
“Why don’t the birds come?”
Jared peered out over the top of his newspaper. Ruby, wearing only a faded pink nightgown, was staring out the kitchen window with her back to him. “Hm?” he asked.
“Well, it’s a birdhouse, isn’t it?” She turned to look at him, her green eyes bright and framed in curly red hair that shone in the morning sunlight.
Jared blinked hard and looked at the table. “Yes,” he mumbled.
“Where are the birds, then?” She looked back to the window.
Jared put down the paper and joined her at the window to look at their small backyard. They had built the little wooden birdhouse two winters ago. A year ago, when the spring began, no birds had come. They’d heard of mother birds abandoning eggs when they’d been tampered with by people, staying away from the smell of what they perceived as danger. The two of them had just assumed that this applied to houses, too, and that the birds were simply afraid of the unfamiliar smell. So Ruby had been patient through the spring and summer while the birdhouse remained empty.
As soon as this year’s winter began to thaw, though, she began to look out the kitchen window every morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of a bird flitting in or out of the white birdhouse. She stayed at the window longer and longer every day, peering out in the evening while she made dinner.
He had often asked if she was alright, but she would only smile and shrug, insist nothing was wrong, and move on with whatever she was doing. This was the first time she’d mentioned anything about the birds and Jared felt relieved that she was finally talking to him.
“Well,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist, “it’s not too warm yet. Maybe if we wait they’ll get here.”
“I guess so. I just... I want to see them. I guess it would make me feel...” she trailed off, her eyes trained on the little wooden house. She placed the palms of her hands on her stomach, rubbing it gently with her thumbs.
“I know, honey,” Jared whispered. He laced his fingers through hers, felt the warmth of her flat belly. “Be patient. They’ll come.”
Over the next few weeks, the air got warmer, trees grew blossoms which became leaves, the grass came back thick and green, but still there were no birds. Ruby continued to watch the birdhouse and Jared watched Ruby. He would often see her enter the kitchen and, without a word, cross immediately to the window and peer out. He would wait and hope hard that she would turn around with a smile or some hint of joy on her face. When he saw that her face was shadowy and her eyes were downcast, he felt an intense pain in his chest. He would feel the urge to comfort her sometimes, but he could never get up the strength to move.
After dinner, she would often curl up in the dark green lawn chair on the patio, her long, thin legs pulled up under her chin, and she would stare out into the evening. Sometimes Jared joined her in silence, but usually he would remain inside, busy himself with dishes or cleaning or his work in the basement. Anything to avoid the sadness.
~~~
One day, in the last week of July, he heard her yell his name. His first thought was that she’d hurt herself so he sprang from his work on the computer and sprinted upstairs. When he got to the ground floor, though, she was standing at the window, perfectly fine. She hadn’t been home from work very long so she was still in her flowery blouse and sensible knee-length skirt.
“They’re here,” she cried out as she twirled to face Jared. Her eyes shone brightly and a wide grin spread over her face. She rushed forward to grab his hand and pulled him to the window. In the birdhouse hanging on the big maple tree outside were two bluebirds flying out, hopping around the ground and gathering materials for a nest, then flying back up and disappearing into the tiny hole in the front of the house.
Jared smiled and held her tightly as they watched.
For the next few weeks things were how they used to be. Jared and Ruby flirted with each other again, and Ruby sang as she went around the house. Jared spent more time upstairs when his wife was home. Ruby only looked out the window once in the morning and once in the evening to check on their new tenants, and though the birds were usually hidden inside their house, she was contented.
About two weeks later, there were eggs in the box. Ruby had gone out to peek in from a distance and seen a faint glimpse of blue. “Do you think there’s anything we can do to help?” she had asked, sitting at the kitchen table with him. Their hands were clasped and she rubbed her thumb over his knuckles.
“I think they’re okay,” he told her, looking toward the window. “I dunno much about birds, but I’m pretty sure they can take care of themselves.”
He could see worry in her face as she looked to the window and he squeezed her hand. “If they needed help they wouldn’t be here. They’re fine. Okay?” She turned back to him, looked at his face for a long time. Then, she smiled. Nodded.
That night, when they were in bed and settling in under the covers, she turned to him. “I think we should try again.”
Jared felt his stomach turn and he took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. “Are you sure? Do you think we...” he trailed off, looking away from her wide green eyes.
She reached over and took his hand and he looked back up. Her face had changed so it looked like she might cry, but she was still smiling. She nodded.
They made love and it was as passionate as the first few months of their marriage. Before sex was terrifying, before “children” was a forbidden word. They were not imagining that small body, cold and blue. For the time, they simply were.
~~~
It did not last long.
They did not know exactly what happened. Maybe the birds had gotten there too late. Maybe the mother had been eaten by a cat in the neighborhood. Maybe it was simply bad luck. But the eggs never hatched.
The autumn chill set in and it was soon apparent that the house on their tree had been empty for a few days. They were not sure what to do, so they waited. For a week they watched and hoped for the return of the birds, but it did not happen.
Jared had rubbed Ruby’s back as she cried, hunched over at the kitchen table. Mechanically, he stroked her back as he stared at the wooden table in front of him, because he didn’t know what else to do.
He went out later that day and emptied the nest into the trash out back. He looked down at the five tiny eggs and a small thought flashed through his mind that, right then, the baby birds inside might peck their way out and emerge, naked and squeaking. But, of course, the eggs lay still, five blue coffins nestled amongst old pizza boxes and coffee grounds.
In two days, she was gone. He knew it as soon as he woke up, however, when he found the handwritten note on the table, the shock jolted through him just as painfully.
He read the note three times before he could even comprehend what it said:
Jared,
I’m sorry to leave you like this. I love you so much, but I can’t be here anymore. I need some time. I will call you, but please don’t ask where I am. I promise I’ll be back, but I don’t know when. Maybe in the spring. Please forgive me.
~Ruby
Spring, he thought. When the birds come back. He looked out at the empty house hanging on the tree, at its white paint against the gray autumn sky. Maybe in the spring.
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