“I can't do it,” he hollered. “I don't like bridges.”
“Have I ever let you down?” With one arm outstretched, she begged him to follow, and he ran to take her hand, making sure that she walked on the outside, nearest the edge. Norah led him past his anxieties and out onto the middle of the span. A line of cars crossed the bridge, the vibrations hummed under their feet, and at the base of each pole holding up a section of fencing, the worn and pockmarked cement appeared ready to crumble and give way. Fifty feet below, the swollen river rolled, the shadows from the struts and arc of the bridge rippling on the surface. He did not dare unclench his grip but slowly composed his nerves enough to glance beyond the structure's limits. Next to him, Norah stuck her toes beneath the fencing, and as she leaned tight against the railing, the fabric of her jacket poked through the spaces between the bars. He wanted her to back away to a safer spot but she seemed oblivious to the peril, happily suspended in the air, her face full to the breeze, the bruise on her cheek a red plum, her eyes hidden behind the sun in her glasses.
In desperation, he looked up at the elegance of cabling webbed between the arches. “I don't see any nest,” he said. “Can we go now?”
“You don't believe me, do you, Sean?” She wrenched her hand away and stretched both arms from her sides. “What would it take to convince you? Shall I take off right here and fly away?”
“Don't even kid, Norah.” A chill ran through him and he felt like crying. “Can we go? You're scaring me—”
“See and believe.” She pointed over the river. Streaking from the treeline, a falcon appeared from nowhere. The bird's call echoed across the valley, and it lifted its wings for drag and spread its talons, landing on an iron support not twenty feet above their heads. “Cool,” Norah said. “We have to bring the kids from class. Now do you believe?”
And seeing the doubt written on his face, she folded her hands in prayer. He pulled at her sleeve, anxious to be off the bridge. A dark mass formed on the southern horizon, a black legion over the water, and as the flock drew near, the sound became deafening, a cacophony of birdscream, and its rolling rhythm crossed above them and blotted out the sun, and over the dark center of her eyes beat their winged reflection.
11
Sharp aromas pervaded the kitchen. The smell of chile peppers drying on a string next to the window. Lemon in the tea mingling with the sandalwood hand lotion each time Diane touched the warm porcelain cup. Mesquite and hickory burned in the woodstove, around which the wolfhounds dozed like bears in hibernation, their rhythmic breathing marking the silence. Each woman searched in vain for a way to begin the conversation. They drank their tea. Confrontation was studiously avoided. Diane studied the whimsical curtains, repeating patterns of carrots on a yellow field, and the ancient appliances, the chipped avocado refrigerator, the dark brown oven, both rescued from Albuquerque flea markets. A simple daisy in a plain wooden frame adorned the whitewashed walls. She looked at her niece, revising her mental picture of the girl, and wondered if the cropped bleached hair was some disguise, a way to blend underground through such a bold stroke. Her friend Maya hovered around the tiny kitchen, as if she had been there many times before.
The women waited and hoped for the words to come. When Diane checked to see how much time had passed in this manner, she was surprised to find that her watch had stopped. Shaking the kinks from nose to tail, the dogs uncoiled and readied themselves to go the moment that Maya inched from her chair. She smiled, finally understanding the situational etiquette, and then rolled her eyes from one woman to the other. “I should have gotten those boys home hours ago, and let you girls catch up in privacy. You'll give me a call later, Mary? So nice to have met you—”
“Call me Diane.” She rose from her chair. “It's Diane Cicogna, and I'm so sorry that I told a fib earlier. I just thought you would be more helpful if I came across as a mother looking for her daughter.”
“Ask and ye shall receive.” With her open palm, Maya tapped her thigh, and the dogs trotted to the front door.
Erica followed Maya and held her hands at the threshold. “I'm sorry for all the deceptions. Hers, and mine.”
“No need to apologize for what you choose to conceal or to reveal. Everyone has a story they choose to tell. I have shames that I've never confessed to another soul, not even to Mick or Finn, and a dog will listen to you, no judgment.” She kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Just be kind to your auntie.”
Erica found her carting the teacups to the metal sink, idly rinsing dishes to stave off her curiosity. Laying a hand upon her aunt's shoulder, she apologized.