LISTENING TO CROWS
by
Jacqueline D. Hopper
Copyright 2012 by Jacqueline D. Hopper
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination.
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LISTENING TO CROWS
Amanda limply followed the white-clad orderly wheeling her mother to a private room. The empty persistent squeak of his shoes flayed her nerves, adding to the weight on her young shoulders stooped from trying to carry a mountain of stress and fatigue for too long.
Caring for her mother, diagnosed years earlier with multiple sclerosis, had become impossible. Deciding to put her into Hope Hollow Manor was a last resort but it had to be done. And she hated it.
"Here we are. Isn't this a lovely room?" the orderly said, his voice filled with zeal. Great actor, Amanda silently complimented him. They'd all need that kind of energy to put up with her mother.
She gave a glance about them and nearly smiled. It was a lovely room with soft eggshell walls and baby blue tile.
"This is nice, Mom." She followed the orderly's lead and tried to sound as enthusiastic. However, it didn't even make it to the half way mark. Guilt choked her breath off, weakening her voice.
"I don't like it." Mrs. Shares refused to look around, her tone warned of an oncoming sulk.
Agitated by her emotions, Amanda explored. "You have your own bathroom." She switched on the light. "No more awkward, middle-of-the-night trips."
"I never had a problem." Mrs. Shares folded her arms and stared at the floor.
Yes, she did. In fact, it was her last tumble over a footstool out of place that put the thought of a safer environment into Amanda's head.
She hadn't intended to glance in the mirror, but her gaze connected with her reflection and she winced. Deep circles under her green eyes cruelly added at least a decade to her twenty-six years. Makeup hadn't disguised the hollows of her thin face; only exaggerated them. She looked like a poster child for stress.
"I want to go home." Mrs. Shares looked up and glared at her daughter. "Now!"
The orderly parked the wheelchair near the large window. "I'll have the nurse make up the bed for you, Mrs. Shares," he said, sounding a lot less animated now, as if the new patient's bad mood wore on his nerves. Without waiting for an answer, he hurried out of the room. Amanda watched him leave, wishing she could go too and avoid the inevitable confrontation when her mother and her conscience ganged up on her.
"The window doesn't open."
That brought Amanda's attention back to the older woman. Mrs. Shares tapped on the glass with her open-palmed hand.
"We'll go outside everyday," she promised, cringing when her voice vibrated off the barren walls.
"Ever since you broke off your engagement with Corvid," Mrs. Shares turned an accusatory green gaze on her daughter, "You've been mean to me."
Amanda crossed the room, bent down beside the wheelchair, and rubbed a paper thin hand. "Mom, I know I said I would never do this to you, but things changed. With my job, I can't always see that you're eating properly or taking your medication. But you'll get good care here."
"Corvid wanted to help." Tears washed over desperately white, delicate cheeks.
"Mom," she weaved weak fingers through her tousled, pixie-cut black hair, fighting for control, "We couldn't let Corvid take on that kind of responsibility when he has enough to deal with --"
"Are we settling in?" An unfamiliar voice pulled their attention to the open door. A plump nurse, wearing a pink uniform, hurriedly crossed to the bed and spread sanitary sheets over it.
"Yes." Amanda nodded, hating to pretend.
"Good," the nurse said, inclining her head. "We have a special treat today. A photographer brought some pictures and is displaying them in the common room. Why don't you take your mother down to see them?"
"Wouldn't that be nice, Mom?"
"No."
Clutching the wheelchair's handles, Amanda knew there'd be no d?tente in this battle. So she took charge, carefully turning her mother toward the door.
"You might think I'm not hurting over this decision." Aware it was useless trying to appease her parent, something prodded her to try. "But I am. If you had taken your medication and stopped hiding in your bedroom, you probably wouldn't be here now."
"That's not fair!"
"You've had so many opportunities." She ignored her mother's loud protesting wail. "Mrs. Harvey offered to drive you to therapy every day, but you didn't want that. It was too much bother. Well--"
"Is that Corvid?"
"What?" Amanda stumbled at the unexpected mention of her former fianc?'s name.
"It is. Corvid brought all his lovely pictures here to show me."
Unable to prevent it, her gaze honed in on where Corvid stood watching them. Tall and blond, Corvid was a flare of unexpected familiarity in Hope Hollow's sterile halls. Surrounded by the customary poster-sized photographs, Amanda choked on the solace his strong, silent presence offered.
Why was he here?
Turning her hungry eyes from the tanned lines of his face, she flicked a glance at the shots of his favorite subject: ugly black crows.
However, her gaze slid back to his face, as if she'd forgotten and needed to reacquaint herself with his beloved features. She adored how his heavy brow flowed into the deep lines of a nobly carved Roman nose and the defined crevices of masculine lips. His vivid blue eyes flashing against the living bronze of his skin was stunning, crumbling the edges of her resolve to keep her distance.
"Take me to Corvid, now," Mrs. Shares demanded but Corvid had already spanned the distance dividing them.
"Hello," his roughly honed voice said, breaking the hypnotic trance Amanda had fallen into when she'd first seen him there. Endless hours of practice had taught him to keep his words low and smooth.
Being born without the sense of hearing hadn't stopped him from cultivating his enthusiastic mind. She'd met him during his second year of university, while he was majoring in photographic communications.
"Hi." Her answering smile quivered but Amanda was careful to keep her lips in his line of vision.
"What do you think of my gallery?" he asked, indicating the vast display behind him.
"I--"
"Corvid." Mrs. Shares tugged on his sleeve, breaking into the conversation. She waited until his attention was on her before she spoke. "I missed you."
He knelt beside the wheelchair, taking her hands in his. "I missed you too. Are you feeling okay?"
"No." Tears fell from her blood-shot eyes. "Amanda is dumping me in this awful place."
"I am sorry about that."
Amanda was overwhelmingly thankful when the administration nurse required Mrs. Shares's attention.
"You look very tired, Amanda," Corvid said, pulling her a little ways from everyone.
"That's because I am." She crossed her arms, feeling defensive. "I am so tired of my mother's whining, of having to bear this overwhelming load of guilt. I want to drop it all, go to sleep and not wake up for years and years--"
The large hand he placed on her forearm was gentle, almost a caress. "I want to show you something."
"Not the crows." She groaned.
It was almost obscene, the intense satisfaction Corvid got from hunting down the vile scavengers with expensive photography equipment.
"See this picture?" She followed the direction of his gaze to the majestic image of two black birds in flight, wingtip to wingtip. "They're mates."
"How can you tell?" she asked, going along with him, b
ut not happy about it. He'd made her look through piles of photographs of the wretched creatures, while they were dating. They're identical."
"Can you see one is slightly lower than the other?" The tip of his finger pointed out the nearly insignificant difference.
"Yes."
"The female always flies lower."
"So even birds are chauvinists," she said, closing her eyes and snorting humorlessly at the irony.
"No, the male is protecting his spouse."
"You talk about them," uncertainty eased the annoyance tightening her facial muscles, as she looked up into his intense blue eyes, "As if they're married."
"They mate for life."
"Corvid," she opened her mouth to argue. She knew exactly where he was headed with this conversation. "I don't have time for this."
Because of their need for privacy, he switched to sign language. "You didn't give me a chance, Amanda. That wasn't fair. You thought you had to look after me too. Well, you don't."
She could see the outrage in his thumb, as he forced it away from his chin. "I love you," he continued, as she turned her attention back to the crows in flight. "This can be us."
Grabbing her limp hand, he proceeded to show her numerous photos of black birds.
"This is a family bathing in a puddle, but do you see that one in the foreground?"
She nodded.
"He's watching, ready to warn them to fly from any danger." Long, tanned fingers danced in the space between them, his expressive mouth forming soundless, synchronized words.
"I knew what you were planning to do today." He pulled her towards the final picture of his display. "That's why I'm here."
Her gaze went to the photo he tapped. A lifeless crow was sprawled on a fallen tree, while its comrades stood at silent attention. It was a surprisingly touching sight.
"A crow funeral," he explained. "Crows even know how to mourn."
Her eyes shifted back to his face, as he brought her hand to his chest. "When you told me you wouldn't marry me, I mourned."
"I'm sorry, Corvid." She gasped for air, as if she hadn't breathed since the moment she'd broke off their engagement. Could he really still care for her?
"I want us to be together, Amanda," he said, pulling her into his arms. His lips moved gently against her hair, when he resumed speaking. "We belong together."
The hope she'd felt, when he'd said that he still loved her, convulsed through her and all her defenses crumbled. Her fingers curled against his back, clinging to him via his shirt.
"Talk to me," he said, bringing her right hand around for him to see, waiting for her to use her fingers to spell out her emotions.
"But everything is so complicated. Mom--"
His fingers closed around hers, cutting off her words. "You are my mate. We'll take your mother home and look after her, just like we'd planned."
She shook her head, hating to put that burden on him.
"We'll work it out between us." He pressed a firmer kiss to her forehead. "As long as we fly wing to wing, everything will be okay."
After a long pause, she nodded. The slight movement of her head accompanied the release of tension in her shoulders. It felt good to give in.
"Let's give your mother the good news," he said; a smile in his voice. "That you finally listened to good crow sense."
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jacqueline D. Hopper wrote her first literary masterpiece in grade four: something about clouds, which the teacher read to the class. This was all it took to spark Jacqueline's interest in writing. Listening to Crows was Jacqueline's first published work, which appeared in the November/December 2000 issue of the Hearing Health magazine.