“They don’t have to be bad,” Ellie said into his ear. “Some of them are beautiful. Some of them are the most beautiful things you can imagine. I think that if you hold on to beautiful things when the end comes, then that’s what you’ll see. It’ll be like walking into a wonderful dream.”
From over Ellie’s shoulder, David could see the shoe box sitting on the kitchen table. The lid was open, the three eggs, impossibly delicate yet somehow quite formidable, corralled together in that skilled construction of twigs and leaves and bits of paper.
He smiled, his vision growing blurry with tears.
One of the eggs rolled onto its side. A second egg rocked. A third jumped. One shell appeared to bulge just the slightest bit . . . and then it cracked, a section of it falling away, a dark triangle left in its wake. One of the other eggs cracked down the middle, splitting open. The thing inside the shell was fully feathered, alive, wide-eyed, chirping.
David laughed. The tears were coming freely now. So was the trickle of blood from his nose. Ellie’s arms grew tighter around him.
(it’s like flying you can fly now you can fly) The birds zigzagged around the room, frantic and beautiful, their birdsong soothing the throb of his headache.
“Let me take you there,” Ellie whispered to him.
Just a little while, he told himself, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of his daughter. Just rest here a little while . . .
The pressure in his head grew. Blurry smears of dazzling lights projected against his eyelids. Still, he heard the birdsong.
It’ll be like walking into a wonderful dream.
Let me take you there.
66
And he woke up on a patch of green grass, staring at the sky. The air smelled fresh and clouds chugged lazily across the bright blue heavens. As he watched, a single bird darted across the sky, small and sharp and fast, like an arrow fired from a bow. Two more birds followed it . . . and then three, five, nine, twenty more . . .
A moment later, the whole sky was infused with birds—small ones, large ones, countless varieties, shapes, colors—their birdsong a radiant cacophony that seemed to impart wisdom, grant wishes, make dreams come true, the flutter of their wings a chorus of rustling velvet drapes.
David stood up. He found he was home, standing on his own front lawn. He turned and hurried up the walkway to the front door. He gripped the knob, cool to the touch, and turned it. When he eased the door open, he heard a sound like falling typewriter keys or distant tap dancing—toys lined up on the other side of the door, little plastic figurines, a Night Parade in broad daylight announcing his presence.
He entered the house, crossed down the hall, and froze when he came through the kitchen doorway.
Kathy and Ellie were seated at the kitchen table. There was a birthday cake with a waxy number 9 candle on it. Ellie’s stuffed elephant was propped up beside the cake, a pointed party hat fastened to its head. There was also an empty seat waiting for him.
Kathy waved him over. Laughed beautifully.
Ellie brightened, just as she used to when she was a little girl. “Daddy,” she said.
“Little Spoon,” he said.
And he went to them.