“That’s just silly,” Mary said when I told her, late one afternoon as we sat on the porch drinking lemonade mules (Aggie’s answer to virgin Moscow mules and what to do with my mother’s out-of-control ginger plants). The last non-birdhead guests had departed that morning; we had a party of two due to check in soon.
“You don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t have a good time. Maybe she figured out I’m gay and she’s staying as far away as she can.” I shivered; the weather had turned colder recently and that morning had dawned rather gray and misty and had only gotten more miserable as the day wore on.
“She clearly digs you. Obviously her brother is a serial killer psychopathic meanie face who won’t let her have any fun.”
Harrison still hadn’t shown the least bit of interest in making out with her, despite her best attempts. (Her best attempts: stealing a pair of binoculars from Liesel and prancing around the inn wondering loudly if anyone wanted to go Annabella hunting with her. Harrison had been the only one in the dining room at the time. He hadn’t looked up from his cup of tea.)
“She probably doesn’t want to lead me on. Ugh, it sucks even more that she’s a decent person,” I said.
“Look, Georgina, if Annabella had actually shown up when she was supposed to, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation, because you wouldn’t be able to talk,because you would currently have another mouth on top of your mouth.”
“When you put it that way it sounds really gross.”
“Kissingisgross,” Mary said. “Think of all the germs.”
Two things I didn’t really want to think about: mouth germs and the fact that Annabella still wasn’t here. The island felt incomplete without her. My mind thought of all the terrible things that could have happened to her on her journey. Maybe she had hit her head and damaged the part of her brain that contained the instinctual knowledge of migration? Maybe she was flying around aimlessly, looking for land, eventually succumbing to exhaustion and drowning in the waters below?
“Are you fucking thinking about Annabella again?” Mary asked.
“You’re telling me that you’re not theleastbit concerned about where she is?”
“She’s abird, Georgie. I am not concerned about where a bird is, no. She’ll show up or she won’t.”
“She’s not just a bird, Mary, Jesus, even you can’t be that cruel.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Of course I believe it. It’s the only rational explanation.”
“Rational? That one of our weird old relatives turned into abird? Honestly, sometimes I think hanging out with a birdhead’s sister has rubbed off on you in terrifying,unprecedented ways. You’re one step away from changing your major to birdologist.”
“Ornithologist,” I corrected her.
“Eww, see?” she said. She had finished her drink; she took mine and sipped deeply.
“She’s probably dead. She’s never been this late. You wouldn’t care if she were dead?” I asked.
“Don’t be an asshole, Georgina, of course I’d care if she was dead.”
“Every year. Since we wereborn, Mary. Every single year.”
“Fuck. Is it raining? That’s just great. Everything is great.”
Mary went inside, leaving me alone on the porch with two empty glasses. The rational part of me knew that I didn’t need to be so bothered about Annabella’s absence; she was bound to show up sooner or later, she always did. And the birdheads would calm down, and Prue would have more time to spend with me, and Harrison would relax a little bit, and Mary would finally talk him into making out with her, and maybe everything would go back to normal.
But it was hard to let that rational part of me get too much airtime. Everything felt on edge now, buzzing and sharp to the touch. It couldn’t even stay hot on this weird island for more than a week; the weather was as inconsistent as my own moods. Ups and downs, sun and rain.
I stayed on the porch until the new guests arrived, ayoung married couple on what they charmingly referred to as a “babymoon.” She looked almost ready to give birth, and I was tempted to tell her that babies born on By-the-Sea tended to always smell like salt, always crave the ocean on their skin, always look for the full moon or North Star to guide them home. But instead I said nothing, led them into the lobby, got them their room key, and brought them upstairs while they trailed behind me, arms interlocked, kissing and whispering things to each other that were just past the range of my hearing. I knew already that we would not see them for the entirety of their stay, that they would come down for breakfast, maybe, and sneak enough food back up to their room to last them until evening. I was happy for them, a brief moment of happiness that only increased as soon as I shut their door and turned around to find Prue, like a beautiful deer in headlights, standing outside her room, staring at me.
“Hey,” she said, smiling. She looked tired. “New guests?”
“They’re on a babymoon.”
“Really? That’s sort of cute.”
“I know.” I pointed to Prue’s binoculars. “Any sign of her?”
“Nope, nothing.” She yawned loudly, covering her mouth with both hands. “Gosh, sorry; I think I’ve slept for about five hours this week. My brother has based his entire scholarly career on this trip. If he doesn’t see Annabella,he’s going to have a heart attack.”
