Little Bird | Book One

Chapter Two

As the congregation dismissed, a sea of black spilled from the mouth of the church and flooded the gravel parking lot. Streams of people broke off to walk to their cars.

Little girls in dark velvet dresses clung tight to their daddies' hands as they crossed the street together. Mothers led the way through the maze of vehicles with keys jingling in their fingers.

Dove tried to ignore them and stared at her feet instead.

The gravel still had morning frost. The rocks glinted in the bright, early light.

Dove inhaled through her nose, softly and deeply. Scents changed with every season, and December was always her favorite. Somehow, no matter where she was, the winter air smelled like the softness of her mother's cheap perfume and the obvious harshness of her brother's old leather jacket.

Two things that always made Dove feel safe.

Which was the opposite of how she felt now, suddenly plunged all alone into an ocean of familiar faces, of friendly sharks hiding sharp teeth behind southern accents and Glad you're back, honey.

Jonathon left her to fend for herself after he joined their mother to offer condolences to Matilda.

Dove wasn't ready to stand across from her old friend and stare grief in the eye from four inches away. She took Claudia's keys instead and started her long journey to her mother's police-issued car. It was decided that together, Jonathon, Claudia, and Dove would travel to the grave-site.

The Glome's Valley Police Department didn't have much money to spend on new toys. Dove spent most of her childhood in her mother's 2001 Ford Crown Victoria.

For the most part, it was an ugly car with five leather seats and a metal divider separating the once-a-year meth-heads from the driver and company. Most of the stains in the backseat came from Dove's tendency to spill red Kool-Aid on the tan carpet floor.

It was parked at the very end of the lot, where three other law-enforcement vehicles set beside it.

Dove just needed to wade peacefully through the sea of people. Then, in the backseat of her mother's car, she could stare up into the peeling fabric ceiling like she used to as a bored twelve-year-old.

"Dove Bravermen?" a familiar voice called out to her. It was deep, almost as deep as the preacher's. "In the flesh? Here?"

She froze mid-step. She wanted to run, swing the Crown Victoria's car door open, jam her mother's keys into the ignition, and drive all the way to anywhere but here.

She didn't need to look to know who it was.

"Tommy," she whispered the name of her high-school sweetheart like it didn't hurt. "Hey."

She finally found enough bravery to turn around and face the man she once thought she would marry. That's what happens in towns like Glome's Valley. Everyone gets married before they can buy cigarettes, pop out a couple of kids before they can drink liquor, and act like they don't absolutely hate it.

It was supposed to be different with Tommy and Dove.

They were supposed to move away, and they wouldn't even think about a wedding or what flowers Dove would place in her bouquet or wonder whose eyes their daughters would inherit.

They were just supposed to love each other.

It was just dumb, stupid high school shit, Dove reminded herself. Just falling in love because we were bored.

Tommy's shoulders were broader now, especially underneath his cotton-blue button-up. He grew a light dusting of dark facial hair, but it probably wouldn't grow any fuller than that.