Birdspell Read online

  “That’s your father,” she said as soon as the knock came. I wondered how she knew.

  Sitta was down the hall so I went straight to open the door. Mom was right.

  “Corbin,” Dad said.

  “Hi,” I said. Not exactly a warm greeting from either side.

  “I’ve got a rental car outside — can we go for a drive?” he said.

  A few minutes later, after he’d spoken briefly with Mom, he and I were pulling into the street and heading out of the city. My father never likes to be in what he calls the concrete jungle.

  “You didn’t get my email?” he said as he pointed the car north. “I was off the grid for a while, but I answered right away once I finally got yours.”

  So he had answered me. Eventually. After sending my angry message, I’d stopped checking for a reply when there’d been none in the first few weeks. I told him that.

  “We clearly need to talk about some things,” he said.

  “Talk isn’t going to fix anything,” I said. The anger I’d felt back when I’d sent that email was building in me again, just from remembering the things I’d written — all completely justified.

  “I know you understand that I have to work, son,” he said.

  I shrugged.

  “And you were right. I haven’t been around. I haven’t been much of a father. I don’t blame you for feeling I abandoned you in a bad situation.”

  “Because you did,” I said evenly.

  “Look, Corbin, what can I say? I’m sorry. The fact is, not everyone is cut out to be a parent. But I do care about you. I know that’s hard for you to see, but it’s true. You’re my son and I love you.”

  “Sorry if that doesn’t give me warm fuzzies,” I said. “But whatever you claim to feel, I still have a mother who’s sick a lot of the time and a father who’s never around.”

  He was silent for a good ten minutes, maybe longer. I thought of lots of things I wanted to say during that time, but I was determined to outlast him in saying nothing.

  Eventually he pulled onto a side road that wandered through the countryside, which seemed to relax him, and he spoke again.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “This doesn’t seem to be a situation that can change unless I leave my job, which I, frankly, am not prepared to do. My work is important to me and it’s at a stage where I just can’t leave it.”

  “Glad something’s important to you,” I said. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to move, and change schools, and start over? I basically grew up without friends because we move so much. My grades are all over the place. But at least your work is important.”

  The next silence was different. I could see he was thinking hard, but there didn’t seem to be much point to it. Unless he was going to be around, what could he do to make things better?

  That’s what I thought, anyway.

  It turned out there were things he could do. And he seemed pretty embarrassed he’d never figured any of that out before. Which was fine — I’d lived with plenty of embarrassment over the years, it was someone else’s turn.

  He didn’t quit his job. He didn’t make himself a whole lot more available either, although he promised to do better than he had until now. But what he did do took a lot of pressure off me.

  He set things up so that from then on part of his support payment went directly to cover the rent. We’d never have to be evicted for non-payment again.

  He got me a cell phone and a tablet and set up a wifi account for them. That was huge for me — home access to the internet, which most folks take for granted, was something I’d never had before. Or a phone to reach out with if I needed help, and to stay connected to people in my life.

  He also set up a joint bank account for me and him. He put four hundred dollars in it, as a backup for essentials like food, and he promised to keep an eye on it and replenish it if he saw I’d had to use it.

  I thanked him for all of that, and I meant it. Even though he’s not involved the way I think a father should be, he’s doing something to make my path easier.

  It doesn’t make him a hero, but then there are other heroes in this story. Those are the people who cared, and stepped up to help a kid who was lost in his struggles.

  The people whose hearts spoke to me.

  Habits die hard. I’ve been finding that out day by day and you know what? The hard part is mostly remembering.

  Remembering not to keep making the same mistakes that isolated me for so long. Remembering that it’s okay to trust.

  Remembering that there can be ties every bit as strong as blood ties.

  Acknowledgements

  The idea for Birdspell sprang from a brainstorming chat with the very gifted Ann Featherstone. I’ve had the pleasure of working with Ann on only one of my stories (Tumbleweed Skies) but some of the things I learned from her have influenced my writing ever since. Ann, you are a rare treasure.

  Once written, Birdspell found a home with DCB Young Readers and the stellar group of folks there! Barry Jowett worked his editorial magic, directing my attention to flaws without actually calling them such (thanks) and offering guidance that strengthened the story considerably. Sarah Jensen did a lovely job on the copyedit and Andrea Waters added her expert touch without once complaining about the many, many commas she had to add. (I have tried, but never with any success, to develop a greater fondness for commas.) Behind the scenes, doing mysterious and wonderful things, were Sarah Cooper and Chantelle Cho. Thanks to all of you, and also to David Jardine for the fantastic cover art!

  Taking a story from concept to completion requires time and focus. For the assistance that made this project possible, I gratefully acknowledge the support of the New Brunswick Arts Board.

  VALERIE SHERRARD was born in 1957 in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, and grew up in various parts of Canada. Her father was in the Air Force so the family moved often, and was sent to live in Lahr, West Germany, in 1968. There, her sixth grade teacher, Alf Lower, encouraged her toward writing, although many years would pass before she began to pursue it seriously.

  Valerie’s debut YA novel was published in 2002. Since then, she has expanded her writing to include stories for children of all ages.

  Valerie Sherrard’s work has been recognized on national and international levels and has been translated into several languages. She has won or been shortlisted for numerous awards, including the Governor General’s Award for Chil-dren’s Literature, the Canadian Library Association Book of the Year for Children, the TD Canadian Children’s Literature Award, the Geoffrey Bilson, the Ann Connor Brimer, and a wide range of readers’ choice awards.

  Valerie currently makes her home in New Brunswick with her husband, Brent, who is also an author.

  We acknowledge the sacred land on which Cormorant Books operates. It has been a site of human activity for 15,000 years. This land is the territory of the Huron-Wendat and Petun First Nations, the Seneca, and most recently, the Mississaugas of the Credit River. The territory was the subject of the Dish With One Spoon Wampum Belt Covenant, an agreement between the Iroquois Confederacy and Confederacy of the Ojibway and allied nations to peaceably share and steward the resources around the Great Lakes. Today, the meeting place of Toronto is still home to many Indigenous people from across Turtle Island. We are grateful to have the opportunity to work in the community, on this territory.

  We are also mindful of broken covenants and the need to strive to make right with all our relations.

 

 

 
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