Page 61 of Little Bird
It’s going to be cold and miserable out there without shelter.
But if Gunner can do it, so can I.
I take one step into the snow, testing it, and when I find that it’s not as cold as I thought it would be, I take another. And then another. And before long I’m in the yard, plowing along the trail he left with my eyes on the woods ahead and my mind trying to understand why he thought going out in this weather was better than staying in the warm kitchen with me.
When I get to the ridge, I see exactly why he wanted to come out here—or at least part of it. He’s sitting on a fallen tree at the edge of the ridge, his eyes on the view and his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. His back is hunched against the wind, though, and he’s obviously cold. In the distance, I can just see the line of red that tells me that the sunrise is on its way, the rays creeping up over the mountains and trees. Hawke’s Wood isn’t at the top of the mountain, so this isn’t the true sunrise; it’s just when the sun is rising up over the mountains around us. But that doesn’t ruin the beauty of it. The world is spread out below us like an offering, white with snow and ice and green with the foliage of the trees. The world smells cold and sharp, like everything has been enhanced by the temperature, and for a moment I just stand behind him, the light growing in my face and the cold air embracing me like an old friend.
“You’re going to freeze up here,” he says, interrupting my thoughts.
I turn a very wry look on him. “If you can survive it, I can,” I tell him sternly. “Besides, I brought reinforcements.”
I hand him the thermos of coffee I made for him and then fish the packet of cookies out of my pocket and present them like they’re the biggest treasure he’s ever received. Instead of thanking me, he looks at me like I’m trying to poison him, and this is so like the new version I’m learning of him that I have to laugh.
“What, you don’t believe in cookies in the morning? Personally, I think that’s the best time to eat them. And I know you still drink coffee. I’ve seen you doing it. You can’t lie to me about that.”
He allows a small smile at that, like he knows he can’t deny it, then shakes his head. “I haven’t eaten cookies in the morning in years.”
I unwrap the packet in his hand, pick one up, and place it gently against his lips. “Then I guess you’re due.”
He takes a bite like I knew he would and chews slowly. “No one has made cookies in that kitchen in years, either. And no one ever brings me coffee.”
I sink down on the log next to him, hearing exactly what he’s not saying and refusing to acknowledge it. “Then the people around you are heathens and you should fire them immediately. You’re just lucky I showed up when I did, to rescue you from a life without cookies.”
“A life without cookies,” he echoes.
I look at him to see him gazing at me like he doesn’t know what to do with me or how to understand my existence. Which is just silly. He’s known me for years. He knows exactly who I am.
“Why did you follow me?” he whispers.
More silly questions.
“Because I knew you’d freeze up here unless I brought you coffee and cookies,” I tell him firmly. “Obviously. Now why are we on the ridge before it even gets light out?”
His lips twitch and his eyes grow warm, and for just a moment, I see the Gunner I used to know. The one that remembered how to laugh and share his life with someone else.
“The sunrise.”
I wait for the rest of the explanation, but nothing else comes out, and I finally ask, “Because sunrises don’t happen in the house?”
He turns back to the view and the sun rising in the distance and shakes his head. “Obviously they do. But not like they do up here. Up here, you get the first of it.”
I turn to follow his eyes and see that he’s actually right. The first rays of light are shooting across the forest below us now, golden beams hitting the trees and meadows, and then the rocks of the mountains. At first there are just sections of light, but within moments the whole valley is awash with gold, and then it’s climbing up the mountain, bringing everything to life. I pull out my camera and start shooting, intent on capturing it, and when I stand and try to clamber up on the tree to get a better angle, Gunner’s hands are there on my hips, holding me steady and guiding me. He secures me as I shoot picture after picture, and by the time I take the camera from my face and look at him, he’s also lit up, the golden light highlighting his cheekbones and striking sparks into his beard and hair.
His eyes are warm and laughing as he looks at me, and I grin in response.
“Okay, I see your point,” I admit. “But I still think it’s better with coffee.”
He leans in like we’re sharing a joke. “Everything is better with coffee.”
I laugh and sit, and we drink coffee and eat cookies as the sun rises around us. I find out that Gunner comes up here for the sunrise whenever he needs to think, because up here, with the sun coming out of its slumber, he feels like the world is giving him a fresh start.
“Every day is a new chance,” he says. “The sunrise is just the beginning of it.”
It’s such a romantic idea that it takes me a second to understand it coming from Gunner, but then I realize that he hasn’t changed as much as he pretends he has. The playful, idealistic man is still in there somewhere.
He just hides from everything but the sunrise.
We talk then about small, surface-level things that don’t mean much, and gradually grow more comfortable together. He says he thinks the storm is over and that the snow will melt quickly with the sun on it, and that while we have plenty of food in the pantry, we should restock when we can get back into town. He worries that the animals will be too cold if another storm hits too quickly and talks about how to keep the barn warmer. Asks my opinion about the house and whether he’s doing enough to keep it whole and healthy.
