Notes from the Red Bird House

Sam thought for a moment. What leads did she have? Was she any closer to finding this woman for her mother? Yes, she knew what high school she went to and that she might have gone to the University of Kentucky, but that was it. It wasn’t a lot to go on. Still, though, it was kind of exciting. Sam had started with just a name and now, barely twenty-four hours later, she’d created a couple pretty solid leads. She contemplated what the next twenty-four hours might bring.   “I don’t think calling the high school would help. What information would they give me over the phone? In this day and age? God, I hope they wouldn’t give out much. It’s a scary idea, isn’t it?” Sam mused. “You could always go to Cincinnati and see what you could find out face-to-face. It’s what? A six hour drive?” “Christ, Scott, I’m killing my vacation running about the Midwest looking for this lady. It’s been nice seeing you guys and all, but I was hoping to be back home in Austin by Wednesday or Thursday a

Chris opened the box and they peered inside. It looked like Aunt Jane had packed away all of her high school mementos with her yearbooks. Sam pulled out an old pair of pom-poms and several playbills for school plays. They set aside a shoe box filled with old photos to get to what they came for. In the bottom of the box, there were four year books. Two had dark blue covers and said ‘The Oaks’ on the spine. Two were maroon and thinner than the others. “Here we go. This one has to be the one,” Sam said as she grabbed one of the maroon books. She set it on the table so she and Chris could both look. Embossed on the cover were the words “South Hamilton High School” and the date, “1959”. “Alright, so unless something weird happened, the woman you are looking for went to South Hamilton, just a few years after Mom”. “Yep.” Sam stared at the book a moment silently. She continued, “So, what does that get me? I know where she went to high school. But that was a hundred years ago. She co

Sam pulled into the Day Crest assisted living facility. From the outside it looked pretty nice. Big trees provided shade and the building looked like it had been recently painted. Sam trusted her cousins. She knew they wouldn’t put their mother in a substandard facility. It had been a difficult decision for her cousins. Chris had moved into Aunt Jane’s house to be sure she was cared for at night and his sister, Laura, had spent the days with her while her kids were in school. The hours between 3:00pm when Laura had to leave to pick up the kids and 5:30pm when Chris got home from work were always worrisome. Then one day when Chris returned home, Aunt Jane wasn’t there. The stove was on and a pot of water had boiled over, but his mother was nowhere to be found. Chris frantically searched the neighborhood, but no one had seen her. He didn’t think she could have walked far. After several moments of panic, Chris called his sister for help. Had he checked the cemetery? It was within walk

I suppose this would be a great opportunity to feel sorry for myself. After all, my 'livelihood' (read: tennis) has been stolen from me for the next few weeks. In fact, the duration of my break is unknown. I'm telling myself two weeks, but it could actually turn out to be longer. It just depends on a whole bunch of variables I have only marginal control over. The crazy thing is that I'm cool with all of it - the injury and the time out - and I refuse to cry about it. Let's do the math. How would a bunch of tears help my situation? Catharsis, you ask? Maybe if I was sad or upset, but I'm just not. How about whining? I see less healing and more pissing off going on with that one. See? It does absolutely no good to resist so I'm simply going with it. I'm injured. I need to take a few weeks off from tennis. Tennis. Not life. Not work (though I did have to take today off on doctor's orders). Not school. Not cardio. Not writing (obviously). In the grande

Sam snuck back into her mother’s apartment with the key Jean had given her and quietly closed the door behind her. It was a little after midnight and Sam was in no mood to talk. Jackie had Googled the Cross-Lake Ferry while they all chatted. Sam would be able to make the 12:30pm departure which would get her to Muskegon at 4:00pm. She’d be able to see Aunt Jane that evening. The trip from Lindstrom to Milwaukee would take about six hours. This meant that Sam needed to be road to no later than 5:00am. That meant less than four hours sleep. “This isn’t something you can be late for, Samantha.” It was Malin, but it sounded like something her mother would say. “Fuck, really? I’m not twelve. I’ve traveled a bit. I know how to make a damn connection,” Sam thought. Instead she sighed and replied, “Yes, Ma’am.” It seemed like a total waste of a day to Sam, but she believed her friends when they agreed that this was probably the only way to get her first lead on the current wherea

If you haven't read my Rules and Disclaimer or my previous three posts, please do so. What you are reading is an excerpt from my Novella project. Starting here could ruin the suspense and short change the story. ~ “I had the strangest dream last night,” Sam could hear her mother saying. Oh, Christ. Allison must be here, Sam thought. Regardless, the smell of coffee was enough to get Sam out of bed. She moved through the small living room and into the kitchen as Jean continued, “It was actually quite disturbing. A little friend of Mallory’s went missing. Everyone in town was looking for her. Dredging the lakes, dogs searching the state park, Amber Alerts all over the TV. Sam, you were in the dream, too.” “That is strange, Mom. Scary, too,” Allison said. “Things like that do happen all the time. It’s terrifying, really. Thankfully it was just a dream.” “Did they find her?”, Sam chimed in. She loved a good mystery and was always looking for her next story idea. “As a m