Finding Balance Read online

  “Crops?” It’s confusing. And the whole thing leaves me very defeated.

  Lucy touches her throat. “The crop is a sack at the bottom of her throat. It sort of regulates how much food their stomach can get at a time so they don’t overload. But if you overfill the crop from force feeding too much, she can get a sour or impacted crop.”

  Great. I could kill her trying to save her. Lucy’s right. This is too much. I open my mouth to tell her never mind. Maybe she’ll still deal with it.

  But then I look down at Hope’s sweet little face, her dove grey feathers so soft. And I think about Amy, her tender heart yearning to fix this. It’s not her fault—if anything, it’s mine—but she thinks it’s hers.

  Force feeding a chicken every two hours would be. . . moronic. More than I can handle. Too much. And yet, I find myself asking Lucy to show me how much Hope should be eating, and how exactly to give it to her. Twenty minutes later, I’ve fed Hope her first meal of yogurt and aspirin water and a little pellet mash. It was messy and frustrating. My back hurts and my hands are trembling, but my heart has expanded.

  Nothing that’s worth anything in life is easy.

  “I better go,” Lucy says.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I’ll go by the feed store and see whether I can buy everything on the list you made. Without your help, we wouldn’t have a chance.”

  Lucy’s face is kind. “Without me breaking the HOA rules, you wouldn’t be in this situation. I’m really sorry about that too. I feel like I’ve made your life much harder. Maybe I should’ve said no.”

  I smile at her. “Decisions when kids and pets are involved are hard. What I wouldn’t give for a crystal ball.”

  “For what it’s worth, it really looks like you’re doing a lovely job of filling some pretty big shoes.”

  The second I close the door, tears pour down my face. She has no kids herself, and she hasn’t seen more than a moment of our lives—she’s hardly an expert on the kind of job that I’m doing with Amy and Chase. But the fact that she thinks I’m doing a good job helps more than it should. I think, even with my reservations, I wasn’t prepared for quite how hard it is to be a parent.

  You never know if you’re making the right decision.

  You worry constantly.

  And you never get a break. Never.

  But being Amy and Chase’s mother means more than anything else I’ve ever done.

  I’m struck at the same time by complete bafflement that my mother could ever leave us and unwelcome insight into Peter’s reticence to let me fire his idiotic son. But denying our children the right to experience the consequences of their actions—denying them experience with real life—it’s no favor.

  Which is why I’m going to fight for this little chicken with all I’ve got and if she dies, Amy and I will face that together. My resolve is firm when I go back inside.

  “Morning,” a groggy voice says from the other side of my open fridge door.

  I startle. I had completely forgotten that Anica was staying with us. Yet another delightful addition to my life. “Uh, good morning.” I glance at the clock. I’ve been up for nearly eight hours, and she’s just rolling out of bed? I shove my judgment down very deep. “Let me know if you have trouble finding something to eat.”

  “Coffee. All I need is coffee.”

  I point at the cabinet where we keep the instant coffee. “Check there. Or if you want to make a pot, that’s fine too.” I point at the coffee maker.

  “Thanks.” Anica half-frowns. “I figured you’d be at work.”

  Did she wait to get up until she thought we’d all be gone? If so, why bother visiting at all? “Been there and now I’m back again. I have a chicken here to care for, after all.” I don’t mention that I threw down the gauntlet at work, telling my boss I’d be quitting soon. It’s not really any of her business.

  “A chicken?” Anica lifts both eyebrows. “You’re skipping work for a chicken? Aren’t you like the boss of some huge law firm?”

  Again, I stifle my irritation. I’ve explained that I’m a CPA several times, but I guess it hasn’t stuck. “Accounting firm,” I say. “And normally I wouldn’t have been able to take a half day like this, but as I’ve been transitioning to prepare for the baby, I have support staff in place.”

  “That’s handy,” Anica says.

  “Handy?” What does that mean?

  “Well, it lets you swoop in like a knight in shining armor to save that chicken.”

  Shining armor? Like I’m some usurper—an outsider saving her niece. My nostrils flare and my heart speeds up in my chest, but I will not let her upset me. Once I have my irritation in check, I say, “Speaking of, I better head to the feed store. I only have a few hours until I need to pick up Chase and Amy from school.”

  “Right.” Anica starts to brew a pot of coffee. A whole pot—she either plans to drink an awful lot, or she’s a little too good for instant coffee.

  What’s wrong with me? I never drink instant either.

  I shake my head. Clearly this pregnancy and work drama is making me defensive and crabby when I should be opening my heart. This poor woman lost her sister to something outside of anyone’s control and watching me here with her brother-in-law and children, well, it probably feels to Anica like her sister has been replaced. That can’t be a great experience. “Well, if you need anything.” I scribble my name and number on a notepad. “Feel free to text me.”

  “Or I can text Luke.” She leans against the counter and crosses her arms.

  I grit my teeth. This woman could be awarded an honorary PhD in annoying me. How does she do it so effortlessly? “Sure, that’s fine too.”

  “What time will the kids be back?”

  Ah. She wasn’t avoiding me so much as making it clear that she’s here for them, not for me or Luke. That’s fine. I don’t even mind. They’re all she has left of her sister. It makes sense. “Usually about three-thirty, depending on how long the pick-up line takes. Amy will have practice for her musical tomorrow, but today’s her day off.”

  “She’s in a musical?”

  I smile. “She’s playing Mrs. Hannigan in Annie.”

  “That’s a pretty sexist play,” Anica says.

  I step toward Anica, my hand gripping the countertop tightly. “If you breathe a word of criticism to Amy about the play or her part in it,” I say, “you will not be welcome in this home. Are we clear?”

  “You can’t kick me out of Luke’s house,” Anica says.

  “Oh.” I laugh, but it’s bitter. “I think you’ll find that I can. Besides. Technically, this is my house. It was a gift from my husband when he proposed. He put it in my name, and it remains that way.”

  “Wow, no shock that you fell for him. A guy who can gift you a house like this.” She tilts her head, casually implying that I’m a gold digger.

  “You don’t know anything about me, Anica, and if you think Luke has such poor taste, then you don’t know him very well.”

  A smile spreads slowly across Anica’s face. “You’re mad that I gave Amy a hard time about calling you ‘Mom.’” Her lips twist, but in a satisfied way. As though she knows she’s dealt me a harder blow than any I could possibly deal her.

  And she’s right.

  “It doesn’t matter to me what Amy calls me,” I lie. “What matters is whether she feels valued and loved, and I believe she does.”

  “Lizzie didn’t sing,” Anica says. “And I didn’t realize that Amy did either. Guess that’s something you’re encouraging.”

  “I can’t even carry a basic tune, but Luke sings almost as well as Amy,” I snap. “She sings anything and everything she hears, and she’s delightful at it. So yes, I encourage it. I encourage anything that fills her heart with joy, as should you—because that little girl deserves every bit of happiness available.” I’ve said too much, but I can’t seem to stop. “You should examine your words before you say them in the future.” I purse my lips. “Consider whether you’re helping Amy,
or just trying to hurt someone else. In case you can’t recall what I’m sure your mother taught you, doing things to harm others is bad.”

  I spin on my heel and head for the garage, spurred onward by my righteous indignation.

  Every ounce of outrage whooshes out of me when I notice Hope in the corner of her box. Her light grey head is slumped against the towel, face down, beak turned sideways. Thankfully she’s still breathing, but when I check the wound to reapply the Vetericyn Lucy gave us. . . maggots are squirming around in the open wound. I stifle a shout and yank my hand back.

  As a pregnant woman, my gag reflex is already pretty sensitive, so it’s hardly surprising that this bumps me over the top. Thankfully, Luke carried a whole stack of towels into the garage last night, and I had a small breakfast. It’s relatively easy to clean up.

  I text Lucy. HOPE’S SLUMPED DOWNWARD, BARELY BREATHING. AND I NOTICED MAGGOTS IN THE WOUND.

  She doesn’t text back while I’m driving to the feed store, and she hasn’t texted by the time I’ve gathered the supplies on her list. The three employees I ask don’t seem to know anything about chickens, so they’re useless. Thankfully, as I’m approaching the register, Lucy finally replies. She sends several links to articles, and a short message. SHE NEEDS ANTIBIOTICS OR SHE’S A GONER.

  Unfortunately, penicillin is on back order at three different places, and I’m running out of time to search.

  NO PENICILLIN ANYWHERE. SOME KIND OF RUN ON ANIMAL ANTIBIOTICS OR SOMETHING.

  I glance at the clock. I need to leave in the next twenty minutes or I’ll be late to pick up Amy and Chase, and Luke has a meeting—he can’t do it. The idea of taking Amy home to see Hope circling the drain without a plan for how to help her makes me want to puke again.

  As if she can sense my complete and utter failure, Lucy’s name lights up on my phone. Embarrassingly, I’m bawling when I answer. “Hello?”

  “Mary? Are you alright?”

  “I can’t just let her die, but I can’t find any penicillin! I’m such a failure.” I hiccup. So much for her not realizing what bad shape I’m in right now. If I can’t handle a chicken, how will I survive a baby?

  “I’m thinking you might be upset over more than just Hope,” Lucy says.

  She’s right. I’ve got an unwelcome step-sister-in-law—is that the right title? A third-trimester pregnancy. A mess at work. And a daughter being bullied by a spoiled brat at school.

  “You’re right. This has definitely not been my week.”

  “Okay, well, have an employee walk you down the aisle and tell me what other antibiotics they have—and make them check everywhere. There should be a few that don’t require refrigeration. I imagine they’ll have something we can use, even if it’s a Hail Mary.”

  Somehow, she’s able to stay on the phone while we review the refrigerated medicine, which is a bust, and then go down another aisle for cattle. “Noromycin?” Lucy stops me. “What does it say beneath the brand name?”

  How does she know it’s a brand name? I look lower on the bottle. In parenthesis below the bright blue lettering, there’s a long word. “It says ‘oxytetracycline injection.’ Does that help?”

  “Ah, yes. We can use that. It’ll have to be a super tiny dose, but let me look it up. Can you send me a screenshot? Luckily swing shifts are extra nurses for when things are at their worst—but today’s not too busy, so I have time to look at this. If it stays slow, I can probably break away in time to come check on Hope after dinnertime tonight. I’ll bring some syringes and do the first injection so you can do the rest.”

  A shudder passes through me at the thought of poking that poor little bird and shoving chemicals into her broken little body. But the maggots. Ugh. “Okay,” I say. “Thanks.”

  I’m not entirely sure Hope will survive that long, but I pay another $20 for medicine for this longshot anyway.

  “You said this is for a chicken?” The lady with a side ponytail at the register pops her gum.

  I nod and hand her the money.

  “You know chickens cost like, less than five bucks, right?”

  “I didn’t know that,” I say. “But it’s not about the money.”

  One of her eyes scrunches up and her mouth turns up into a forced smile. “Okay. Whatever. But you could buy, like five new chicks for the same price as this stuff.” She points at a big metal trough, and I realize it’s peeping. There must be chicks inside.

  Not the point. “All life has value,” I say. “And we’re going to try and save this one.”

  She doesn’t argue with me anymore, which is good. I’m not sure I can really justify my actions at this point.

  At least Amy chose a good name for the chicken. I might never have hoped for anything as much as I hope that dumb chicken is alive when Amy and Chase and I get back home from school.

  Somehow, she is. Barely breathing, but still alive.

  Darling, sweet Amy insists on using tweezers to pick out the maggots one by one while I try not to puke again. No matter what Luke, Anica, or I say, nothing lures Amy in to eat dinner. “I’m not leaving Hope until she’s gotten her medicine,” she insists.

  When Lucy arrives, she laughs about the maggot removal. Her voice is kind at least when she says, “As gross as they look, maggots are fly larvae, and they only eat dead and infected flesh. So they’re not actually doing much damage. They’re just an indicator that something is wrong. Which is good—that’s one of the main ways your mom knew Hope needed antibiotics.”

  “Thank you for coming over.” Amy beams at Lucy.

  “You’re welcome,” Lucy says graciously. I can tell she’s already pretty fond of Amy.

  “I hope your family isn’t mad we keep calling you over here.” Amy looks at her shoes.

  Lucy laughs. “I’m not married, and I live alone. That’s why I work so much, and it’s also why I didn’t think I could do this.” She gestures at Hope. “I know it may not feel like it, but you’re really giving Hope her best chance. I’m impressed by how much you and your mother have been willing to do for this darling little chicken. She’s a very lucky little girl.”

  “Why aren’t you married?” Amy asks.

  Oh, no. “Amy, we don’t—”

  “It’s okay,” Lucy says. “I wish adults would approach things as simply and as forthrightly as children.” She brushes her hands on her scrub pants. “I haven’t met a single guy yet who cared more about helping other people than themselves.” She shrugs. “If you find a guy like that, you send him my way, alright?”

  Amy nods seriously, like she’s going to find Prince Charming for Lucy from her wide pool of options as a second grader. “I will.”

  I don’t laugh, but it’s hard. “What about feeding her?” I ask. “I wasn’t sure what to do. She hasn’t eaten since noon when you showed me how to feed her, but shoving food down her throat now seems. . .” I shake my head. “Mean, maybe.”

  “She won’t be able to swallow when she’s like this, I imagine.” Lucy strokes Hope’s neck and back like Amy has been doing. “She’s too zapped. But if this tetracycline does its job, she’ll perk up quite a bit tomorrow, and she’ll need really consistent meals.”

  She doesn’t say anything else for which I’m grateful, but I hear it in her voice.

  She’ll either perk up by tomorrow morning, or Hope will be dead.

  4

  Luke

  When I finish reading Chase his bedtime story and walk back into the living room, Anica’s flipping through channels on the TV like her finger is broken and it’s stuck pressing the channel up button.

  “Everything okay?”

  She drops the remote. “You scared me.”

  I sink onto the seat at the end of the sectional and turn toward her. “I can’t help the fact that I move with the agility of a jungle cat.”

  Anica rolls her eyes. “In some ways you haven’t changed a single bit.”

  “In some ways?” I pat my belly. “Are you saying I’ve gained weight?”

>   She arches one eyebrow. “Hardly.”

  I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “What’s going on, Anica? What’s with the surprise visit and poking the bear?”

  “Are you likening your new wife to a bear?”

  “She’s a pregnant woman. They’re all crabby—your sister was too.”

  Anica whistles. “Don’t let Mary hear you talking about her or you might get mauled.”

  “Mary’s a miracle in my life,” Luke says. “And you of all people should understand that.”

  Anica snorts. “She’s currently skipping out on work to doctor a chicken.”

  I straighten. “She’s helping your niece with something that matters to her. And Mary has never skipped out on a moment of work in her life. She shifted the timing in which she accomplished her job to accommodate what matters more to her.” I can’t quite contain the fury. “Not that it’s any of your business, but you couldn’t ask for a better mother to your niece and nephew, and she had no role model to help her learn that.”

  “My niece and nephew don’t need a new mom.” Anica’s eyes flash. “They have a mother.”

  “They do not. Elizabeth died.” A frog always creeps up my throat when I talk about her, making it hard to speak. “Losing her broke me, and those children paid for that. Do you really think she wants us all to suffer forever? Should we beat ourselves nightly? Is that what you do?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Anica says.

  “Why? Because you’ve cornered the market on that particular behavior?”

  “Amy calls Mary ‘Mom’, like she’s totally forgotten about Lizzie. Like she never existed.” A tear rolls down Anica’s face and my anger evaporates.

  “I miss her too,” I say. “It hits me at odd times, you know. Like when I see a cardinal. Or when I pass cotton candy at the county fair.”

  “Lizzie loved cardinals,” Anica whispers. “She used to sketch them, you know, when she was younger.”

  I nod.

  “And she made herself sick on cotton candy, every time.” She smiles. “It was like she couldn’t stop eating it.”