The Barn Owl

By: Lisa M. Walton

“Thank you so much, love,” said Mrs. Wingam, patting her perfectly styled gray bob. “Could you give me just a bit more spray? I’ve got the Art Show tonight and I’m going to be the talk of the town. It’s still unreal to me how much people care about how I look.” She laughed at herself and the corners of her navy eyes crinkled.

I had already emptied half the can of Paul Mitchell Freeze and Shine Super Spray and I was pretty sure a tornado wouldn’t disturb a hair on her head, but I sighed and directed the nozzle at her shiny curls. ‘I think that will hold you,” I said as I unclipped the purple plastic cape. “Have fun tonight. Maybe I’ll see you on t.v.”

If I had a t.v. 

I lent her a hand as she stepped slowly down from the chair, wobbling just a bit on her high heels when she collected her purse from the floor. She dug around the behemoth black bag that was bigger than she was and slid a tightly folded wad into my hand.

“Thank you so much Cissy. And try and get some sleep tonight, hun. You’ve lost your sparkle.”

I was pretty sure that my sparkle was long gone. I fingered the money, wishing I could tell whether it was a twenty or a fifty by feel alone, and nodded. “I’ll try.”

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Cissy, I’m serious about what I said. Promise me you’ll think about it?”

“I promise,” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back. I was nothing if not superstitious.. “Thank you Mrs. Wingam. I’ll see you on Tuesday. And have fun tonight.”

She made her way to the counter and I walked to the back of the shop, to check my phone. I left it plugged in by the dryers to guarantee I’d have a full charge when we left each night. I was terrified of running out of battery. And since it was Friday, we’d have to make a trip into the library to charge tomorrow afternoon. 

I thought about the cash in my pocket. Maybe my tip money would be enough to splurge on hot chocolate and a donut at Tessa’s

At the counter, Viv  was gushing to Mrs. Wingham, “Well, don’t you look stunning, sweetie.” Some thought it was all an act. That Viv was just kissing up to Mrs. Wigham, a long time regular, to make sure she kept coming back. Mrs. Wighma had been coming to __ since Viv’s grandma owned the shop. She was widowed as a young mom, and sacrificed just about everything for her kids and her biweekly blowouts. 

There were times that Viv’s mom did the wash and style “on account”. But about three years ago Mrs. Wingham brought her account current. And then some. She found love a second time. And her new love ruled a tech empire. The woman had more money, and a busier social calendar, than she ever imagined. I think Viv was surprised that Mrs. Wingham still trusted us to style her hair. But her kindness to the woman wasn’t meant to be manipulative. Viv was like that with everyone.

“I’ve been coming here for over fifty years! This shop and I go way back. And your girls have made me look amazing even when I felt like . . . . You don’t just walk away from relationships like that,” said Mrs. Wingham. Then she added quietly, ”Unless the right people come with you.” She winked at me.

I watched her driver help her out the door and checked my phone. 

I pushed the power button and I blinked twice at the home screen. I powered it off again and then back on. Six missed calls! From the school! 

Panic raced through my body. My chest shuddered. Oh my God! The first call was almost five hours ago.

I focused on taking slow, steady breaths and prayed everything was okay. It had to be, right? If something were truly wrong, if it were a real emergency, they would have called the shop, right? It was listed on the emergency forms. My work number was the one part of the form that was easy to fill out.

I was about to call the school back when the doors of the shop jingled and I looked up to see Livvy walk in. My heart danced with relief. I abandoned my phone and swept through the shop to see her, trying to gauge her mood from the expression on her face. 

She didn’t look sick or injured. Her face was pale and she had dark circles under her eyes that mirrored my own, but that wasn’t unusual. Her smile was bright. 

I dismissed the missed calls and swooped her up in a big hug. “Good afternoon Miss Livvy,” I said in my mock-aristocratic voice.

She giggled and hugged me back. “Hi Mommy. Guess what we did today?’

I snuggled her close and breathed in her stale end-of-the-week scent. She smelled like a combination of greasy french fries, industrial strength cleaner, and old hay, with maybe a slight tinge of manure. God, I hoped no-one else noticed that. “What did you do today?”

Livvy wriggled out of my arms and dug through her Owleez backpack. It had a broken strap that Viv’s mom had repaired more times than I can count and the front zipper was busted, but she loved that bag. She dug out a crumpled up brown paper napkin and said, “I’ll show you!”

Carefully, she carried the napkin to the front counter and took her time smoothing it out. A few small pieces of plastic and dust littered the paper.. 

“What’s that?” I asked, trying to mask my disgust.

She lifted one of the small white pieces. “This is a shrew skull. A common shrew,” she said proudly. “And this,” she pointed to some gray fuzz, “is probably his fur. But it could also be from a mole or maybe a field mouse.”

Several heads swiveled to look at Livvy’s treasure. 

“What?” I said. “A shrew skull? Where did you get that?” Why do you have that?”

“At school. We explored owl pellets today. This cool stuff was in ours. I worked with Tommy and Justina and they didn’t even want to touch it. So I got to bring it all home with me. And look at this,” she paused to reach for another tiny piece of treasure. “This is a tiny toad. The silly barn owl must have eaten it by mistake.”

My eyes widened. Owl pellets? Shrew skull? Tiny toad? Livvy was only in first grade. What were they teaching these kids?

“Livvy, why don’t you put that stuff down and go wash your hands?”

Viv walked out from behind the desk with a plastic zip bag. “Here, baby. You can keep your treasures safe in here.” She was always kind to Livvy, but I suspected she didn’t want owl vomit on the front counter of her shop.

Viv was incredibly generous and patient with both Livvy and me. She invited Livvy to come to the shop everyday after school. Which saved me a ton on child care. 

I loved having Livvy in the shop every afternoon. And I think the clients did too. At least most of them. She loved to draw them pictures of rainbows and cats and sunflowers and owls. And she’d entertain them with dances and songs and silly stories that she made up on the spot. Livvy had learned early how to entertain herself and she had quite the imagination. Although I suppose all moms say that about their kids.

And she was a great helper. Once the last customer left, Livvy would grab a broom twice her size and help me tidy the shop by sweeping all the hair clippings into a giant pile. Sometimes I’d find her sitting amongst the hair and playing with her knock-off Barbie dolls. I know, eww.

“Come over here Livvy,” I said, glancing at the giant purple clock on the wall. I had about ten minutes until Mrs. Stevenson, arrived. She was due for a color, highlight, and cut. It would be a long appointment. Hopefully with a sizable tip. “Would you like some apple slices?” 

Livvy spun across the floor to my chair and said, “Mmm-hmm, yes please, Mommy.”

I pulled an apple from my backpack and headed to the break room to slice it up for her. “So how was school today?”

Livvy’s green eyes sparkled. “It was great! I told everyone about my pet, Snowbird.”

I froze a few feet from the door. “You what?” She what?

Livvy wrinkled her nose. “I told them about Snowbird. Mrs. Mayer handed out the owl pellets and told us they were from a barn owl. So I raised my hand and told her we had a barn owl. She thought I meant that we had one that lived in the trees near us, but I told her he was our pet.

“She said that couldn’t be true. Nobody has a barn owl as a pet. Silly teacher. But I told her we did. We couldn’t have dogs or gerbils or hamsters because we didn’t have any money to buy food for them, but we had a barn owl and two tabby cats because they could catch their own food.”

My throat felt tight. “And what did Mrs. Mayer say?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer. I was thinking about those missed phone calls.

Livvy shook her head. “She told me it wasn’t nice to make up stories. And that if I keep telling lies my tongue might fall out.” 

My mouth fell open at the ridiculous warning. Did the teacher really say that? 

“I told her I wasn’t lying, but she wouldn’t listen. So I just ignored her and started digging into my pellet.

“I was partners with Tommy and Justina. And they were scaredy cats. They didn’t even want to touch it. Justina said it was ‘gross’. And Tommy kept poking it with a pencil. But it wasn’t gross. It doesn’t even smell at all.”

Breathe. Just breathe. I placed the apple on the chipped formica table and grabbed a knife from the drawer. I focused on carving small pieces of apple and slicing off the skins the way that Livvy liked. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe Mrs. Mayer was just calling me to tell me that Livvy was making up stories again.

I set the apple in front of Livvy and grabbed a juice box from the fridge. Then I placed a new pack of markers in front of her.

“Oooh Mommy! These are beautiful! I’ve been wanting these markers. Look there’s a fuschia one. And turquoise too!” She hugged the pack to her chest.

I smiled, grateful that such a small gift could make her so happy. 

“Cissy!” Jana yelled my name. “Your phone is ringing!”

My stomach lurched and I looked down at Livvy carefully sorting through her new markers. “I’m going to grab that, sweetie.” I ran my fingers over her head, smoothing flyaway strands of her blonde hair as I made my way back into the main area of the shop.

It was the school again. “Hello?” I said. I hoped the caller didn’t hear the quiver in my voice.

“Ms. Davis?”

“Yes.”

“This is Mrs. Morales, Livvy’s teacher.”

“Hello,” I said again.

“I’m calling because . . .”

“Because of that silly thing that Livvy said about having a barn owl as a pet. Yes, she told me about it after school. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Morales. You know Livvy, she has a very active imagination. We’ve been working on when creativity is acceptable and when it’s not. When it crosses the line and becomes a lie.” I swallowed. Maybe if I could just take control of the situation I could keep it from spiraling out of control.

I heard Mrs. Morales inhale across the line. She cleared her throat. “Well, yes. Livvy does have a vivid imagination. Although, I’m beginning to think it’s not quite as fanciful as I once believed.”

“I’m sorry she’s been lying to you. I’ll talk with her.”

“It’s not the lies I’m concerned about,” said Mrs. Morales. “It’s the truth.”

My heart was thumping so hard it threatened to leap out of my chest. I felt dizzy. I grabbed hold of the hairdryer to keep the room from spinning. “The truth?”

“Yes. Can you just confirm your address for me Ms. Davis? I want to make sure the information we have on file is correct.”

I licked my lips. “Um, sure. Of course.” I paused, trying to recall the last address I had given them.

“I’m ready. Go on then . . .”

“Um . . . it’s just that we moved recently, and I’m not sure if I updated the records.”

“It’s your obligation, Ms. Davis, to keep the school informed of your current address. It is imperative that we have the correct information for Livvy’s safety. And also, because as you know, tuition in this district is very steep for children who are not residents. You do still live in the district? I hope.”

It did not sound like she hoped that at all. And the truth was, I had no idea if the farm was in the district. 

“Of course,” I said. “We didn’t move far. Could you just tell me what address you have on file and I can tell you if it’s our current or former address.”

She huffed, and shuffled through some papers. “You really should know where you live, Ms. Davis.”

My heart hammered away in my chest and I wondered if the women in the shop could see my shirt fluttering. Why hadn’t I stepped outside to take the call?

“Cissy,” Viv caught my eye. “Your 3:30 is here.”

I nodded and bit my lip. Then I held up one finger to let her know I’d just be a minute. 

She pursed her lips and gave me a questioning look. “Everything okay?” she mouthed.

I nodded again and rolled my eyes. 

“ . . . Brookhill Farm, 2249 East River Road. Is that the correct address?’

The floor beneath me felt more solid. “Yes, that correct.”

“I thought you said you moved recently?” Mrs. Morales said. 

“Um . . . well . . . I guess it was this summer,” I said.

“Ms. Davis, surely you recall where you were living at the beginning of the school year. If you haven’t moved since then you should have been able to easily produce your address.” Her tone was challenging.

I narrowed my eyes. Don’t fight with her. Just let it go. You’re in the clear. Say thank you and hang up.

“You’re right, of course . . .”

She cut me off. “Very well then. We’ll be sending a school resource officer out to the house to confirm your address. It’s standard procedure in a case like this. You can expect him between eight and four within the next week.”

The room tilted on its axis again.  I reached out for the shelf to steady myself and sent several boxes of rollers and a case of shampoo clattering to the floor. Clients whipped their heads around to see the commotion.

“Damnit,” hissed Audrey, drawing her finger to her mouth. She had been using the flat iron on Mrs. Growler. 

“Sorry,” I mouthed before turning my attention back to the call.

“Between eight and four you say? I’m sorry, that won’t work. I work every day from 8 until 6, at least.”

She drew in a long breath. “Can you make other arrangements?”

The nerve of that woman. No. No, I could certainly not make other arrangements. If I didn’t work I didn’t get paid. 

I felt a something radiate through my body. But this time it wasn’t fear. It was anger.

“No. That’s not possible.”

“Fine then. I’ll send him round in the evening. Shall we say around seven?”

“I often don’t get home until seven-thirty. And if I have a late client . . .”

“Ms. Davis, you are being exceptionally difficult.”

“Mrs. Morales, I’m sorry to inconvenience you, but I don’t work teacher’s hours. And I don’t get sick days. And I don’t have a husband to supplement my income.” I wasn’t certain that she did either, but it was worth a guess. “In order to pay rent and put food on the table for Livvy and buy all the school supplies you require on a regular basis, I need to work. And if you won’t even tell me when the officer intends to visit . . .”

“Surely you understand why I can’t disclose that information, Ms. Davis. If we told you when to expect him, well then, you would be expecting him. The element of surprise is required to ensure you are living where you say you are.”

“Right, because you can’t trust white trash like me.” 

“I didn’t . . . that’s not . . . those are you’re words, Ms. Davis. Not mine. I’m just trying to ensure the safety and equity of all our students.” 

I felt a small sense of victory at having flustered her.

“Well, the earliest I can guarantee I’ll be home for a ‘surprise visit’ is eight p.m.”

She sighed loudly. “Ms. Davis, our school resource officer, works long days . . .”

“So do I.”

“He has a family.”

“So do I.”

“This is quite the inconvenience.”

“You don’t say.”

“Fine. You can expect a visit sometime within the next seven days, after eight o’clock.” She emphasized the last phrase.

“Fine. Thank you,” I said. Then silently cursed myself. What, exactly, was I thanking her for? I guess all the years of working in service conditioned me to be polite even when people didn’t deserve it.

My courtesy was rewarded with the click of the phone. 

I turned the phone off and looked up to see Viv eyeing me. I expected her to be tapping her watch and giving me the evil eye, but instead she gave me a curious look.

I smiled and shrugged. But her kindness triggered the tears I had been trying to keep at bay. I blinked several times to keep them hidden and sniffed loudly.

Viv hustled past me to the break room, “Take a minute,” she said. She emerged with a cherry pastry and a styrofoam cup of tea which she delivered to Mrs. Stephenson.

“Mrs. Stephenson,” she cooed, “I set one of these aside for you this morning. I know cherry is your favorite.”

Mrs. Stephenson looked up from an old copy of InStyle magazine and opened her mouth into an O. “Oh my, Viv! You take such good care of me. I do love these danish and Jerry always looks at me crosswise when I indulge in front of him. Did you make me a spot of tea? Earl gray? You girls really are divine. You spoil me.”

I let Mrs. Stephenson enjoy her snack and I popped into the restroom to freshen up. On my way back to the shop I saw that Livvy had pushed aside her apple slices and was drawing a pretty white barn owl in a field of sunflowers. 

Don’t think about it, I cautioned myself. There’s no time for tears now.

Two hours later Mrs. Stephenson was colored and coiffed and after she settled up with Viv, she came back and pressed some bills into my hand. “Here you go, dear,” she said with a smile. “You are a miracle worker.” 

Then she dug into her shoulder bag. “Oh, I almost forgot. This is for Livvy.” She presented me with a handful of bracelets – one made of tiny colorful stones, a second made of tiny silver links, and the third a dark blue string with an owl charm. My breath caught in my throat. Mrs. Stephenson was always bringing little trinkets for Livvy, and sometimes even for me. 

I couldn’t figure out a way to tell her I’d prefer cash.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Stephenson,” I said. “Livvy will love these.”  I slipped the bracelets into my pocket, saving them for later. 

“Everything okay?” Viv asked, pushing the broom over to sweep up Mrs. Stephenson’s discarded locks.

I nodded. If I told Viv the whole story she’d probably have a solution, but I didn’t want to trouble her. She’d already done more than enough for us.

My final client of the night was an eight-year-old boy named Jaxson who wiggled constantly despite being old enough to know better. When I started his cut, his micromanaging mom had a comment about every snip of my scissor and the direction I used the clippers, I had a sinking feeling that what should be a twenty minute haircut was going to take a whole lot longer.

I was trading in my 2 mm clippers for the smaller ones to work around Jaxson’s ears when 

Livvy emerged from the breakroom, hopping on one leg. She planted both feet on the floor and extended her arms to soar around the shop. I shot her a warning look, but Viv caught my eye and smiled. “She’s fine. Livvy, do you want a lollipop?”

It was our closing time tradition. Livvy flew over to the counter and said, “Yes, please. And can I have one for him, too?” She pointed to the little boy bouncing in my chair.

“This is Jaxson,” I told her.

“Of course,” said Viv. She handed Livvy two red lollipops.

“My favorite,” said Livvy, making her way over to us. “Lookin’ good,” she told Jaxson. “You’re almost done. My Mom is the best hairdresser here.” She looked over at Audrey. “No offense. Audrey. And the fastest. If you can sit still for two more minutes, Mom can we use the timer, you’ll be all done and you can have a lollipop.” 

Livvy looked at the boy’s mom to confirm this was okay. But mom was engrossed in her phone and did not look up. 

Livvy twisted the dial on the old-fashioned plastic timer to the two and said, “I’ll tell you a story to pass the time. Once upon a time a pirate girl ran away from her ship. She was tired of the salt air and cold wind and everything always being wet so she walked for days, over hills and highways until finally she came to a big cornfield dotted with sunflowers.” Livvy was talking very fast, almost without a breath, as though trying to finish the whole story before the timer went off. 

“There was a big scarecrow waving his too-long arms in the middle of the sunflowers but she wasn’t afraid because she was a pirate girl and not a crow. All of a sudden she was very tired. So she laid down right in the middle of the flowers and went to sleep. Then she woke up shaking in the middle of the night. At least she thought it was night because she was sleeping  but the moon was so bright it looked like day. She looked around and around trying to decide why she woke up. Then she heard the sound again. It sounded like this . . . SCREECH screaming in the night. It was the scariest thing Livvy, I mean the pirate girl ever heard. And she was a pirate so she saw some really scary things. But then the prettiest white owl that she ever did see swooped by right in front of her. It was so close she could almost touch it, in fact she did touch it. She reached out her hand and touched it. And it landed on the ground in front of her and she said you will be my pet. Then the owl flew again and circled around and around until the pirate girl came with him and he led her to a barn. And the pirate girl decided the barn would . . .”

Ding! The timer went off.

Livvy looked from me to Jaxson. I had finished clipping and brushed the hair off his neck, but finally he was sitting still, listening to her every word.

“ . . . be her new home. And she lived there forever with her friend the barn owl Snowbird. The end.” Livvy quickly finished up the story.

Jaxson started to clap and Livvy took a wide bow.

“Did you like it?”

“I did. You’re a great storyteller. You almost made me think it was true. Even though everybody knows that pirates aren’t real and girls can’t live in barns. Or have owls for pets. That’s only in Harry Potter.”

Livvy’s eyes drooped and her shoulders sagged. She shook her head. “Not you too. You can have an owl for a pet. You really can. I know because . . .”

“Hey Livvy, why don’t you give Jaxson his lollipop now? Doesn’t he look handsome?”

Livvy stretched out her hand, offering Jaxson the lollipop. But his mom looked up from her phone and intercepted it. “I’ll take that,” she said. “We don’t want him ruining his dinner.”

Ruining his dinner? With a lollipop?  I bit my tongue.  “Viv will take care of you up front.” 

“Thanks for the haircut,” said Jaxson, displaying more manners than his mom. “And the story.” He high-fived Livvy.

The mom sauntered up to the counter to pay and then called, “Come on Jaxson, Marcus will be waiting.” Jaxson joined his mom and gave a quick wave. I looked at Viv, raising my eyebrows and she shook her sadly. So much for my tip. 

After the shop was clean, we said our goodbyes to the girls who headed home to their families. But we stayed just a bit longer. Again, thanks to Viv’s generosity. 

Most nights there was plenty of “leftover” food in the fridge to make a nice dinner. Often Audrey would order a soup with her salad that she was “too full” to eat. Or Margot would order an entire pizza even though she only wanted a slice. And Viv brought in sandwiches every Wednesday and baked ziti on Fridays and she made enough for a small army even though we were only a staff of five, or six on the days Penni came in to do nails.

“Do we have pasta?” asked Livvy.

“Of course. And steamed broccoli.”

“Ew, broccoli,” said Livvy. But she always ate it all. Vegetables were a rare commodity and Livvy enjoyed trying the different flavors. “And bread?”

I opened the foil and sniffed. “Garlic bread.”

“Delicioso!”

We enjoyed our simple but filling dinner and then I washed Livvy’s hair, breathing in the sweet scent of coconut as I lathered her up.

“Do you want me to curl it?” I asked.

“No. Not tonight. I want to go home and see Snowbird. I want to show him my shrew skull.”

“Okay,” I said. My chest was so heavy. “Let’s brush our teeth and we’ll head home.”

A half hour later I pulled down the dirt road, switching off my headlights when the main house came into view. It was a good quarter mile away from the service road, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

I pushed open the heavy door and looked up at the poster board sign Livvy made for us. “Home Sweet Home.” We had both done what we could to make the space feel like ours, and it wasn’t half bad. I knew it was definitely Livvy’s favorite place of the homes she could remember.

Too bad we had to leave.

I lit the lamp, hoping there had been enough sunshine today to power us through, and Livvy put on her sweats and the heavy hooded sweatshirt she used for sleeping. Despite the sleeping bag and extra blankets it got cold during the night and her sweatsuit kept her warmer than any pajamas I could find. 

I also liked knowing that all she had to do was throw on her shoes and she’d be ready to go at a moment’s notice if we had to run.

Once she was ready for bed I got out her favorite books, Giraffes Can’t Dance and Dragons Love Tacos and snuggled in next to her. 

“Snowbird,” she called, first in English and then with a blood curdling scream that used to make me flinch, but which she insisted Snowbird understood. 

Almost like clockwork the owl appeared at the window, peeking in through the cloudy glass. He perched there while I read and then Livvy slipped on her rainboots and trudged outside to pet him goodnight.

Once she was safely tucked under the cover, Snowbird let out his famous barn owl screech and went in search of his dinner. 

I took out my phone and started searching for new homes. But after an hour I was no closer to finding us a new home and my battery was already down to 50%.

I switched off my phone and tucked it into the pocket of my sweatshirt. As I leaned back into my pillow I thought about Mrs. Wingam’s offer. 

I worked in my salons my whole life. Well, other than that short-lived stint in the bakery. And that was a disaster. 

I loved being a hairdresser. And I was good at it. That’s why Mrs. Wingham still came to me when she could afford any salon in the city.

When  I was a little girl I used to dream about having my own salon and being the stylist who did all those makeover shows that were so popular in the early two thousands. Even though things hadn’t exactly worked out like that, Viv was amazing to me and Livvy. I owed her so much.

But I knew that she was struggling. And relying on tips was getting old. Especially when I had clients like Jaxson’s mom who carried a $2000 purse but didn’t tip me anything. Today was a good tip day, relatively speaking because of the generosity of Mrs. Wingam, but I still only made a total of $166. I rubbed my tired eyes.

Maybe it was time to consider a career change. To find some stability. And a real home for Livvy. One with reliable power. And an address the school could verify.

I didn’t know much about computers. Or managing a household. I didn’t even know what that meant. But I could learn, couldn’t I? Plus, Mrs. Wingham said my real job would be making sure she looked good all the time. Maybe it was my dream job after all. Even if it felt more like a handout.

I looked over at Livvy sleeping soundly and sniffed back a sob. But who was I to turn down a handout?

Livvy would be so sad to leave Snowbird behind. Maybe I should . . .

I shook my head. No. What kind of mother would choose to keep her child out here, in a barn, just so she could be close to an owl? Not this kind.

No. It was time to make a change. 

Quietly I got up and started collecting our few possessions. I filled my backpack and a couple of tote bags I had brought home from the shop. Then I packed Livvy’s school bag with her coloring book, crayons, picture books, and stuffed llama. She’d complain that it was too heavy. But I knew that would be the least of her concerns.

I overturned the few packing crates I used when we moved in–one was serving as a makeshift nightstand and the other as a coffee table–and tossed in a couple of plates, mugs, our pot, and about eight ramen noodle packages. There was also half a box of pop-tarts and some cereal and Livvy’s favorite peanut butter sandwich cookies. I threw those in too.

I wrapped my blanket around my shoulders and I slipped through the heavy bar door I sat on the boulder and shivered. It was only October.

Yes, this was the perfect time to get us out of here. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to sleep in a real bed. In a real room. In a real home.

I heard a rustle overhead and looked at the branches of the giant oak. Snowbird’s stark white fur appeared like a flash against the black night. He took off silently gliding through the crisp air.  He swooped by me, letting out his signature piercing shriek, and soared gracefully over the brittle field of sunflowers well past their prime.

I stuffed my hands into my pockets and pulled out the bracelets that Mrs. Stephenson had given me. I rubbed the tiny barn owl charm between my fingers. It was definitely a sign.

I only hoped that Livvy would accept this token as a substitute for Snowbird.