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walkingshcdow-a · 3 years

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Title: Nesting

For @noblehcart

“Cordelia Roach, open up!”

Henry, sleep-deprived and angry, banged a fist against his neighbor’s front door. He was not a man who generally carried homicide in his mind, but this morning was another story entirely. He’d awoken after a forty-five minute nap to find his blue-and-yellow macaw, Esther, sitting atop a clutch of three eggs. Until now, Henry had thought Esther incapable of laying eggs or else uninterested. There was only one bird who could have caused her to do this and if Henry got his hands on Harold the sea eagle before Cordelia could stop him- The door swung open. Cordelia Roach wore a wide-brimmed sun hat and a smile and she carried a pair of hedge clippers.

“Hello, doctor,” she said brightly. “I didn’t realize you were making house calls.”

“I’m not,” said Henry. “Where is that horrible bird of yours?”

Cordelia’s smile faltered.

“Has something happened?”

“I should say so. He’s gotten too close to Esther’s perch for the last time.”

“I’m so sorry.” Cordelia’s voice was soft. “Would you rather ring up the Funns or Eric Chapman?”

“What? Why would I want to call either of them?”

Cordelia blinked.

“If you’re not accusing my son of murder, then I’m not sure what you came here for,” she said, stepping out of the doorway. She shut the front door behind her. “I have to cut the rose bushes back before they become a safety hazard, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Esther has laid eggs,” said Henry. “Three of them.”

Cordelia went silent. She regarded Henry for a long moment and Henry thought that surely if anyone on the island could understand his concern that his parrot was laying eggs, it would have to be Cordelia. Consternation tugged at her brows and her dark eyes searched Henry’s face for something they clearly could not find. She frowned.

“Henry… parrots and eagles aren’t the same species. If Esther is laying eggs, I don’t think Harold is the cause. He’s going to be heartbroken when he finds out…”

“They don’t have to be the same species! Parrots imitate nesting behaviors when they’ve found a mate - of any species. The eggs aren’t viable. But she’s laid them all the same and she’s nesting with them and guarding them and she’s never done this before, not until your bird started hanging around my kitchen window! And when I get ahold of him-”

Cordelia snapped the hedge clippers. The red misting over Henry’s gaze faded and he blinked a few times.

“Pull yourself together,” Cordelia hissed. “People will start to think you really are in love with your bird.”

“What would you do if it were Calliope?”

“If Calliope started to lay eggs, I think I’d sell her to the Piffling Circus.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’d support her. I’m her mother and while I can’t pretend I wouldn’t be disappointed, it’s not my job to be disappointed. It’s my job to make sure she’s loved and cared for. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Because I don’t love Esther?”

“Because you aren’t a mother. Come inside. I’ll make you some tea.”

Cordelia’s walls were covered in pictures of her children, human and feathered alike. Here a picture of Harold as a downy chick; there a picture of baby Calliope scowling at the camera; everywhere pictures of first flights, first bikes, and adventures in the Piffling Scouts. It struck Henry to notice that Harold stopped aging, more or less, at a certain point, all glossy feathers and sharp talons, while Calliope continued on. He knew plenty of avian medicine and was Piffling Vale’s only pediatrician, but surely Henry couldn’t be the only one to notice what odd siblings Harold and Calliope made. Did Cordelia notice it, too? Did she realize her “son” was grown and that most eagles his age had long ago left the nest? Harold was a wild bird, not like Esther, who was bred and born in captivity. Henry thought of her and wondered if she would have rather lived in the depths of the Amazon or if she’d at least rather be flying free with Harold in the skies over the English Channel. He scarcely noticed Cordelia brew a cup of tea until she pressed it into his shaky hands.

“Make yourself at home,” she said. “We’re family now.”

“If I sit, I might lose my momentum.”

“That might not be such a bad thing.”

Henry settled by leaning against the back of a chair. He sipped his tea in silence, which he was not sure how to break. In his mind, he’d flown to Cordelia Roach’s house, strangled her eagle, and come away scarred but triumphant. In reality, there was no one here to fight except Cordelia who, Henry noticed, kept the hedge clippers within arms reach. She wrapped her hands around her teacup and stared at him.

“Are you going to tell me I’m a fool for thinking I could fight a sea eagle with my bare hands?”

“I don’t think I have to tell you that.”

“She’s going to guard those eggs for weeks,” Henry said. “And they won’t hatch and she’ll be devastated.”

“There’s no real way to protect her from heartbreak,” sad Cordelia.

“No,” Henry said, “but I don’t suppose I’ll be around enough to help with the despair. I hardly see her as it is.”

“Have you considered…” Cordelia sucked in her cheeks. “It’s just… She has a mate now. Maybe you should consider letting Harold-”

“And what can Harold do for her?” Henry asked. “I’ll have to give her hormone treatments and hope that’s enough that his mere presence doesn’t send her into a frenzy.”

“Are you-”

“The only veterinarian on Piffling, as well?” Henry asked. “Yes.”

“Are you sure,” Cordelia continued, “that Harold won’t be helpful? I know if I was in Esther’s position, I’d want my husband close by.”

“Would you really?”

“No, I don’t have a husband,” said Cordelia flatly. “But most married women would likely take comfort in having their spouse near during times of grief. Especially if he loves her as much as Harold loves Esther.”

“What do you know about them?”

So Cordelia told Henry all about the things he’d missed while at work - the months of courtship and companionship, and the graceful way Harold and Esther glided into love.

“He hasn’t broken her out of her cage out of respect for you, actually,” she said. “He knows it would tear you to pieces if you came home and Esther was just gone. I think he wants your blessing, even though he wouldn’t say it that way. I know he says he could manage living in two households if that’s what it comes to.”

“He tells you a lot,” Henry said with mingled appreciation and reproach.

Cordelia shrugged.

“You know,” she said, “he was worried that you thought of yourself as Esther’s mate.”

Henry laughed, a hollow, uncomfortable sound.

“Don’t worry, doctor,” said Cordelia. “Plenty more fish in the sea or birds in the sky, as it were.”

“I should go prepare some injections for Esther,” he said, pushing off of the chair. “But if you and Harold and Calliope would like to come by for dinner… I’d like to give my blessing properly.”

Later that week, Cordelia would have the photographs developed of their first family dinner together. She’d send Henry copies of the best pictures and he would swear that in them, Esther and Harold were smiling.

#;;always on call | {henry edgeware}#;;an original composition | {cordelia roach}#x. drabble #noblehcart

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worththeheigh-blog · 6 years

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