Chapter 10 - Two Birds on a Branch
Four months later, autumn arrived in full glory.
The hills of Virginia were ablaze with amber, crimson, and gold. The air smelled of woodsmoke, crisp fallen leaves, and apple cider. In the backyard of our small home, the big oak tree was raining golden leaves down across the grass Theo had freshly mowed that morning.
A long picnic table stood under the tree, covered in a red-and-white checkered cloth, piled high with roasted chicken, warm biscuits, sweet potato pies, and pitchers of cider. Around the table sat Dad, Aunt Fern, Aunt Lacy, Uncle Jim, and a dozen cousins. Dad had officially finalized his divorce two weeks prior; he looked ten years younger, laughing as he helped Fern butter her roll.
On the porch swing sat Belle and me.
Belle was thirty-eight weeks pregnant now, her belly round and full, ready to burst. In her arms, she was gently rocking little four-month-old Junie, who was cooing at the swaying leaves above us, her bright red curls catching the afternoon sunlight.
""She has Nana's chin, you know,"" Belle said, smiling softly as Junie grabbed onto her pinky finger with a surprisingly strong grip.
""She has Nana's stubbornness, too,"" I laughed, adjusting the knitted blanket around Belle’s shoulders. ""Theo tried to put her down for a nap an hour ago, and she yelled at him until he brought her out here to watch the trees.""
Just then, Mark and Theo walked out of the back door carrying a brand-new, hand-carved bassinet. Theo had spent the last three weeks in the garage building an identical match to Junie's crib—white oak, silky smooth, with two little birds carved into the headboard side by side.
""Delivery for baby boy Miller,"" Theo announced proudly, setting the bassinet down gently beside Belle’s chair.
Belle’s eyes welled with tears as she ran her hand over the polished wood. She looked at Theo, then at me, her lower lip trembling.
""You guys didn't have to do this,"" Belle whispered.
""Two birds on the same branch,"" I said, putting my arm around her shoulder. ""That’s what Nana said. We keep each other from falling.""
Across town, life had moved on. We occasionally heard news through town gossip: Evelyn was living in a tiny rented apartment three towns over near the county border, fulfilling her court-ordered community service hours cleaning highway ditches twice a week. Nobody from the family reached out, and under the strict protective order, she had never dared to make contact. The silence she had once tried to impose on my pregnancy had become her own reality—an isolated world of her own making.
We didn't hate her anymore. Hate takes energy, and we had none to spare. Every ounce of our love, strength, and attention belonged to the next generation.
A cool autumn breeze rustled the branches of the great oak, sending a shower of golden leaves dancing down over the patio. Junie squealed in delight, batting her tiny hands at the colors floating through the air.
Dad stood up from the picnic table, holding up his glass of cider, looking around at the circle of aunts, cousins, brothers-in-law, and daughters.
""To family,"" Dad said, his voice clear and proud. ""The real kind. The kind built on truth, forgiveness, and love that never lets go.""
""To family,"" we all echoed, clinking glasses under the afternoon sun.
May you like
Belle leaned her head on my shoulder, Junie fell asleep against her chest, and as Theo sat beside me, wrapping his arm securely around my waist, I looked up through the golden leaves toward the clear blue sky.
I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that somewhere beyond the clouds, Nana June was watching down on her little birds—and smiling."
