Page 73 of Hauling Ashe

“No, we should keep going.” My voice is hollow. My mind empty for the moment.

“Mae, we should talk.”

I don’t like the sound of that. What is there to say?

“Let’s not.” I swallow around a sudden lump in my throat. “You work.”

His laptop is open, but he hasn’t been typing. He’s been looking out the window more time than not. Sneaking a peek at him, I turn my head back to the windshield just in time to see something large and low coming at the front of the car.

“What the—” Something collides with the front of Louie. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” With shaky hands, I reach for the hazards.

“What happened?” Tucker asks as I continue to shriek.

“I think I just hit a bird.” My voice ripples with panic and my body shivers. I steer the car to the side of the road, and for a moment, I’m reminded of pulling over for our flat tire. Was that only a few days ago? How different Tucker and I are now, compared to hundreds of miles and three states away?

Once stopped, we both exit the car at the same time and round to the front. Sure enough, a giant blackbird is wedged into the front grill. I bend at the waist, clutching my kneecaps and closing my eyes. I feel sick. Not like I’m going to vomit, just gut-curdling sick.

I killed a bird!

“This is a bad sign,” I mutter to the gravel under my feet.

“What? It’s a bird. A dead bird, not a sign.”

“Did you know that a dead bird is a sign…of death.”

Tucker softly chuckles. “Well, yes. He’s dead.”

I stand to face him, hands on my hips. “Oh my God,” I whimper again, before risking another glance at the poor thing, flattened against the silver grate.

“Mae—”

“No,” I say, stealing his words. This is a sign of the end, just as Tucker and I will be. We are over.

“Sunshine.” Tucker steps up to me, cupping my shoulders before tugging me to his chest. We’ve hardly touched this morning. I’d considered the absence a reaction to all our affection being used up yesterday. His lips press to my forehead. “A dead bird can also be a sign of rejuvenation.”

“How?” I mock. “He’s dead.” My forehead presses into his sternum.

“Well, he could rise up from the ashes.”

I pull my head back and look at him. Ashe.

“He could be a symbol of being born again,” he adds.

Taking another peek around Tucker’s arm, I’m certain that poor thing isn’t rising up from anything. “We should bury him.”

“What?” Tucker glances down at me.

“We need to return him to the earth.”

Tucker stares at me, his arms slipping from my back. “Oh yes, let me grab the shovel and coffin out of the trunk.”

“Tucker!” I shriek. “I cannot keep driving with a dead bird stuck to the grill.”

He hangs his head. “Do we have a plastic bag or something? I’m not risking some bird disease by touching a wild animal.”

I’m instantly relieved he’s offering to remove the blackbird because I don’t think I can touch the poor thing without freaking out. Searching the backseat, I find plastic grocery bags left over from snack purchases and double them together. After holding out the bags, which Tucker begrudgingly takes, I stand to the side of the car while Tucker rounds to the front. With both his hands inside the wrappings, he leans forward, extending his arms as far as he can without getting too close to the wedged bird.

To our surprise, the thing flaps and squawks, one wing spreading as Tucker tries to contain him. He unintentionally drops the bird, which is larger than it appeared against the grill. Within seconds, the bird attempts flight but doesn’t get too far, before dropping into the grasses on the side of the road.