What Destroys Happiness - Judy Albietz

Rachel wouldn’t have seen the bird if she hadn’t taken that walk to the pond. No one else wanted to go. Too chilly they said. Rachel had to get out of the house for a little while. Her older sister Tamar was lying on the couch in the den. Tamar wore a red paisley scarf. No one talked about how Tamar’s stomach was more swollen today. The chemo hadn’t worked.

Rachel put on her shoes and grabbed her tan sweater. Then she left through the back door. It swung out sharply and slammed shut behind her. Almost caught her heel. Rachel hugged herself and began to jog to keep warm. The early afternoon sun was cooled by clouds. Spring in Michigan. Her feet made sucking sounds. The wet ground was still absorbing melted snow. The buds of brown muddy plants were sparsely decorated with bits of color.

Rachel reached the pond. The gray wooden bench was still there, on the edge of the water. As Rachel sat down, she remembered how happy Tamar had been when they bought that house ten or eleven years ago. It was right on the edge of a wildlife refuge. You could watch the birds. Tamar loved to get up early in the morning and keep track of the different species visiting the pond. She sometimes brought her easel down to the pond. Or she sat at her workbench in the den to sketch or paint or sculpt. The paints and paper and clay were now put away.

Rachel inhaled. The pungent odor of decaying vegetation was mixed with spicy aromas of new plant shoots. Rachel heard the call of a bird in flight. She leaned back to look up. The white bird circled the pond twice and then landed on the tall spruce on the opposite side of the pond. The bird was alone. It sat on a high branch for several minutes, looking down at Rachel. Then it flew away. That was the last time she saw it.