Okay, so this IS a week where I double post, imagine that. Hi guys! I just absolutely failed an exam that I skipped a Snow Patrol concert to study for and am a very sad individual right now. But I went and checked my email and saw a bunch of guest reviews and I just wanted to say thank you to Anonymous V and Permisable! You guys could not have better timing, I appreciate your kindness so much. I am so happy you're enjoying the story! (I am highkey trash for Birdie and Eric, all of my friends hate me because I talk about them all the time. So, it's nice to know Birdie is growing on you, too!).
The song for this chapter is one of my favorites because it is SUCH a mood. It is "Haunt" by the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. Such VIBES y'all. And now I'll leave you to your reading! Thank you so much again for supporting me and this story. It means the world.
-lightinside
04.| Haunt
The next morning, Birdie awoke with the sun and readied herself for work. Her limbs were heavy with sleep as she showered and dried her hair. And it seemed that the more coffee she drank, the more she yawned. She didn't understand how she could be so exhausted. She hardly ever dreamed anymore. She hadn't been inhibited by nightmares in months. Pleasant dreams were even harder to come by.
Though Sam had promised not to force the usual Merlotte's uniform on her, it was much too hot for anything other than shorts. With a resigned sigh, Birdie crawled into her car and drove to work, travel mug in hand. She was still yawning when she bumped the front door of Merlotte's open with her hip.
"You'll let flies in that way." Arlene Fowler called, letting down the chairs that were stacked on top of the tables. "Don't you sleep?"
"Sometimes." Birdie called back, scowling at the red-headed waitress. The word had less bite to it than she wanted. She meandered back toward the kitchen and stowed her bags in the lockers reserved for staff. Her mug stayed in her hand. She took a long sip of coffee, relishing the way it warmed her throat despite the heat outside. She hoped the caffeine would hit her soon enough.
Lafayette was not yet in the kitchen. Birdie tried to control her disappointment when she saw Terry, Arlene's husband, milling around there instead. Waving politely, she bid him good morning and then excused herself to help Arlene set up the dining area.
"Where in the world is Sookie?" Arlene demanded, crossing her arms. It took a moment for Birdie to realize that Arlene directed this question at her.
"I really don't know." Birdie answered, beginning to put out salt and pepper on the tables that were now clear. "Was she supposed to be here?"
"That girl." Arlene said, shaking her head. It wasn't that Arlene was particularly loud, but she was shrill. And that made up the difference plenty. "I swear, she shouldn't even have this job. She's always callin' out, always late. I don't know why Sam keeps her around."
Birdie stared at her, incredulous. "You know somethin', Arlene? I'm not so sure I'm the person you should be sayin' this to."
Arlene suddenly seemed to remember who it was exactly that she was complaining to. Her cheeks turned the same shade of red as her hair as she stammered, turning her back on Birdie to clumsily continue her job. Birdie shook her head and had to consciously close her mouth. That southern charm that Birdie had nearly forgotten reared its head. The gossip of the locals. People that felt the need, claimed the right, to voice their biased opinions about things they had no real knowledge of.
Birdie was reminded of just how much Arlene was a part of that petty practice almost every time she opened her mouth. It didn't mean that Arlene was not a good person. She was one of the kindest people that Birdie knew. But she had a very unfortunate habit of sticking her nose where it absolutely did not belong.
Birdie chewed her lip for a minute as she unloaded her trays. Napkins, salt, pepper, repeat. Finally, she sighed. "Arlene?" She watched as Arlene turned around, a fresh blush of embarrassment staining her cheeks. "Just cut her some slack, alright? Sookie does a lot around here. Even you can't deny her that."
Arlene's mouth opened and closed a few times. Birdie thought she looked a lot like a fish. Gaping and alarmed, much as she should have been. Though it was the decent response, Birdie felt guilty. "I guess I can't." The woman admitted and turned her back to Birdie again. That was that. Birdie wondered how long it would take before Arlene could look her in the eye. A few days, at the most. She would be embarrassed long after Birdie stopped thinking about the encounter entirely.
As they readied the restaurant to open, Birdie settled into a familiar rhythm that she thought would be lost to her. It was easy. And she didn't dread the customers, though she knew they would whisper behind her back. Birdie had Mrs. Fortenberry to thank for that. Declining the job that she pulled strings to set up was like spitting in her face. While Birdie thought that a dramatic comparison, she knew the way people thought in Bon Temps. And that wasn't too far from the mark.
"Ready?" Terry called. "Kitchen's up and running."
"Hold your horses, Terry Belfleur." Arlene shouted huffily. "There's only two of us out here doin' all this work." She glanced back at Birdie almost shyly. No doubt testing the atmosphere to see if Birdie would hold her in unforgiveness. "How's it comin' over there, honey?"
"It's comin'." Birdie replied with a smile, setting out the last of the napkins. "I think that should do it." She wiped at her forehead, mildly warm even with the air conditioning working as hard as it could to cool the bar and grill. "It's sweltering out there." She sighed. "I'd forgotten about that part."
"Oh, my." Arlene laughed nervously. "It must be strange to be back after all that time."
Birdie nodded. "Yeah. It has its moments."
Arlene bobbed her head, as if she wasn't sure what to say. And when she excused herself to go retrieve more napkins, though there was no need for them, Birdie let her go. Blessedly, people began to trickle in and Birdie never had to be left to her own thoughts. She smiled and jotted down orders and took them to Terry to carry out. She fetched ketchup and mustard and extra napkins and drinks and sidestepped several hands that reached out, hoping to graze her backside.
If Lafayette had been there, no one would have dared such behavior. But Lafayette never came in to work. Terry was too lost in the chaos of the kitchen to notice anything else. Birdie didn't hold it against him. He was already of a nervous disposition. He rarely looked anyone in the eye. The fact that he was functioning as well as he did was a marvel to Birdie. If she had been to war and was haunted every day the way Terry was, she wasn't sure that she could do much of anything afterward.
The day passed. Sookie never showed up and Arlene only grew shriller. It wasn't until Holly Cleary came in, five hours after Birdie's shift should have been over, that Birdie was able to unofficially clock out.
Holly seemed kind. Petite and blonde, around Arlene's age – it seemed that she got along with everyone. And when she turned her sweet smile on Birdie and asked for help with one last table, Birdie found it nearly impossible to refuse her. Without even slipping her apron back on, Birdie bustled to the kitchen and picked up the two plates waiting for her and thanked Terry with a smile. His lips flickered in an attempt to return it and he ducked his head.
Birdie grinned as she rounded the corner, only to realize that her intended table seated Maxine Fortenberry and her son Hoyt. Hoyt was a lovely man, Birdie knew that from all the praise that dripped from Jason Stackhouse like honey. Hoyt was his best friend. Hell, probably his only friend outside of Birdie and his sister. A horndog if ever there was one. Always in the middle of trouble. But Hoyt paid no mind to what people tried to whisper in his ear about Jason or Sookie.
She wondered if he would do the same for her.
Birdie forced herself to keep the grin plastered to her face as she stopped right in front of Mrs. Fortenberry. And prayed silently to God that the sour look on her face wouldn't evaporate Birdie where she stood. "Hi, y'all. A burger and fries and one shrimp and grits?"
"I'm the burger." Hoyt said, smiling broadly. "Damn, Bird, it's good to see you."
"It's good to see you, too." Birdie said earnestly, setting down the plates in front of them. "Just as handsome as ever, I see." She winked conspiratorially at Hoyt, who blushed even though he laughed. It was the truth – Hoyt was very handsome in an endearing sort of way. He'd been a well-behaved little boy and had grown into a gracious, humble young man.
"Nah." He said, shaking his head. "You must have somethin' in your eye."
Birdie giggled, barely holding back a snort. But the mood of the table evaporated as Maxine opened her mouth. "You gave up a job at the salon to go back to bussin' tables." Her voice oozed judgement and disappointment. "I don't know why I tried helpin' you distinguish yourself. Can't plug your nose and pretend the trash doesn't smell."
Birdie's smile evaporated. As did Hoyt's. He turned on his mother, fire in his eyes. "Damn it, Mama." He hissed. "Apologize right now."
"I will do no such thing." She said, turning her nose up in the air. "Small-minded, low station help. I should have known. Same as your mama. Only she didn't run around with fangers. She would roll over in her grave if she could see you now."
Hoyt leapt up from his chair, gaining the attention of at least half the bar. Birdie was hardly aware of it. Her skin was prickling, her heart hammering. Her hands shook, not with fear but with the intensity of the anger that swept through her like a raging storm. She could vaguely hear Hoyt, voice raised, taking up for her.
Arlene came sweeping around the corner at the sound of the commotion, a little too eager to simply be concerned. Birdie was having an out of body experience, all the while trying to calm down. Trying to convince herself that Maxine didn't mean what she said. No one could be that cruel. No one could be that awful.
Finally, just as Hoyt threw his napkin on the table, the sound came rushing back into Birdie's ears. She paused, flattening her palms against her thighs, and swallowed hard against the lump that had formed in her throat.
"Mrs. Fortenberry…" Birdie tried not to notice the way that everyone went quiet to see what she said next. "While I understand you might be upset that I didn't take the opportunity you set up for me, know that I do not understand how you can be so spiteful. I do not understand how you can sit there and insult someone you never took the time to know."
Maxine's mouth fell open and she put a meaty hand to her heart. "Why, I never!"
But Birdie wasn't finished. "And furthermore, you may say what you like about me. But you will never again breathe another poisoned word against my mama. Or Sookie Stackhouse." She rubbed her balmy hands against her shorts and straightened her shoulders. "I feel sorry for you. With a tongue as forked as yours, you can't have many real friends. And I imagine that must be very lonely indeed."
Maxine Fortenberry looked like she might have a heart attack. No one spoke. And then suddenly, Hoyt began to grin. He extended an arm to Birdie with a flourish. "I couldn't have said it better myself. May I escort you home?"
"Hoyt!" Maxine cried breathlessly. Arlene was watching raptly, a hand over her mouth. But even that couldn't hide the gleam in her eye that let Birdie know the whole town would know of this exchange before sundown.
"Thank you, Hoyt." Birdie took his arm and allowed him to lead her from Merlotte's. From the corner of her eye, she saw Holly dragging Arlene away from the scene she'd caused, even as Arlene tried to whisper excitedly in her ear.
Birdie fought back a blush, avoiding curious gazes as Hoyt held open the door for her. Her skin itched a little less than before, but the sensation was replaced by the sinking feeling that she might upchuck all over her shoes. She wouldn't lose her job for telling Maxine Fortenberry off. Sam wouldn't be upset with her for long, if at all. But to have done it in front of all those people…
No sooner than they reached Birdie's car, Hoyt crowed triumphantly. "God Almighty, Birdie, you cooked the old crow good."
"Hoyt!" Birdie couldn't even find the strength to smack his arm. Not when nausea still lingered so near. "That's your mama."
He only laughed. "Even I know how horrible she can be. I'm beyond thrilled that you stood up to her. Most people don't. And besides. You can't choose your family. I don't like the way she talks about people. I don't have to defend her."
Birdie shook her head. "I didn't know whether to walk out or break her nose." That made Hoyt laugh even harder. "I'm sorry." Birdie covered her face with her hands. "You know she can do that to people."
"Believe me, I know it better than anybody."
"I'm so sorry, Hoyt." She said again, running her hands through her hair. "That was unprofessional. And just… I shouldn't have."
"You should have." Hoyt said seriously, taking her arm. "I mean it, Birdie. Don't you dare let anyone in this town piss all over you without even the courtesy of callin' it rain. Call it like you see it. I know you're capable. And if you hold back to save the feelings of someone who doesn't care a thing about yours, I'll be awful mad."
Birdie nodded. "Okay. Alright. Thank you. For this and for stickin' up for me."
Hoyt grinned. "Anytime, Bird. I've got your back."
"If I didn't know it before, I do now." She dug her keys from her apron and jingled them in her hand. "You don't really have to escort me home, you know. But there's pecan pie at the house if you'd like a slice."
"Well, I'm certainly not going back in there." Hoyt scowled in the direction of the front door. "You sure you don't mind?"
"Of course not! I'll even drop you home if you want to leave your mama the truck."
"I left the keys on the table anyway." Hoyt sighed. "I'd really appreciate it, Birdie."
"Come on, then." Birdie unlocked the car and cranked the ignition. And on the way back home, she found herself telling Hoyt the things she couldn't bear to confess to anyone other than Sookie. He, in turn, told her about Jessica Hanby. His vampire girlfriend. Birdie's mouth fell open before she could stop it, causing Hoyt to turn a deep red.
"Yeah, I know." He muttered, rubbing at his neck. "But she's the best girl I know. The kindest, most wonderful, loving person I know."
"That's all that matters." Birdie said. Hoyt breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm just surprised Maxine hasn't called together a prayer circle to throw holy water on you yet."
"That's a very real possibility." Hoyt replied, huffing a laugh. "It doesn't matter, though. I sort of love her. Jessica. I really love her. It's done – I'm gone." He shrugged. "Whatever happens now is out of my hands."
Birdie had a fleeting thought as she drove. Blue eyes and a wicked smile and a cup full of blood. Her cheeks flamed.
That was an accurate assessment if she'd ever heard one.
xxx
After fulfilling her promise of pie and a ride home to Hoyt, Birdie found herself back in her mother's house again. Hair pulled away from her neck, music blasting, she continued what she started the day before. This time, she didn't need Tara's help.
Sorting the clothes was easier somehow. More methodical than sentimental. She had what she wanted – the dress and her mother's jewelry and some photo albums that hadn't yet been looked through. But that was enough. And everything else, Birdie decided to make her own. The older pieces of furniture that had been there when she returned were painstakingly pushed and pulled and tripped over all the way to the side of the road at the end of the driveway.
Whoever came across them would have a field day. It was all in good shape – clean and ready to be used for ten more years at least. But Birdie had to get them out, to give them away. Even though the house was emptier, each piece of furniture that was left was distinctly hers. That made her feel a little lighter than before. She could breathe easier.
As the sun set over Bon Temps, Birdie poured herself a generous glass of wine and sat down primly in the floor. In front of her were at least thirty-five boxes full of nothing but books, sent from Portland courtesy of the ex-fiancée.
It was her ritual. Whenever she began to feel settled in a new place, Birdie would gingerly unpack and organize her books. The shelves never looked the same, never held the same pattern. That was what she found so soothing. It was a minor thing that was in her total control. She could do whatever she liked to it. And so she did.
Birdie felt like it took hours to unload them all. But then there they were, stacked and staggered all across the floor.
She retreated into the quiet place within her mind and began her work.
Later, Birdie stood looking at five very full bookshelves with a distant smile on her face. It was past midnight, and she'd gone through half a bottle of wine while she worked. Her head was buzzing, her knees ached, and even though it was by no means the finishing touch on her mother's house, Birdie felt complete. As if the history held between within those walls would never find a way to touch her again.
As she readied herself for bed, there was a soft knock at the door.
Cautiously, Birdie pulled on her robe and padded toward the source of the noise. But when she went to peek out the window, there was no one on the porch. Only a box.
She dialed Sookie immediately.
"Birdie?" Her friend didn't sound remotely tired. Undoubtedly, she was spending her evening with Bill. "Are you okay?"
"Fine." She tried to keep her heavy tongue from slurring her words. "Listen, someone just dropped a box off on my porch and I just wanted to be on the phone, you know. When I open the door to get it. Just in case someone with foul intentions tries to whisk me away or something." Birdie fidgeted nervously, eyes still on the box outside.
"Do you want me to come over?"
"No, just consider yourself my witness." Birdie murmured, attempting a laugh. It came out almost like a wheeze. She opened the door gingerly and peered out before stepping toward the package. She snatched it up and disappeared inside, locking the door with shocking speed.
"What is it?" Sookie asked. "Who sent it?"
Birdie sighed. "Give me a second." She put the phone on speaker and set it down next to the elongated box. Curiously, she studied it. White with a black silk bow tied around the middle, no card on the outside. Long enough for a flower. With nimble fingers, Birdie lifted the top of the box and prayed there was no trick underneath.
There wasn't. Only a small bunch of red flowers. Birdie's breath caught in her throat when she recognized them. Bleeding hearts.
On top of them, there was a note.
If ever you should need to forget.
Birdie dropped the note, heart hammering. There was no signature, there didn't need to be. The paper was black, the ink white. At the bottom of the page was a logo – fangs. This note, these flowers, they had come from Fangtasia.
"Birdie?" Sookie's voice caused her to flinch. She had forgotten that her friend was even on the line. "Are you alright? What is it?"
"Nothing." Birdie tried to keep her voice even. "Another box of my things from Oliver." Please don't hear the lie, don't hear the lie, don't hear the lie.
"Oh!" Sookie exclaimed. There was an edge of sarcasm to her voice "Wonderful. Maybe in about ten years' time, you'll finally have all your things."
Birdie forced herself to laugh. It sounded less like wheezing this time and more like a cough caught in her throat. She cleared it, just in case. "Yeah. Well, anyway. No fire. I'll let you get on with your night – tell Bill I say hello."
"I will! How would you feel about the three of us meeting for dinner one night? I would love for you two to meet."
"Sure!" Birdie said, still staring at the note that lay atop the bleeding hearts. It made her own heart do rather funny things inside her chest. "I would love that. Just say when."
What if I accepted the offer?
Birdie started at her own train of thought and shoved it aside. No. She couldn't do that, could she? That would be absolutely mad. She'd seen Eric Northman, perched atop his throne. He was perfectly accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted. It was some game, made infinitely more interesting because Birdie had refused him. It wasn't a threat or a demand. Only an offer. And that was what Birdie found curious.
She chewed her lip as she considered the facts. Bleeding hearts. Is that what he thought of her? What would she do? Her bare feet suddenly itched, her limbs restless suddenly, as if there was somewhere she had to be.
"Birdie." Sookie's voice brought her back to reality. "Are you listening to me?"
"Sorry, what?"
"How's tomorrow after sundown?" Sookie emphasized the words in a way that made Birdie think she'd already said them several times.
"Perfect." Birdie said. "I'll meet you at yours?"
"Sounds like a plan!" Sookie squealed happily. "Now, get some rest. And lock the side-door."
Birdie smiled. "I will and I did. Goodnight, Sook."
After hanging up the phone, Birdie took one last look at the bleeding hearts in their box. Gently, she placed the top back on the box, leaving the note inside. Putting the flowers in a vase would raise the possibility that one of her friends would see them. They would ask questions that Birdie didn't have answers to.
Birdie slid the box on top of the fridge with no small amount of reluctance. And after checking all the doors, she went upstairs and cut out the light.