Bron the Nightingale

Mother and Child

Mother and Child

“Love can be nurtured, but it must never be forced. To try to force it is to destroy its very foundation.”

– Olivia Hernandez

Mr. Bell had Olivia sign some papers which gave her temporary parental rights.

Bron noticed that she was left-handed, just like him.

“There will be a lot to do,” Mr. Bell offered as the three of them began walking toward the front door of the school. She’d want to get Bron on her insurance, set up ground rules for him so that he’d know what was expected. Mr. Bell assured Olivia that it was always difficult for kids to adjust to a new school, new family. He promised counseling services to help them through this “initial phase.”

Bron figured that Olivia was going to need some counseling. He’d met women like this before, women so desperate for a child that they’d latch onto the first one they could.

Where the hell is her husband? Bron wondered. Doesn’t he even want to see me?

The fact that Olivia had gone kid-shopping without Mike told Bron that his new foster parents weren’t in this together. They might fight if Olivia took him home. At the very least, Mike would spend time pouting. Yeah, Olivia needed counseling.

Yet Bron didn’t dare object. The school, he decided, was pretty cool. Olivia seemed generous, and Bron wouldn’t have to slave to take care of other people’s children.

If he had to spend the next two years someplace, this might be a good one. He didn’t want to mess up this chance.

He could put up with a cold foster father, or with a woman who was dumb enough to think that in two years she could become a real mother to him.

Mr. Bell assured Olivia, “You’re going to like Bron. I think that he’s going to be perfect for your little family. You know, a lot of times, I do my best to match people up, and it just doesn’t work. But sometimes this is a great job. Sometimes I find a kid and a family, and they fit perfectly.”

Once the three passed out the door, the scenery smote Bron again. Tuacahn High School was situated on the edge of a state park. Overhead on either side of the school were gorgeous rock walls that rose fifteen hundred feet almost straight up, in columns of hoodoos that, in the angled light, seemed like giant sculptures of ancient kings, their faces eroded by wind and rain. The rock walls formed a canyon that wound back behind the school in a V for more than a mile. Lush green trees and brush lined the rocky creek bed, until gradually the creek climbed up into the hills.

The lawns on campus were vibrant green, and next to the high school was a professional theater, the Tuacahn Center for the Performing Arts. The architecture had been fused into something of a modern Aztec flavor, made of stone colored to match the reds and tans of the native sandstone in the region. Much of the area between the schools was left open to the air, but soon gave way to a covered area for picnic tables, snack booths, and some shops that sold knickknacks to tourists.

Along the walls of the buildings, huge posters announced the summer season’s plays at the theater: “Tarzan,” “Cats,” and “Crazy for You.”

As the grounds transformed gracefully from the school building to the courtyard and theater, it seemed as if the school and Broadway were somehow physically connected. Though it was early afternoon and the next play wouldn’t be starting for hours, a snack shop was open. He could smell fresh popcorn.

Bron stood just peering around. Something was missing.

Mr. Bell asked, “What are you looking for?”