The Woodpecker

            Although he’d heard the woodpecker knocking for months, it wasn’t until late June that Terry discovered the animal had been pecking holes in his storage shed. On Saturday morning he’d intended to mow the lawn and water the garden, but the holes, ugly and gaping, looked like someone had shot up the top of the left side of his shed with a BB gun. He put his hand up to the divots, felt each indentation where the woodpecker’s beak had missed, and poked his finger through to the other side of the wall. So that’s what the little fucker had been doing out here each morning. Sneering at Terry’s work.

            He’d built the entire shed himself—it took about two months to plan, build and paint blue—and once it was finished, he and his wife, Nicole, had popped open a bottle of champagne and made love on the hard wooden floor. Terry doubted he could ever put anything in the shed better looking than his wife, so he stuck in his lawn mower, gardening tools, a television, a rocking chair, and decided to call it his “man cave,” despite his hatred of the phrase. He didn’t know what else to call it. Now, one year later, the woodpecker was ruining of all of his hard work. Terry would get his revenge. From what he’d observed so far, the damn thing seemed only to peck in the morning, so tomorrow morning, Sunday morning, would be the moment to wage his counterattack.

            After lunch, he spent his afternoon in the spare bedroom where he kept his guns, ensuring he had all the parts for the pellet gun he would use to kill the woodpecker. The cold metal grip against his hand warmed to his touch as he tightened his fingers and picked the gun off the bed, shifting his hips, head, and arms to his shooting stance. He kept his finger off the trigger but imagined what it would feel like to squeeze and get his retribution: all of his problems solved with a single tug.

            He stepped out of his stance. As he lowered the gun onto the bed, he started laughing. His biggest nemesis was now a woodpecker? Of all things? Terry felt like Wile E. Coyote. He imagined heaving a cartoon anvil over the woodpecker and flattening it out on the concrete next to the shed. At least in the real world he’d be able to take out the thing with only a pellet gun. Then he could spend the rest of his Sunday afternoon relaxing. There wouldn’t be any cartoonish falls or near misses like Wile E’s to worry about. He took the gun apart and inspected its insides. He’d have to clean it. That’d be the best way to get off the kill shot. 

            The door creaked open. Nicole, with one hand on the doorknob and the other on her hip, stood there, just shaking her head. It wasn’t the guns she disapproved of—she didn’t like the amount of time he spent with them. One afternoon, after he’d cleaned and polished the six in his collection, he went back downstairs to the family room where she was watching TV. She looked up at the clock on the wall, said, “You just missed out on two orgasms,” and changed the channel without a backward glance.

            Of course, she said the same thing about all of his hobbies she wasn’t a part of. When he went out for a beer with his buddies, he’d be missing out on three orgasms. When he washed, waxed, vacuumed, and polished his 1969 Shelby, he’d be missing out on five orgasms. It was usually some random number, but Terry had slowly figured out it was time related. And yet, he’d never mastered her mathematical formula.

            Before Nicole could say a word, Terry rushed over, swept her feet out from under her, and wrapped her in a bear hug. Compared to him, she was tiny. At five-foot-five, all of Terry’s six-foot-one seemed enough to crush her, and yet, he could feel every muscle in her body struggle against him, clenching tight, trying to escape. He put her back down on the ground and marveled. She still looked great in sweatpants, without makeup. Her messy blonde hair smelled like something floral, and it was long enough to graze her shoulders. They’d gotten married two years ago, but she seemed sexier and sexier every time Terry saw her. 

            “Afternoon to you, too.”

            “I’m gonna get that goddamn woodpecker,” he said.

            “Sure, hun,” she said. “What do you want for dinner?”

            “I’m gonna kill it, make it an example for all the other dumb woodpeckers out there. ‘Don’t mess with the Thompson family, they’ll kill ya.’”

            Nicole crossed her arms. “You’re going to kill it? Is that the best idea?” she said.

            “Yep,” Terry said. “Pecker messed with the wrong person.” He looked over at the gun on the bed. Nicole rolled her eyes and shook her head.

            “Dinner will be ready at six,” she said with a fake smile plastered on her face. Somehow, she made him feel stupid while using the fewest possible words. But that’s what families were for, right? He had gotten used to that feeling a long time ago.

            Terry arrived in the kitchen promptly because he didn’t want to make Nicole any moodier. He helped her set the table and carved the chicken. As a treat, he filled their wine glasses from the bottle of Riesling they’d picked up in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee back in April. They’d spent a long weekend in the Great Smoky Mountains, in a cabin Terry rented for cheap because his buddy managed the property. Though Terry enjoyed the weekend, spending time outside, watching rabbits and deer eat grass and berries in the woods, Nicole seemed restless.

            With no phone service, her fists had clenched when her Blackberry refused to send off the “important” email to her boss. Instead of letting it go until Monday morning, she took the car and holed up in the Pigeon Forge Starbucks until they closed at midnight. By Saturday evening, Terry had enough. He didn’t want to spend money on the tourist traps, but he didn’t know what else to do. So, that night they drove go-karts on the slick-track. They went on the Rocky Top Wine Trail and got a little too drunk, finally heading back to the cabin to drink their bottle of muscadine wine and undress each other in the hot tub. The next day, she’d woken up with a headache and slept through most of the eight-hour drive back to Maryland. As soon as she was home, Nicole fired up her laptop and spent the rest of the night catching up on work. Even though he waited for her to sit next to him so they could watch a movie together, Terry fell asleep on the couch. 

            Terry shoveled some chicken into his mouth—unusually dry. Weird. Nicole’s chicken had consistently been the best he’d ever eaten. The next bite was the same, no juice at all. He gulped his wine and checked the window. No, it was too late for a woodpecker to be out there.

            Nicole hadn’t started eating yet. Usually, she dug right in. He considered reaching his hand over to hers, but instead, he laid his silverware across his plate and watched her stare at the chicken in the middle of the table.

            There were a million things that could be bothering her, but he knew which one was the most pressing. “Maybe you should just go to the doctor?” Terry said.

            “And pay thirty dollars for the same thing I can get for three at the drug store? It’s not worth it.” She put her hands in her lap. 

            “How many have you taken already?”

            “Just the one,” she said. “I haven’t done the second one yet. I’m worried….”

            “Well just take the other one. Then you can be sure.”

            “I should want it.” She shrugged. “Terry, I’m just not ready yet.”

            Nicole’s face transformed into to the one she always made when she was on the verge of tears, her lips a straight line and her eyes wide. That look always made him uncomfortable because he never knew what to do once she started crying. It didn’t happen often. In fact, the only night he had seen her cry—before their engagement, even—was about six months after they started dating. It was the night she learned she hadn’t gotten the job she had interviewed for at a swanky DC marketing firm.

            It was the same night Terry was going to take her out for steak to celebrate their six-month anniversary. But when he’d walked into Nicole’s apartment and saw her drinking wine, staring at her phone and making that face, he knew they’d just be ordering a pizza and watching whatever was on TV. After the pizza, though, to his relief, they’d ended up skipping the movie for a few hours in bed and some of the best sex of Terry’s life.

            Looking back now, he realized that he’d never actually said anything substantive to her that night. He’d just put his arm around her shoulder and let her cry until she said she had it all out of her system. But, because he hadn’t said anything then, he had no idea what he could possibly say now. A hug was definitely out of the question at the dinner table.

            “Honey, you know I just want what is best for us,” he said.

            She shook her head. “Sure.”

            “Why don’t you just go straight to bed after dinner? Relax. Don’t worry about the test until morning,” he said.

            The teary face seemed to be clearing up and Terry saw the faint trace of a smile.

            “Yeah, okay.”

            “I’ll do these dishes and everything,” Terry said. “Just take the night off, whatever you need.” Maybe a night alone would be good? He could mentally prep for his woodpecker encounter. Then, in the morning, they could both see what the pregnancy test would reveal.

            “Thanks hun,” she said and finally picked up her silverware.

            He nodded and stabbed at his green beans. His thoughts refocused on his plan for the woodpecker. He’d hunted birds before, sure, but they were bigger—pheasants, ducks, geese. It might he harder to aim for a smaller target. Anyway, he didn’t know anything about woodpeckers, just that the one in his yard was active around dawn. The internet might help. He’d do his research and make certain that the woodpecker died. He was halfway through his second bite of green beans when Nicole sniffled.

            “But what if I really am?” She bit her bottom lip.

            Terry had hoped to avoid this conversation. “Then we’ll just have to deal with it.”

            “Deal with it? It’s not a card game.” She rolled her eyes and threw down her fork. “I can’t talk to you about anything,” she said, clearing her place as loudly as she could. Hopefully, she wasn’t chipping their nice plates with her furious silverware. She got up and neglected to push in her chair—something she usually did. Terry said nothing. Nicole dropped her plate and silverware in the sink with a clatter and stared out the window. 

            The next thing he knew, Terry thought he could hear the woodpecker. Taps came in quick succession. It was out there, right now, making swiss cheese of his shed. Never mind that it was too late, too dark, too humid. When he looked to the window, though, the bird wasn’t there. Maybe he had imagined it. Nicole, standing against the kitchen counter, laughed and rapped her fingernails against the wooden cutting board again.

            Terry’s body released the tension he didn’t realize it had been holding.  

            “Are you sure you want to kill it,” Nicole said. “I don’t see why we can’t just buy one of those fake owls that’ll scare it away.”

            “Come on, Nic. It’s been messing with me. I need revenge.”

            “I wish you were a better listener.”

            “Oh, come on. I can listen just fine. Talk away. How do you feel about this again?”

            Nicole pushed the cutting board into the sink, where it thunked like dropped firewood. “Like you really care,” she said. “Just worry about that woodpecker, it’s way more important than I am.” She whipped past him and headed for the stairs.

            Terry tried to grab her hand, but she was too fast for him, and he watched her walk away. He chose not to call after her. Tonight, she would cool off and then everything would be better in the morning.

            While he didn’t exactly want a baby right now, it wouldn’t ruin his life to have a child. He and Nicole had discussed children before their marriage, but it was always theoretical. On their second date, a vegetarian place in downtown Frederick, Nicole had confessed over their hummus appetizer that she just wanted one daughter—after her career took off. And Terry had smiled. He wanted a son, but he wasn’t really concerned with any of the details. He could leave that to his future wife, he said and winked, which made Nicole blush.

            After being together for so long—four years in January—nothing made Nicole blush anymore. Alone in the kitchen, he heard her footsteps, the creaking of the wood floor over his head, and wished to go back to that moment, when everything was new and exciting.

            He gathered all the dishes from the table, including Nicole’s untouched wine glass, which he sipped as he prepped the dishwasher for its load. What would Nicole do if she decided she didn’t want to have a baby right now? There were only two options, so one of them would have to compromise. Neither of them had ever been great at compromise.

            It was hard to sneak into bed with Nicole hogging all the blankets. He’d have to somehow maneuver her so he could untangle the sheet from her right leg, and then he’d have to move her to the other side for the blanket. To manage all of that without waking her was impossible. Terry decided to go for the sheet—he didn’t need the blanket—it was a muggy night. As he rolled Nicole over, he felt how hot her skin was. How strange that her body temperature only rose when she slept. The first night they’d had sex, she’d been so cold and so nervous that she quivered. 

            It snowed that night, something that almost never happened on Christmas Eve in Maryland, and her skin was so icy he just wanted to press himself upon her and stay as long as he could. They’d been dating for two months, and Terry was surprised he could go without sex for that long. It was a part of his Christmas present, she said, their first night sleeping together. She shivered through foreplay, her shaky hands on his back, until he slipped inside her. Her fingers and lips instantly thawed, and she smiled as Terry bent lower for a kiss. In that moment, he realized he didn’t want to sleep with anyone else ever again.

            Caught up in remembering, Terry didn’t notice how long he was taking to untangle the sheet. He knocked her leg. Nicole sighed and turned over, making the little work he’d done meaningless, because the sheet wrapped around her leg even more tightly than before. He risked it, reaching for her leg and yanking it from under her. 

            Nicole sat up. “Can’t you even go to bed without waking me up?” She growled like a cat, and fell back against her pillow, pulling the heavier blanket closer. As much as Terry wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, he simply flopped down on the mattress and wiggled around until he found a comfortable position. When sleep finally came, he dreamed that Nicole gave birth to a woodpecker and the only thing left of his shed was a pile of sawdust in the backyard.

            The alarm blared before dawn—five A.M. on a Sunday could never be “bright” and early—it was just early. His hunting gear sat in the back of his closet, but he wouldn’t need to wear all of it. Not for a backyard hunt. Quietly searching, he stepped inside the closet with a flashlight and found his woodland camouflage pants and vest. The gun holster attached to his belt and the belt slid through his pant loops. His boots, under the bed, would need some finessing from their spot because he didn’t want to shake anything and see another snarl on Nicole’s face. After he managed it—soundlessly, somehow—he felt prepped and ready for battle. 

            It was still dark as he ate his breakfast and drank his coffee, but in late June, dawn kept coming earlier and earlier each day. Sipping the last bit of coffee, he thought about how he’d once heard, in some old documentary, that soldiers would repeat, out loud, their battle plans before engaging the enemy. He tried it. “Get in position, wait for the woodpecker, aim, fire, clean up.”

            He tried again, but his voice cracked. And besides, talking out loud felt ridiculous. Why say it out loud when he could do it in his head and get the same results? Anyway, the first pinpricks of light were peeking through the tree cover. It was time to get the gun. He trudged upstairs to the spare room.

            As he opened the gun’s case, Nicole’s alarm blasted out and he jumped—both of his feet left the ground. To his relief, she stopped the noise almost immediately. Her alarm made the same sound as an evacuation warning and it jostled him every time he heard it. He stared down at his weapon and thought he caught his reflection in the shining barrel, but then noticed it was only a few fingerprints he’d left while putting it away. Looking closer, he could see the whorls, loops and arches in each print. They were the marks that made him distinct—an individual. Something no one else would ever share with him.

            He took the gun apart, sliding open the grip to reveal the carbon dioxide cylinder that powered the trigger. He grabbed a fresh cylinder from inside his closet, switched the old one for the new one, and eased the separate pieces back together to make up the whole. 

            Nicole’s alarm blasted through the silence again, but only one of his feet left the floor this time. Unlike the first time, she didn’t turn it off immediately. Terry rushed to his bedroom—gotta stop the sound, gotta turn it off, hate that noise—but as he reached for the clock-radio, Nicole sat up in bed. She looked him up and down. Her expression changed—it was like she’d just popped a Sour Patch Kid into her mouth.

            “What?” Terry said. He pressed the off button, silence at last, and turned away.

            “All of this for a little woodpecker?”

            He was glad she couldn’t see his face, with his teeth clenched together and anger creeping up his neck. What didn’t she understand? This wasn’t just an exercise, wasn’t just for fun—their property was under attack. He’d be killing that damn thing for his home—for their home. How could she say it was just a “little” woodpecker?

            “Fuck you,” he said. “And please, tell me how many orgasms I’ll be missing today. Ten? Ten thousand? Go back to bed,” he said. Without waiting for a response, he walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

            In the backyard, Terry considered the best place to hide. The woodpecker would be there any minute, and he tried to suppress his anger, tried to turn it into adrenaline and motivation, but the irritation wouldn’t stop. Why would Nicole say such a stupid thing? Goddamnit. She must have meant to upset him. Or… wait. Stop. He needed to stop thinking about her and just focus on killing the woodpecker.

            Crouching in the far corner of his yard, next the garden he’d planted when they first moved in, he anticipated the bird’s arrival. The tomatoes were ripe; he’d have to pick some off their vines in the afternoon, after the successful completion of his mission.

            He spotted Nicole watching from the doorway in her robe—she must have been trying to decide whether to come out and talk. When the door slid open, Terry smiled. He might get an apology from her just yet. As she walked over to him, she slipped something pink into her robe’s front pocket.

            “I just meant that we’ve got bigger things to worry about,” she said when she reached his hiding spot.

            “That makes sense,” he said.

            “But I don’t think you should kill it.”

            Terry stood up. “Nicole, I love you very much, but this isn’t up for discussion.”

            “Why not? It’s my backyard, too.”

            Before Terry could answer, the woodpecker descended from a tree branch and perched itself on the trim outlining the doorway of the shed. He reached for his gun.

            Nicole thrust her hand forward, shielding his view. “No!” she said, loud enough to startle the woodpecker. It looked at Terry, then at Nicole, and ruffled its wings as though it would take off. Instead, it turned and began knocking on the shed.

            “Look,” he said, moving her hand, “I’m not sure why you care about this so much. But you can’t change my mind.”

            There was that face again, her crying face, but she wasn’t just threatening the tears, they were already rolling down her cheeks. “I’m definitely pregnant, Terry,” she said, and pulled out the pink pregnancy test from her robe pocket. Two little plus signs.

            The woodpecker knocked on the main support beam of the door. With every peck, the sound echoed louder. It was like the thing would bang once or twice, and then look over at him, like it was taunting him, daring him to shoot. He watched its beak drill deeper into the wood and he tightened his grip on the gun.

            “Terry, did you hear me? I said I’m pregnant.” 

            He couldn’t take his eyes off the woodpecker. “Yes, that’s great, Nicole. But I’ve got this thing cornered.”

            The bird was making some serious progress, concentrating on the spot just above the door, and Terry took aim. Before he could do anything, though, Nicole placed her hand in front of the gun. He studied her—one hand clutching the pregnancy test, her hair still messy from sleep, two angry, squinting eyes—she was just as resolute as he was. Terry pulled the weapon away from her and popped it in the holster.

            “This is a disaster, Terry. I’m not ready for a baby,” she said.

            He tried physically biting his tongue. It only hurt—he still wanted to say something, anything. He still wanted to shout at her for getting in his way. The woodpecker was making that hole bigger and bigger each second Terry did not act. Peck, peck, peck—it came like rapid fire.

            “If you’re not ready for a baby, Nicole, then go get a goddamn abortion. I don’t care.”

            Nicole’s face drooped first, and then her entire body followed—both of her arms dangled like balloons losing helium. She nodded a few times and turned. When she was halfway to the house, Terry realized exactly what he had said. Shit. Of all the things that could’ve come out of his mouth. He had to go after her, but he felt that his feet were rooted to the ground. The woodpecker resumed its assault on the shed. The once-small, almost invisible hole was now a few centimeters in diameter.

            Terry looked from the animal to his wife. She struggled with the sliding glass door. Once she finally wrestled it open, she turned and glared at him. Morning light highlighted the waterfall of tears rushing down her face.

            The woodpecker kept pecking; the tuft of red feathers on its head blurred with each hit. Bam-bam-bam, a relentless loop now inside his ear canals. He heard the sliding glass door slam. An outline of Nicole’s body moved further into the house as if she had to get away. The woodpecker stopped its progress and seemed to gaze at him like it was sizing him up, like it was deciding whether or not it should be worried about him. He sighed and made the gangster movie I’ve-got-my-eyes-on-you move—two fingers to his eyes, then to the bird’s—as though they could both understand the message: This isn’t over. The woodpecker would be back again tomorrow. Today, his wife needed him.

            He found her in the kitchen, slumped against the refrigerator. Her heavy inhales and exhales sounded like asthma wheezes. Terry grasped her hand from behind and she faced him. She crumpled between his arms and he felt her tears on his chest as they hugged. “I’m sorry,” he said, and brushed her hair from her face.

            She let him hug her. He kissed the top of her head at least twenty times. Finally, she looked up. Her eyes were marbles, glassy and wet, with puffy red lines forming beneath them.

            “I didn’t mean it,” Terry said. “I love you so damn much, and I want to take care of you. And our baby.” He placed a hand on her belly.

            Nicole broke eye contact and swatted his hand away. “But what happens if I actually am ready? Are you ready too?” 

            Terry felt like one of his temples had been punctured by the woodpecker’s beak. “You think I’m not?”

            “I don’t know.” Her body stiffened and their hug ended.

            “Even if I’m not, we’ve still got nine months to get ready.” 

            “True. But what if, in nine months, you’re still not ready?”

            “I will be.” When she made eye contact with him again, he gave her a single nod. “Trust me,” he said.

            He watched her hunched shoulders relax and straighten. She mimicked his single nod. “I’ll hold you to it.”

            Terry smiled. “How about we change our clothes and go to Home Depot for one of those owl statues?” he said.

            Nicole beamed, looking genuinely happy for the first time all morning. Maybe even the first time all weekend. As they walked up the stairs holding hands, Terry realized he could no longer hear the woodpecker’s beak boring into the side of his shed.

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