My brother Joel did not want chickens but Bethany, his wife, did. He spoke of the squawking and flapping, the copious droppings, the inevitable butchering and did she know what these free eggs actually cost? He ran the numbers. Seven years of eggs before they would break even. Bethany was undeterred. She could feel the warm brown eggs, see the children hurry to the coop to check the nest boxes. Dustyn and Kate were growing up. What father wouldn’t want his eight-year-old son and four-year-old daughter to experience the character building only chickens can offer? 

In the end Joel dropped the “F” word. The word that, spoken inside a marriage, is laden with menace and dark overtures. “Fine. Fine. We’ll get chickens.” 

They got chickens. Joel and Dustyn built a cage in the barn. The chicks grew rapidly on the expensive feed, squawking, flapping. They would need a coop soon, so Bethany found a lady in Oregon who built chicken coops. $500 seemed like a lot, but then, everything is high these days, she explained to Joel. As the coop neared completion, the coop lady would check in with Bethany regarding details. Steel or shingles on the roof? Steel was $200, shingles only $175. Did they want the $50 latch, or the $25 one? “The cheap one,” Bethany whispered into her phone. At last the coop was finished. The total was now $800. Bethany broke this number to Joel as delicately as possible, but there was no easy way. 

“Twelve years,” he said. “You understand Kate will be driving before these eggs will even be cheap?” 

The coop lady would bring the coop to North 40, a farm supply store, in Lewiston, an hour and a half away, where Joel would meet her and bring it home. 

Joel had just returned from an out-of-town trip when Bethany shared the news. The coop was ready! But Joel was now behind at work. He had no half day to spare.

“But you said you’d go get it.” Bethany was gentle. “Maybe I could go…?” No, no, said Joel, he’d get the coop.

The next day, after going in early for work, Joel rushed home, picked up Dustyn and hurried to Lewiston. Bethany had contact information and numbers but there was no time, the coop lady would be there at 2. Joel would call Bethany if there were complications. 

Bethany could not wait to see the coop. The afternoon stretched endlessly before her and it was so hot. They would go swimming. Kate got her sand toys, Bethany tucked some sunscreen into her bag. The river was deep in the canyon with no phone service.

North 40 Outfitters in Lewiston is one of the biggest stores in town. The sprawling asphalt parking lot has multiple entrances. Joel and Dustyn slowly circled the perimeter, watching for a trailer with their coop. They were soon back where they started. Where was the coop lady? They circled again. No coop. The heat was unbelievable. The parking lot shimmered. The truck thermometer read 101. They waited in the truck, the AC wide open, the condensation puddling beneath the hood. Joel texted Bethany. If he had the coop lady’s number, he could reach out and see what was up. Bethany didn’t respond. After ten minutes Joel and Dustyn crept around the parking lot once more. Could the coop be hidden in a stock trailer? That actually might be it. They patrolled the parking lot again and found a horse trailer. Joel got out and tacked over alongside it, bouncing up on his toes as he passed. It was empty. Soon though, another horse trailer pulled in. “That’s gotta be her!” cried Dustyn. They sped alongside and Joel lowered his window, beaming. Should he apologize for the wait, or should she? 

“You have a coop for us? I’m Joel.”

The old lady inside gazed wordlessly at them, uncomprehending, suspicious. 

Joel raised his window and moved away. Dustyn fell back, silent in disappointment. They parked, waiting. Joel called Bethany again. Texted her. WhatsApp, voicemail, email. This was her coop, her chickens, and she couldn’t even answer her phone. They worked out a circuit of action. Circle the parking lot until the truck cab was cool. Park. Wait the ten minutes until the cab heated up unbearably. Start the truck, let it idle for twelve minutes, turn off the engine, wait as the cab grew hot. Circle the lot the other way. Over and over Joel called Bethany. Where was she, okay, how is she not answering? They walked through the store a few times, but what if the coop lady pulled in and they weren’t to be found? Had anyone seen a trailer with a chicken coop, they asked the cashiers and yard workers. Anything like that at all? No one had. Hours passed. 2:00 was long gone. Joel checked his phone again and again and again. 

As the sun slid toward the horizon, Bethany rose off the sand. They should be getting back. The men would be home anytime now. It was still so hot though. An iced coffee would finish out her afternoon nicely. While she waited in line, she noticed her phone, blinking ominously. Seventeen missed calls from Joel, twelve texts from Joel. WHERE ARE YOU CALL ME NOW. CALL ME. CALL ME IMMEDIATELY. She pulled up the coop lady’s texts. Pick up Friday the 18^th. And today was…. today was Thursday the 17^th.

Joel and Dustyn were in the store, listlessly standing in line with some small, frivolous purchases. Dustyn leaned silently against Joel’s hip. Joel’s phone rang. “Hello,” said Joel to his wife. His voice was low. It was cold and distant and it did what Bethany’s untouched iced coffee had not done; it chilled her through and through. 

The Call, as we shall know it, went down in one of two different ways, depending on who tells it. Bethany says Joel hung up on her. Joel however, insists he did not hang up, only he was ringing up his goods and was distracted and had to go. Whatever happened, or whoever to believe, the Call was brief. Bethany moved too soon, she says, with some humor that did not land well. Go, she said, to the gun desk, buy a firearm, bring it home and shoot me. It was at this point that Joel allegedly ended the call.

When Joel got home he called the coop lady and told her they did not want a chicken coop after all. The lady was amiable enough and the relationship was terminated. Bethany listened quietly. She did not, as we say, push back. She too, was amiable. She hummed softly in the kitchen. 

After some time passed, and some healing, Joel said he would build a coop himself. He went to the lumberyard with his materials list and was rung up at the counter. He swiped his card. Gil, behind the counter, handed him the receipt. Joel glanced at the total and froze. Eleven hundred dollars. He glared at Gil. “Whoa,” he said. “No.” He told Gil he did not want any of it after all. 

Gil hesitated. “You want to return all of it…?” 

“Yes,” Joel said, “all of it.” Gil bent over his keyboard and began returning the first item. After that he returned the second item. The receipt was long and the process arduous. The small talk, the chit-chat to pass the time was strained. At last they were done and Joel signed off on the transaction. Eleven hundred dollars spent, eleven hundred returned. Gil watched him walk out the door. He shook his head.

Some more time passed. The chickens grew large and messy in their tiny cage in the barn. “I could maybe make a bigger pen in the barn,” said Bethany quietly. Joel went behind the shop and found old boards. He hired his dad to build what he could with what he had. It’s not a bad coop, to think of its journey and the toll it took on their small family.