“Sully, come on. It was tasteless, okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Nora. I would never do that. Okay? I’m really sorry.” He gave me a penitent look.
“Are you guys fighting?” Audrey asked.
“We’re discussing in a heated manner,” Luke called up to her, grinning.
“Don’t be a loser, Uncle Luke,” she said, a frown crossing her face.
“I’m trying not to be. I’ve got you as a role model.”
She smiled, then murmured something to Poe.
“Can I stay, Sully?” Luke asked. “I swear to God, I’d never lay a hand on someone under twenty-five. Twenty-three at the very youngest.” He paused. “I don’t have anywhere to go. You won’t let me stay with Mom, and I’m working for free here.”
“To pay off what you stole.”
“Right. My point is, it’s good for me to be around you, doing all this hard work, and it’s helping me stay clean. Come on, bro. It was a stupid thing to say, and I really am sorry.”
I almost believed him.
Sully took a deep breath. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Okay. Thanks, bud. You guys have a good night.” He smiled, but there was a hardness in his eyes I didn’t like. He held my gaze a minute longer, dipped his chin, then walked off into one of the buildings.
“Is he stable?” I asked bluntly. “Sober? No drug use?”
“As far as I can tell,” Sullivan said. “I’m so sorry, Nora. He likes to piss people off, and he’s good at it.”
“Is Poe going to have a problem here?”
“Excuse me?”
My words came out more sharply than I intended, given the subject matter. “Is Poe going to have any problems here?”
“No. I’ll make sure of it. You don’t have to yell. Just speak clearly, okay?”
“Yes. Okay. Sorry.”
Sullivan ran a hand through his dark hair, and I caught a glimpse of his hearing aid. “I honestly don’t think he’d ever cross that line. Luke just has this...problem where you’re concerned. Resentment.”
“Yeah, well, he needs to get over it.”
“Yes. He does. Especially if we’re gonna be a thing.”
The words took me by surprise, slamming my heart in an almost-painful rush. “We’ll see about being a thing, Mr. Fletcher, you wordsmith, you. First, you have to endure dinner at my mom’s.”
* * *
Mom greeted us with “You’re late” and sent Poe up to take a shower. “What have you been up to today, Nora? You’re sweatier than a racehorse.”
“Thanks, Mom. Glad we got that out in the open.” Tweety squawked, then dived at my head. “Sullivan, this is my mother’s pet, Tweety.”
“Cute,” he said.
“I hope you like ham,” my mother said.
The bird took another swoop at me. I ducked. “God, Mom. Can’t you put him in a cage?”
“He’s a good boy. Aren’t you, sweetie-Tweety? Come here, now.” She held out her finger, and the bird flew onto it. “Got a kiss for mama?”
“Mom, please. Avian flu. Histoplasmosis. Cryptococcosis.”
“What are you babbling about? He’s not sick. Are you, baby?” She kissed his beak. He squawked, then flew off her finger to parts unknown, probably to worship Satan.
I looked at Sullivan. “Sorry,” I mouthed.
“So you datin’ my daughter?” Mom asked.
“Not quite yet,” he said.
“And you’re deaf, is that right?”
“More or less.”
“You make a good living at the boatyard?”
“Ayuh,” Sully said. Mom may have met her match in the art of conversation.
“Mom, please,” I said. “Can we just eat ham?”
“Go check it,” she said. “I think it needs a few more minutes.”
“It comes cooked, you know. You just have to heat it up.”
“Just do what I say, Nora. I want a few minutes with Sullivan here.”
“This is fun, isn’t it?” I said, squeezing his arm. He smiled down at me, and I felt a surge of attraction.
Maybe we could salvage this night. I scratched a mosquito bite and did as I was told. Opened the oven door—the ham smelled good, all right, and Mom had put pineapple slices on it with maraschino cherries in the middle, making it look like the ham had strange nipples popping out over it. Baked potatoes sat, hardening on the lower shelf—Mom never wrapped them in foil or rubbed them with olive oil the way I did. There would be no butter, either.
Ah, well. I closed the oven door.
In her odd way, Mom was trying for something here. She usually only made ham on Christmas.
“I’m starving,” Poe said, coming into the kitchen, her blue hair wet.
“Hey, I wanted to tell you something, honey. I’m so glad you have a job at the boatyard. But Luke Fletcher...keep your distance, okay?”
“’Cause he’s a druggie and might corrupt my pure soul?”
“Exactly. He also might be a dirty old man.”
“Gross.”
“Yep.”
“I’ll just knee him in the nuts if I have to.” She demonstrated the move. “Take that, motherfucker!”
“Language, language. We’re at Gran’s. But yes. That’s my girl. You make me proud.”
To my surprise, her eyes filled with tears. She looked away, embarrassed, and started to leave the kitchen. I grabbed her arm and turned her to face me.
“You do,” I said. “You definitely do.”
She hugged me, hard and long.
It was a beautiful moment—my skinny niece, all arms and legs, her skin soft and sweet smelling, and my heart overflowed with love. This was why I was here. This was why I’d come back.
Then I smelled something other than Poe’s shampoo.
Something bad. Something unmistakable.
Feathers.
“Oh, dear baby Jesus, no. No, no,” I whispered, letting go of my niece.
“What?” she asked.
“Shh! Uh...um...” I opened the oven door.
There was Tweety. And he was dead, his little talons curled up against his chest, right next to the last baked potato on the right.
I slammed the oven door closed.
“Holy shit, is that Tweety?” Poe said, covering her mouth. Horribly, she started to laugh. “I hate that bird.”
“What should I do?” I hissed.
“Mouth to beak?”
“Too late for that. Get Sully, okay? And don’t let Gran in here!”
“Nora,” Mom called. “What are you doing in there? What’s that smell?”
“Nothing! I just, uh, dropped something on the burner.” I called. “Go,” I whispered, shoving Poe a little.
“Gran,” she said, “I got a B on my paper. You want to have a look? Mr. Fletcher, why don’t you help...Nora? Help Nora. She...needs help.” She was wheezing with laughter now, the evil child.
“Why?” my mother asked. “Has she ruined my ham?”
No, I killed your pet. “Just thought Sully could help set the table,” I said.
There she was, in the kitchen doorway. I threw my back against the oven like I was hiding Edward Snowden in there. “Hi!” I said brightly. “What’s up?”
“Sullivan’s a guest, Nora. We don’t ask him to help.”
“Mom, just go upstairs and read Poe’s paper. Okay?”
She frowned at me but, mercifully, went upstairs.
The smell was stronger now. “What do you need help with?” Sully asked.
I opened the door to the oven so he could see.
“That’s... Oh, boy.”
“He must’ve flown in when I checked the ham.”
From upstairs, my mother yelled, “That smell is god-awful, Nora! What are you doing down there?”
“What do you want me to do?” Sully asked.
“Take him out,” I hissed, shoving two oven mitts at him. “I hated him in life, and I’m totally freaked out by him in death.”
Sully reached in. Oh, poor Tweety! He was browning, his yellow feathers the color of toasted marshmallow now. If this was Naked and Afraid, they’d eat him. I closed my eyes.
“We gonna tell your mother?”
“Are you kidding me? No! Can you just...toss it in the woods or something?”
He frowned at me. “Nora. Doesn’t Tweety deserve a Christian burial?”
“This is not funny.”
“It’s pretty funny.”
“Just get him out of here.” I was grateful Sully could read lips—sound traveled in this house.
“Got a box or something? Tupperware?”
“No! Just...just throw him in the woods.”
“Then the foxes will eat him.”
I thought of all the times Tweety had pecked me or dive-bombed my dog. “Circle of life, Sullivan. Go.” I glanced down at Tweety. “Sorry again.”
“I’ll say a prayer as I’m tossing him,” Sully said.
“Don’t bother. Satan’s already got him.” But Sully had already turned, so he didn’t hear.
I went to the sink and washed my hands, not that I’d touched the bird or anything, but... Gah! Sullivan came back and did the same, and I buried the oven mitts in the trash, then scrubbed again. I sprinkled some nutmeg on the rug in front of the sink to mask the smell.
“This ham doesn’t smell normal,” my mother said, thumping down the stairs.
Oh, God. We were going to have to eat that ham. What if Tweety had touched it? Why did my mother teach the damn bird to eat human food?
I subtly jacked up the heat to 450. That would kill just about any bacteria in the world.
“All right, then, what are you waiting for? Sit down, Nora, Poe. Sullivan, go ahead now.” We obeyed. Sully sat across from me, smiling, and I tried to smile back.
“Where’s Tweety?” Mom asked, and Poe began laughing, which she covered by pretending to choke. I narrowed my eyes at her.
“Tweety!” called Mom. “Suppahtime! Come on, sweetie-Tweety. Where’d he go?”
“Hell?” Poe suggested quietly.
Sullivan smothered a smile, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “Stop it,” I whispered as my mother searched the den.
“Tweety boy!”
“He can’t hear you,” sang Poe softly, and Sullivan took a napkin to blot his eyes, he was laughing so hard. Poe grinned at her audience’s reaction.
“Mom,” I said, my voice strained, “Tweety’s probably just resting.”
“The eternal sleep of the dead,” Poe whispered. “Slipped this mortal coil, free from strife and pain.”
“Shush, Poe,” I hissed. “Mom! Come on. We have company.”
“He loves eating with me,” Mom called. “You know that.”
“Well, it’s not healthy.” Especially since decomposition has already begun. “Let’s just eat.”
“Fine,” muttered Mom. “Ah, Jesus, Nora, you’re cookin’ the hell out of this ham. All the pineapple’s black now. What did you do?”
“Sorry! You know what?” I said, standing up. “Let’s go out instead!”
“I’m not gonna waste a perfectly good ham. Sully, do me a favor and just carve off the black parts, all right?”
“I’m a vegetarian,” Poe announced. “I forgot to mention it.” My mother set down the bowl of potatoes. “And I don’t eat carbs anymore.”
“What is wrong with you tonight?” Mom asked her. “Eat your dinner and none of this dieting foolishness.”
And so it was that we ate leathery ham and potatoes the texture of rock, green beans boiled until they were dull gray and squeaked on our teeth. “Nora, since you brought him here for dinner, think you can find some time for me this week? So we can talk?”
“Oh! Uh, sure,” I said. My mind was on Tweety and the foxes. Scupper Island had a ton of that kind of wildlife, so Sully had a point. Though I hated the bird, I shuddered at the thought of his little head being gnawed on. “Excuse me a second,” I said. “I have a phone call. Might be an emergency. Sully, could you, um, come with me?”
“Why? He’s not a doctor,” Poe said.
“He... Right.”
“Make your call, Nora, but come back. You’ve barely eaten a thing. Tweety! Tweety, we got green beans here. Where the hell is that bird?”
God. I got up from the table and went out the back. I didn’t know where Sully had put Tweety, but there was a shovel against the back of the house. I took it and scanned for brownish yellow. Looked under a few trees. Nothing. No Tweety here, no Tweety there.
Fine. This would have to wait till after dinner. The woods were too big, and I really had no idea where Sully had put the body. I’d ask, he’d tell, and maybe Poe would bury old Tweety if I paid her. A lot.
Just as I was coming back to the house, I saw something coming right at my head, and instinctively, I swung the shovel and hit the thing square on, like Big Papi sending one over the Green Monster at Fenway.
It was Tweety.
Fuckety fucking McFuckster.
I’d killed Tweety twice in one night. He lay on the ground, burnt yellow wings spread. One flap. I swore he turned his head to accuse me with his eyes. Maybe I could splint him if he was just hurt, make a tiny neck brace... No. He was dead. His ickle chest rose no more.
Shit.
“Nora?” My mother stood in the doorway. “Is that... Aw, Tweety!”
“Mom, I’m so sorry.” Guilt caused sweat to break out over my whole body. “I’m really, really sorry.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“He dive-bombed me and, uh...”
“And he hit the window,” Poe said loudly. “I saw it, too. So sad, Gran.”
Mom stood there, her face blank. Then she shrugged. “Ah, well. He was old. Glad he didn’t suffer. Thanks for burying him for me, Nora. That’s real sweet of you.”
With that, she went back inside. Poe patted her shoulder as she passed, then widened her eyes at me. “Bird killer,” she whispered.
“Not funny,” I said. I mean, yeah, someday it might be funny. In three or four decades.
Sully came out. “I think I missed something,” he said.
“Lazarus here tried to attack me.”
“Can’t say I blame him.”
“And I hit him with the shovel.”
“So we shouldn’t get a bird, is that what you’re saying?” He took the shovel from me and scooped up the poor little bird. “You want to check his pulse or anything?”
“No. He’s a goner for real this time. Sorry, Tweety,” I said.
“Go back inside,” Sullivan said. “I’ll take care of this.”
* * *
There was no dessert, of course. Mom reminded me to come over some night this week, refused my offer to help clean up and told me to go on my way.
“Sorry again about Tweety, Mom. I know you loved him.”
“Well. Pets die. Whatcha gonna do?”
I tried to give her a hug, the kind she’d given me that night at St. Mary’s of the Sea. “Yeah, okay, Nora, let’s not get hysterical,” she said, pulling back. “See you, Sullivan. Be good to my girl.”
And that was that. We said goodbye to Poe, who was in far too good of a mood, and got into Sully’s truck and, since he had to watch the road and not my face, drove in silence the ten minutes into town.
I kept seeing Tweety’s sad, not-quite-yellow body on the ground.
“So that was fun,” Sully said as we pulled up into a narrow driveway. His house was small but charming—a modified bungalow, two stories, the requ
isite gray shingles, white shutters and trim. A little grass, some tiger lilies by the white picket fence. There was a porch with two planters filled with purple flowers.
Teeny Fletcher stood on the top step, her arms crossed.
“Hello, Ma,” he said.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said. “Don’t hello, Ma me. Lukie told me you were out with this one.” Lukie. He was doomed if he was thirty-five years old and his mother still called him that.
“I was out with this one,” Sullivan said. “I still am.”
“Hi, Teeny,” I said.
“You’re nawt dating my son,” she said.
“I actually seem to be,” I said. “Go figure.”
“You’re so high and mighty, aren’t you? Little miss doctor, think you’re too good for us.”
“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” I asked.
Sullivan sighed. “Mom, go home. Okay? I’m old enough to pick my own—”
“What about Amy? What does she think about all this?”
Sullivan walked up to his mother, put his arm around her shoulders and walked her down the steps. “Have a good night, Ma. Talk to you soon.”
“You’re not good enough for my son!” she said as she passed.
“See you around town,” I said.
She gave me the finger as she got into her car.
“What a sweet lady,” I said as Sullivan came back toward me.
“Sorry about that. Come on in and make yourself at home. I’ll get us something to drink.”
“Make it strong,” I said, but his back was turned. I’d have to get used to this way of talking. Or not. I wasn’t here for that long.
Maybe we could have a long-distance relationship. I guess we’d see.
I liked Sully’s house immediately. The front door opened into a great room with a comfortably worn couch in front of the TV cabinet. I could picture him and Audrey here, watching a ball game or movie. There was a big armchair and a red-and-cream rug, a bookcase with paperbacks and DVDs. At least a dozen pictures of Audrey, Audrey and him, Audrey and Amy and him, even.
And one of Audrey and Luke, taken in the not-too-recent past. Last summer, maybe? Audrey looked about the same size as now and was wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt. They were squirting each other with water guns, both of them laughing, the sunshine making little rainbows on the water.
Now That You Mention It: A Novel Page 30
