“Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I think you should have a pet.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Unconditional love,” Meredith suggested.
“Doesn’t exist. And why are we even having this conversation? I wanted fresh air. Not the air that bastard breathes and exhales.”
They looked down on John Moody.
“He means well,” Meredith said.
Sam spat out a laugh. It was an unremarkable day for most people in their town, and here he was, deciding whether or not he should attempt to fly.
“I come from another race of people entirely,” Sam said.
He glanced at Meredith, gauging her reaction.
“Me too.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “No, you don’t.”
“Living is better than the alternative, Sam. I swear on my life.”
“In all honesty, what’s that worth? A nanny’s salary and a used VW?”
“Someone with a terminal disease would want to shake you. They’d trade with you in a second, for just another day, a week, a year. You’re wasting what you’ve got.”
“Maybe I could fly,” Sam said more to himself than to Meredith. “It’s a possibility. You can’t know if you don’t try.”
“Maybe I could.”
“Will you stop that? Don’t repeat every damn thing I say. Don’t think you’re like me. Why don’t you just call the police and leave me alone?”
“I happen to love you. I didn’t want to or think I could, but I do.”
“Well, if you do, there’s something seriously wrong with you,” Sam said.
They both laughed and the laughter drifted down to John. When he heard them, John Moody didn’t know if he was relieved or angry. Laughing on the roof while he was sweating down here, late for a meeting, trapped in a big mess of a life that he could have avoided if he’d never stopped to ask for directions. He never did that now. He wouldn’t even think of slowing down. He’d circle around for hours in his car rather than pull into a gas station and ask for help. It wasn’t pride that stopped him, it was fear. Look where a wrong turn had led him. He simply couldn’t risk it again.
Often, the life he might have had came to him, the life he was supposed to have before he made a wrong turn. There were two well-behaved children who waited for him at the door when he arrived home from work and a perfectly trained German shepherd dog who went running with him in the evenings. Or it was Paris, and he lived alone in a vast apartment. Or it was Florida, somewhere on a golf course, someplace quiet, not even the sound of birds. But in all these places, there was always a woman in a white dress. She was so young, little more than a girl. She must have put a spell on him; that’s how the whole thing began. He wasn’t the sort of person who would walk into a stranger’s house, sleep on her couch, find her naked in the kitchen, be willing to do anything in order to have her. He’d been with only three other girls before Arlie, one in high school, two in college; they’d been furtive encounters, less sexually exciting than anxiety provoking, with the girl saying no while John begged until she finally relented and they did the deed.
It was the way Arlie had given herself to him that stayed with him. A perfect instant in time. His footsteps in the kitchen. Arlie turning to him from the sink. Lost and then found. Discovered in some deep way. He was stuck there, he realized that now; that young girl with red hair sifted through his reality forevermore. Now, for instance, he’d been so intent in his thoughts that when he looked up he was surprised to find that Meredith and Sam were no longer on the roof. It was as though they had flown away when he wasn’t looking.
“My father never cared about me,” Sam said.
They had gone downstairs to the kitchen, where Meredith was fixing tea, hoping to sneak some food into Sam. She made toast, but Sam waved it away. He was watching out the window. John Moody was staring at the lawn.
“Maybe I jumped and he just doesn’t know it,” Sam said. “Maybe he’ll stumble over my body.”
“Eat this toast,” Meredith said.
“Without peanut butter?”
Merrie got the peanut butter from the cabinet.
“You can’t see love,” she said.
“Bullshit.” Sam opened the peanut-butter jar. He went through a period when he was younger when he would eat only peanut butter and jelly. “You definitely can.”
“Really?” Meredith said. “Show me.”
Sam grinned and tore his toast apart, offering her half. Merrie sat down beside him at the counter and ate toast and drank tea. They decided to leave the dishes for Cynthia to wash.
“Thanks,” Meredith said even though she hated peanut butter. “You were right.”
Sam grinned. “Finally right about something.”
BLANCA AND MEREDITH WERE WALKING ALONG MAIN Street on the way to the bookstore, when they came upon the pet store. Snow’s Pets. Meredith had never noticed the shop before. Behind the glass were basset-hound puppies.
“I can’t believe how cute they are.” Blanca tapped on the glass and one of the baby basset hounds came over and licked the glass. “Oooh,” Blanca crooned. “This one. Sam would love it.”
“Sam doesn’t want a puppy,” Meredith informed her charge.
“Look at its ears! They’re so long it’s tripping over them.”
They decided to go in, just to look. The bell rang over the door, and the man cleaning out fish tanks looked up. George Snow. He’d opened the shop three years ago, knowing that sooner or later this would happen. He had promised Arlie he’d never search the child out, although he’d gone to several dance recitals, seated in the back row; he’d gone to many of her soccer games. He wondered sometimes if he’d been wrong to make a promise like that, but Arlie had held on to his hand until he’d sworn it.
“Shout if you need help.”
“I don’t think we will,” Meredith called back.
“We need help!” Blanca called at the very same time.
George Snow laughed and came over to look at the puppies with them. He couldn’t believe how tall Blanca was; she had a dancer’s posture and she wasn’t shy.
“I’m taking the little one in the corner,” George told them. “The runt of the litter. I used to have a collie, but he died of old age. So I’m ready for a pup.”
“I love your puppy,” Blanca said seriously. “But I love this one more.” The silly one that had licked the plate-glass window.
“Which one don’t you love?” Meredith wanted to know.
“I’ll give you a discount,” George Snow said. “Actually, you can just take him. I’ll never be able to sell all these puppies.”
Meredith noticed the resemblance between Blanca and the pet-shop owner. Brown-eyed blonds with narrow faces and long eyelashes.
“Are you related to the Moodys?” she asked. “We really couldn’t take something like this without paying.”
“Just trying to find this pup the best home possible.” George lifted up the puppy and placed it in Blanca’s arms.
“His name is Dusty,” Blanca said, and then, embarrassed to have claimed the puppy as though it were her own, she added, “But Sam should pick his name.”
“No. Dusty’s a great name,” George Snow said. “I think I’ll call mine Rusty.” Mr. Snow put together a package of dog food and bowls along with a collar and a leash. “If you want some obedience lessons, you can bring him back and I’ll help you train him.”
“Your mom is going to have a fit,” Meredith told Blanca.
“Stepmom,” George Snow said. “I knew the family way back when,” he added when Meredith gave him a look.
“I can’t believe I let you do this,” Meredith said on the way home.
“You didn’t let me. I’m old enough to make some decisions.”
“Uh-huh. Don’t blame me if they won’t let you keep him.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Cynthia said when they walked through the back door.
“He’s for Sam,” Blanca said, kissing the bas
set hound on the nose.
“Unconditional love,” Meredith added.
“Is that the kind of love that will make the poop in the yard disappear?” Cynthia asked. “Because I won’t have anything to do with this creature. You can quote me on that.”
Blanca and Meredith carried Dusty up to Sam’s room. They knocked on his door. Blanca hid behind Meredith, holding on to the puppy. Sam opened the door a crack. The smell from inside was dreadful, the stink of old laundry and cigarettes and rotting food.
“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.” Sam’s words were slurred. He’d recently gotten off, and his mouth was caked with dried saliva. It was getting worse. They all knew that. All he wanted was that dreamless sleep.
“Ta-da,” Blanca said as she jumped before her brother with Dusty in her arms.
“You actually got a puppy? I told you explicitly — no fucking puppies. I can’t be responsible for that thing. You know me. I’d leave it somewhere and it would die of starvation or something.”
“His name is Dusty,” Blanca said. “I thought you’d love him.”
“You go on and love him,” Sam told her. “I’m not genetically inclined.”
Meredith and Blanca took the puppy back down to the kitchen. “We can get him something else,” Blanca said. “We’ll find the right pet.”
The puppy raced over to Cynthia, who was cooking dinner at the stove. He stepped on his ears and tripped.
“Oh, you poor thing.” Cynthia bent down and picked up Dusty; she fed him a bit of hamburger meat from her fingers.
“Sam doesn’t want him.” Blanca was gathering together the puppy food and the dog dishes. “We have to take him back to the store.”
“You can’t take him back!” And then, as though startled by her own response, Cynthia added, “It’s not humane! He’s used to us now.”
“I thought you didn’t want him,” Meredith said.
“I don’t,” Cynthia said firmly. “But he’s not going back to some wretched pet shop where he’s treated miserably.”
“It wasn’t wretched,” Blanca insisted. “Mr. Snow is nice. He said he would train Dusty for free if we wanted him to.”
“Really? Mr. Snow said that? Well, I had Newfoundlands when I was growing up,” Cynthia said. “I’m perfectly capable of training one little basset hound all by my lonesome.”
“What about the poop in the yard and on the rugs?” Meredith reminded her.
“Here’s your water, Dusty,” Cynthia said, setting down a dish in the corner, and that was that. No more discussion.
“We have to get Sam something else,” Blanca kept saying all through the week. “Something that suits him.” Blanca took this quest seriously. “Something he’ll love.”
Meredith went back to the pet shop one afternoon while Blanca was at school and Sam was up in his room, sleeping. She was there to look around; maybe pick up a chew toy for the puppy, who was gnawing on the legs of the kitchen table.
“Hey there,” George Snow said when she came into the shop. “How’s Dusty?”
He’d sold all the other puppies except for the one he’d kept; that pup was sleeping in a box behind the dog-food display.
“Dusty’s fine when he’s not pooping or chewing on something,” Meredith said. “Looks like Rusty is, too.”
“Blanca’s not with you?”
Meredith noticed that Mr. Snow’s brow furrowed exactly the way Blanca’s did when she was worried, an occurrence that happened far too often for a ten-year-old girl.
“Do you have some connection to Blanca?” Meredith asked. “Is that why you gave her the puppy?”
“I was a friend of her mother. Friend of the family. Did you need more dog food?”
“I need a pet for Blanca’s brother. He’s not a fan of puppies.”
“Sam.”
“Yes. Sam.”
“He’s not your average boy,” George said. “His mother used to tell a story about people in Connecticut who could fly when need be. Maybe he’s one of them. They grew wings when they had to escape. When the ship was going down or the house was on fire.”
“We’re pretty much at that stage,” Meredith said.
George led her into the back room, where there was a makeshift kitchen and a lunch table. On a perch in the corner there was a small parrot. The bird was green with ultramarine and red and orange streaks.
“Get out,” the parrot said to them.
Meredith laughed. He sounded exactly like Sam.
“I swear I didn’t teach him that. He’s a foundling. Someone left him on the doorstep in a box. I guess they couldn’t keep him anymore. I call him Connie, short for Connecticut.”
“Cynthia would kill me.”
“The stepmother. I knew her. A runner. Lived next door.”
“She switched to tennis. But I think she’s giving that up, too.”
“She won’t even notice the parrot. You don’t have to walk it or throw a ball for it.” George gave the bird a peanut. “Connie’s only a baby. Winston Churchill’s parrot lived for a hundred years. This is a pet that won’t up and die on Sam and disappoint him, like everything else has.” George Snow cleared his throat; he wasn’t comfortable having a serious conversation with a stranger. “I heard about what happened outside the market.”
“Well, that.” Meredith wasn’t about to discuss Sam with this man. “I can’t afford a parrot. And if you know the family then you know John Moody would never pay for one, let alone approve of it.”
“Well, Connie’s free.”
Meredith studied the angles of Mr. Snow’s face. He seemed so familiar, so kind. “Are you the kind of friend of her mother’s that Blanca should know about?”
“Well, she does know about me. I’m the pet-store man.”
Meredith packed the parrot and all of its belongings into her VW. The foul-tempered creature muttered and squawked all the way home. She felt like turning around and bringing the bird back to the shop, but she headed home. She thought about how easygoing Blanca was, how different from Sam and John Moody. A kindhearted girl who thought about others and worried too much.
“You cannot bring this thing into the house,” Cynthia said when Meredith carried in the perch and the nighttime cage and the sacks of food and the cuttlebones and the bells. “This time I mean it. Birds are filthy.”
“Get out,” the parrot said.
“Oh, nice. Why not a vulture?” Cynthia was fixing chicken for dinner, and the naked uncooked bird sat in a glass dish atop the stove. The little basset hound was at Cynthia’s feet. He trotted over to sniff the birdcage. “Stay away from that thing, Dusty!”
“Maybe a pet will snap Sam out of his own world and back into ours.”
“Was he ever in ours?”
“Let’s try. Let’s just fucking try something before we lose him completely.”
The women stared at each other. Dusty was wagging not just his tail but his whole body.
Cynthia nodded. “I’m sure in no time Sam will teach it to call me a murderess, but maybe that will give him some pleasure.” She was stunned by what had just happened between herself and Meredith. “I cannot believe you said ‘fucking’ to me. Like it’s all my fault.”
Cynthia was worn down by everything. She wasn’t much like the woman George Snow remembered. She’d completely given up tennis. The most she could manage was a long walk in the morning with Dusty. Sometimes she started crying for reasons she wasn’t clear on.
“It is not your fault,” Meredith said.
“Fine,” Cynthia said. “One week. If that thing is flying around my house and pooping, he’s gone.” She went back to adding onions and mushrooms to her chicken dish. “I do have a heart, you know.”
“No one ever said you didn’t,” Meredith said.
“I know you don’t like me. You take their side. But I wasn’t so horrible. I didn’t know she was dying when John and I got involved. He didn’t tell me until two months after she’d gotten the diagnosis. And then he cried and
I felt sorry for him. So I deserve to have to deal with parrots and drugs, I guess. It’s payback. And by the way, Sam disappeared this morning and I have no idea where he is. I can damn well guess, unfortunately.”
When Blanca got home, she was thrilled with the parrot.
“It’s perfect!” she said, even though the bird had tried to bite her as soon as she reached out her hand. “Sam will love him.”
They could all guess that if Sam was out of his room, he’d gone to New York. He owed people money in Bridgeport, and the last time he’d gone there he’d come back bloodied. He stole from purses, piggy banks, and coat pockets and went to New York. This time he took the silver serving spoons from Cynthia’s first marriage.
By the time Sam arrived home via taxi, Blanca was already in bed. It was long after midnight. Meredith was sitting on the stairs in her nightgown. Sam’s eyes were half closed as he stumbled in. He was deep in the land of no dreaming. Right in the center of the deep, dark nothingness.
“Hey,” he said as though Meredith sitting on the stairs at two in the morning was perfectly natural. “What’s up?”
“Blanca and I got you something. She tried to wait up for you.”
Sam stank of sweat and his coloring was bad. He went around Meredith and continued up the stairs.
“Did you want to tell me where you were?” Meredith said, following him.
“Do you think I’d tell you the truth?” Sam said.
They had reached Sam’s door.
“If you don’t love your gift, I can take it back.”
“I’ll hate it whatever it is. We both know that.”
“I’m not so sure.”
Sam opened the door to his room and there was the parrot on its perch.
“Holy shit,” Sam said.
Skylight Confessions Page 12
