“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?”
“Uh, my sleeve got a little singed. Not a big problem!”
“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.