“Yeah, me neither.”
“Where do you think Cory went?”
“Who cares. Asshole,” she hissed, and I wasn’t 100 percent sure she was talking about him.
“I’m sorry about . . .” I gestured at the house.
She shook her head. “I’m going home. Text me later. Let me know how he is.”
“I will.”
She started off around the house and paused at the corner. “You still think everything’s going to be okay?”
I wanted to assure her, to be who I usually was. I wanted to say yes, that everything would work out. In the end I didn’t say anything. Kel gave me a last look and was gone.
The blood on my hands was darkening, appearing more like ink stains in the low light. I rubbed them against each other, and little flakes of my brother drifted off. I went inside.
Dad stood in the doorway to the kitchen, surveying the mess. It was even more impressive coming back to it with fresh eyes.
I watched him track the broken dishes and overturned table to the spilled beer and spilled blood.
“Hey, Dad. This—”
He raised an arm and pointed at the door.
“Listen . . . ,” I tried to continue, but then he faced me.
There is something elemental passed down through generations that transcends species and gender. It is a river running through the lifeblood, an unspoken connection between parent and child, able to convey everything within a look. The undercurrent flowing in Dad’s eyes said it all.
Too much. Go away.
I’d seen my father furious only a few times in my life. It was enough.
I swallowed and looked at the floor. Some spicy sauce had seeped over into Dad’s sock and stained a portion of the fabric near his little toe. Without another word I left by the front door, closing it on the sounds of broken glass being stacked together.
The sun had dropped below the trees, and all the day’s warmth was gone. The radio said earlier a front was moving in. Cooler weather and rain for the next few days. Crossing the street toward home, part of me hoped Cory would show up again. I wouldn’t fight him; that was through. I’d tell him he was so very wrong. Wrong about Kel and me. Wrong about Dad. And so, so wrong about Emma.
My rage had curdled to sadness. Not ever a big leap.
The bird lady sat on her front porch in an ancient Adirondack chair. Her binoculars were on the left armrest within easy reach, but what gave me pause was the object on the opposite side.
A cordless phone.
She watched me slow. Then stop. I looked up the road to the Barrens’， traced the unobstructed view back to her porch.
Her eyes widened.
I headed toward her.
She tried heaving herself up out of her chair, once, twice, the third time making it to her feet.
“Hey,” I said, crossing her lawn. She shot a look at me and shuffled as fast as her spindly legs would take her toward her front door. She opened it, swung herself inside, and was trying to slam it shut when I put my foot in the way.
“Get off my porch!”
“Why’d you call the cops on my dad?”
“I never.” She tried yanking the door shut again. “This is assault!”
“What the hell did he ever do to you? You know he’s sick, right? You must be aware with your addiction to gossip and those fucking binoculars stuck to your face all day.”
She blanched, and I wondered how long it had been since someone had spoken to her like this, if ever. “You . . . you have no right.”
“Why are you like this? What do you get from someone else’s misfortune? Huh? Entertainment? You get a high from calling the cops?”
“I—”
“Be thankful you aren’t suffering like him. Keep sitting in your chair, keep spying, feed your little addiction. But leave my dad alone.”
I yanked my foot free and turned away. When I was halfway down her steps, the door creaked, and the bird lady stepped back onto her porch. Intending to throw her the most scornful look I could muster, I glanced back.
And stopped.
Tears shone in her eyes, and her lower lip quivered. At first I didn’t hear what she said, but then she cleared her throat and spoke louder.
“I’m sorry.” She shrugged and held out her hands. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I saw him up there and didn’t recognize him at first. My eyes aren’t the best anymore.” She shook her head, and a tear fell free of one eye and hit the decking at her feet like a raindrop.
Without looking at me again, she turned and went into her house, shutting the door behind her.