Little Bird

Chapter Two

Penny and Rosie are up early, when the world it still dark, running around the living room, singing about the snow. They are skipping and climbing over the furniture- over the back of my Dad's old chair, under the coffee table in the middle of the room, jingling the keys and buttons they found in the bowl on the table by the window. The curtains flutter as they speed past, shivering in their wake and settling again. I watch them run as I wait for the pot of water on the stove to boil. Bubbles start rolling across the surface of the water and I pour in a measuring cup full of oats, then turn down the heat.

"Gabe!" I shout. "Get up!"

Penny and Rosie come to the kitchen and grab bowls out of the cupboard and sit at the table.

"Gabe!" Shouts Penny.

"Gabe!" Copies Rosie.

I hear his bedroom door slam and the toilet flush. The girls keep cawing his name. Even as he makes his way into the kitchen, stormy-eyed and wearing a baggy hoodie with the hood up, the girls continue cooing at him, like little birds.

He grabs a bowl out of the cupboard and plops himself down at the table, then puts his head in his arms, hiding his face. Rosie scoots over to him and pokes him in the shoulder.

"Fishy, why are you sleeping?" she says, quoting her favourite movie. Penny laughs and Gabe moans, shrugging her off of him violently.

I take the oatmeal off the stove and turn off the burner. I carry the pot over to the kids and scoop heavy ladelfulls of the stuff into their bowls.

The front door slams.

"Hello my Favourites!"

Mave glides into the kitchen, her arms full of cloth bags. "Brought you some goodies," she says. "Also, good news. Heard on the radio that all the busses are cancelled. Guess it's gonna get worse out there."

Penny and Rosie cheer, banging their spoons on the table, and even Gabe brightens up a bit. I sigh slightly, and peer out the window where fat flakes of snow are racing each other to the ground, quickly covering Mom's dead flowerbeds, the treehouse, the millions of swords of grass, the driveway. Call me selfish, but I kind of enjoy the silence that comes while the kids are at school.

Mave sets the cloth bags on the counter. I watch her start to unpack them, her pale skin and long, curly blonde hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders. Her pink cheeks and chin and beige scarf tucked into the collar of her coat. Her bright green eyes dotted with flecks of gold like angel-dust. She glances up at me.

"What?" she smiles mischeviously. I giver her a look and she says, "Oh, I know. You just can't get enough of me."

"Whatever," I say, smiling, as I help her lay out the groceries, holding the fresh tomatoes and apples in my hands, feeling their smooth skin, my heart slowing and finding a peaceful pace as if it is surrounded by liquid joy and greatfulness.

Before finishing their breakfast, Rosie, Penny and Gabe have escaped the table and are bundeled beneathe layers of winter clothing. They stampede outside into the snow, and a calm falls over the house, peaceful and sweet with the cries of joy coming from the kids jumping through the snow outside. I glance out the window and see Gabe and Penny making a snowfort while Rosie swings on her tummy on the tire swing, catching snowflakes in her mittens. I open the window a crack and shout, "Gabe! Keep an eye on your little sister!"

"Yeah!" he shouts back without looking up. I close the window again, and wipe my finger through the condesation forming in the corners.

Mom wanders out of her room and takes her spot in Dad's chair, her blanket hung over her boney shoulders. Mave fills a bowl full of oatmeal and brings it to her. She accepts it greatfully, without saying a word.

"What would I do without you?" I ask.

Mave pauses. "Well, for starters, your Mother would be hungry, and..."

"I didn't mean for real!" I shriek, throwing the dishcloth at her.

"Hey!" she laughs. "You'd better be nice to me!"

"Or what?"

"Or I'll never come again."

"I'd like to see you try- You basically live here you little homeless raggamuffin!"

"Never say that ever again."

"What?"

"I can't say it. It's too loser-ish."

"What? Raggamuffin?"

"No!" she shrieks, covering her ears and buckling at the stomach. "It's too painful!"

- - -

The kids spend most of the day outside, appearing at the backdoor periodically, in need of food or a bathroom break, trecking melting footprints into the house. Mave stays until after lunch, helping me clean the house a bit, and make dinner for the next few days. We go outside to throw snowballs with the kids before she goes- their laughter floating into the air and dissolving on white clouds of condensation with the snowflakes.

I hug her before she leaves, and head back inside to get dinner ready. Mom is sipping tea in her chair, wearing one of Dad's sweaters. It hangs off her gaunt frame as if it were draped over a clothesline. The television is turned on to some old, grainy movie, but her stare is blank and she's not really watching it.

I take one of the lasagnas out of the fridge that Mave helped me prepare and preheat the oven. I start chopping some of the fresh lettuce and tomatoes, mixing them in a salad bowl.

"Jackie!" Gabe screams.

I set down the knife and in my rush knock a tomatoe off the counter where it smashes to the floor, spraying watery tomato juice and tiny orange seeds across the tiles. I hesitate for a micro-second, then rush outdoors, where Penny and Gabe are at the porch. Penny is sobbing uncontrollably to the sky, tears and snot mixing with the snow that lands on her cheeks, her eyes and face red. Her screams are so chilling that I shiver and am not sure whether it's because of the cold or the terrifying sounds that she's making.

Gabe is blank-faced.

"What?" I shout. "What happened?"

"Rosie," he starts, quietly, and it's as if the rest of his words freeze before they have a chance to form properly.

"What?" Fear swims through my veins.

His jaw starts trembling and he looks down at his gloves. He looks up at me, then down again, and suppresses a sob.

"They took her."

"Who?" I snap. Anger and horror cloud my brain, and I hop from foot to foot, my arms wrapped around my body, trying to stay composed.

He draws the cold air into his lungs sharply and cries, "Some people in a van! I don't know!"

"Weren't you watching her?" My anger is rising into my voice, breaking away from the cage I tried to confine it to, floating to the surface.

He is breathing quickly, trying in vain not to cry. "Yes, I..."

"I told you to watch her!" I roar.

"But..."

"Why weren't you watching her? I told you to keep an eye on her! You're useless!"

I watch as my hand flies out and strikes him on the side of the face. I realize that his skin is cold, and my touch probably stings more because of it, so I do it again, listening to the smack as my hand collides with his cheek, his small cry. My muscles twitch to hit him again, but I grab my wrist with my other hand and stumble back slightly, my vision swimming in and out of focus. Penny continues to howl. I turn on my heel and rush back into the house.