When Mary Met Halley

Seven

"Hi," I said guardedly into my phone.

"How's it going?" Hazel asked way too casually.

"What's up?" I rolled my eyes at Leif. He knew who it was.

"Nothing. Who are you with?"

"Who did you lose?" I came back.

"No one," she lied.

"Well, I don't have any of your kids, and neither does Leif. Who's missing, Hazel?"

She made a rude noise. "He's around here somewhere, he must be hiding."

That meant Jasper, since the baby wasn't big enough to be hiding or missing. "Jesus, Hazel. When did you see him last?" Not that I could believe her.

"I fed them not long ago. Then I took a shower. Never mind! He'll turn up." She hung up.

I put the phone away in my purse and got my keys out.

"Going my way?" Leif joked.

I gave him a look and we went to my family's house.

My sister was out front, the baby on her hip, along with Shiloh. The little girl tackled me with a hug and I returned it.

I turned to Hazel. "Did you find your son yet?"

She had mascara circles under her eyes, her face puffy and hungover. She took a drag of the cigarette she held. "I told you, he's hiding. It's not like he ran away." While Shiloh had always gotten mad and "ran away" somewhere in the neighborhood, Jasper didn't like to be far from Hazel.

"Or got kidnapped?" I asked sarcastically. I heard a croak above me and looked up to see the bird. "Don't suppose you know where Jasper is, bird?"

He chuckled and flew to the peeling peak of Leif's roof, where he preened. Then he made his Found it call. "Gwen!" I hollered, and they covered their ears too late.

An upstairs window creaked partway open and she put her lips near the crack. "What?"

"You have Jasper?"

"Yeah! Left a note!" she called down.

"'Kay!"

Poe flew back to land on my shoulder and I braced myself for the impact. He weighed around a pound and a half but the landing had enough oomph behind it to make a point. He was eight years old, the average age a wild crow lived to be. Domesticated crows had been known to last into their thirties, and one well-known pet was said to have been fifty-nine upon its demise. I had high hopes for my bird. "Good boy," I told him.

"I didn't see any note," my sister muttered.

I took the baby from her and the cloud of smoke, walked into the house, and took the extremely visible note off the fridge. There were more dishes spilled across the counter, and the bread bag was open with half the bread gone. Several slices of cheese were on the counter, still wrapped. They were soft and warm.

"You can't leave cheese out," I told her through the open door, exasperated as always. I tried to take some deep breaths as I set Hank into his high chair. Everything she did raised my blood pressure, but showing it only egged her on.

"Tryin' to sleep." My father's voice startled me, mostly because I hadn't realized he was back. He stood just inside the kitchen, in droopy un-tighty-whities and an old black shirt.

"Oh, hi, Dad, how was the casino?" I worked to keep the smirk off my face but knew I failed.

He eyed Poe warily, who noticed and cawed at him in his own version of a smirk before flying to the top of the door to imitate art. "Those tables are all rigged. I know better." He shook his head and opened the fridge, surveying the contents while he scratched his upper thigh in the back.