Fowl Weather by Bob Tarte Page B

you’ll always know exactly where it is.’ But she said, ‘I don’t want my purse out in plain sight. Someone will come in and take it.’ “
    â€œDidn’t one of your sisters say it sounded like she might have dementia?”
    I’d heard that suggestion before, and I didn’t care for it. “She’s a little forgetful, and she’s upset about my dad,” I muttered to my plate.
    â€œI didn’t tell you the rest of the Henry Murphy story. I called the DNR and asked them if it was even possible for soil to have zero phosphorus, zero nitrogen, and zero potash. They told me absolutely not. You wouldn’t even get numbers like that with sand, so I called Henry back and told him that he must have done the test wrong, but he wouldn’t listen. He said his test was right and our soil needed lots of work.”
    I raised my face from my stir-fry. “We’re not using him for anything anymore, are we?”
    Linda shook her head. “But I think we should send the poor guy twenty dollars. Just for doing the test.”
    I WANDERED INTO the backyard in more of a mental fog than usual. Instead of giving the chickadees that hung acrobatically from the bird feeder the attention they deserved, I watched an epic internal newsreel about my mom, worrying what would happen to her in the absence of my father’s stabilizing presence. Trying to deal with all these brand-new concerns, I had begun feeling like a duck out of water myself. The door of the girls’ pen was cracked open and a body sat on Linda’s green plastic chair. Through the curtain of preoccupation, I did a zombie-stagger down the hill and called listlessly, “Hi, sweetie.”
    Kate’s face flashed me a frown; then she laughed. “Your wife said it was okay.”
    I caught myself blushing. “Sorry. I was talking to a goose.”
    She cradled Lulu in her arms. “He didn’t seem to recognize me at first. Did you, Louie-Lou?”
    I was embarrassed again as I noted that Lulu’s blanket, bear, and mirror were wet and covered with dirt. “She’s been a little confused, but I think she’ll do okay,” I said, though I had strong doubts about the duck’s progress. Kate nodded.
    â€œDid you take the day off from work?” I blurted out without weighing the intrusiveness of my question. “I only work mornings,” I added hastily. “Unless you count what I do here as work.”
    â€œI’m an attorney with a realty company, and the nonlawyers are at a seminar,” Kate answered. For a flash, I could see her as a lawyer—she did have a sharp-boned, intelligent face—but Lulu’s nervousness distracted me. The duck quacked and made a move to hop off Kate’s lap. Kate covered the duck’s head with one hand and petted her back with the other.
    Although Kate continued talking about her job, I missed the meaning behind the words and concentrated on the sound of her voice instead. Her nasal twang reminded me of the convenience-store worker who had wished me good morning a few minutes ago through the speaker on the gas pump as I filled my car. I knew the circuit worked both ways, but I hadn’t yet reached the point in my life where I was comfortable answering a gas pump’s greeting. I also had a difficult time separating Kate from Eileen’s foolishness, which wasn’t exactly fair on my part. But she had hidden a large white duck in an apartment bathroom.
    â€œShe’s having a hard time, isn’t she?” Kate asked me.
    Eileen’s unfathomable motives even affected how I viewed Lulu. I felt sorry for the poor creature, who spent much of her day pacing and calling for the owner that she considered to be her mother. Three days was an eternity in duck time, however, and I had expected her to accept her duckness and join the flock by now. While I was glad that Lulu didn’t act like Victor, I wished that she