pale green eyes and bow-shaped mouth. She’d be even prettier if she smiled more, he thought, and found himself wondering what it would take to make her face light up, what would make her throw her head back and laugh out loud.
He parked in front of the one-level masonry house on Fourth Street where his family had lived since 1997, when his father died and the family circumstances changed drastically. His father had lost his job just months earlier, and with his job had gone his benefits, including the only life insurance policy he’d had. The death of Charlie Senior had taken the family from their lovely brick colonial in Toby Falls to the tired little ranch in this tired neighborhood. Charlie had been three years out of college and still working off his obligation to the navy—tuition, room, and board in return for four years of service after graduation—and though he’d come home to help with the move from one house to the other, he’d never really felt the full impact of that move. Chances were he still wouldn’t have if his mother’s next-door neighbor, Lena Woods, hadn’t called him six weeks ago to tell him just how bad things had gotten and ask him when he was going to do something about it.
Charlie had never lived in this small house, which even all these years later he thought of as the “new” house. He’d grown up in their old home, and all of his childhood memories had been made there. He’d come here for occasional visits, holidays and special family event days, but he hadn’t stayed. On those visits, he’d slept on the sleeper sofa in the basement recreation room, since this house had three bedrooms, and all of them were occupied. He’d never really minded sleeping in the basement, though. It gave his visit more of a transitory flavor, and for years that was fine with him.
Not anymore, he reminded himself as he grabbed the morning paper from the lawn where it had been tossed and forgotten, and unlocked the front door.
The house was dark, as it generally was these days, and quiet—also normal—so much so that upon entering the tiny space that served as a front foyer, Charlie could hear water dripping from the spigot in the kitchen sink. He turned on the hall light and followed the sound of the drip.
“Charlie’s home! Charlie’s home! Charlie’s home!” The whirlwind that was his sister flashed into the kitchen. “I drew a picture for you! Come see! Come see! Come see!”
Ah,
he thought.
Today everything comes in threes.
“I’m coming, Jilly,” he told her as she grabbed on to his arm and tugged him along with her to her room. “Show me what you did today.”
“See see see,” she said as she dragged him to the small table in the corner of her bedroom. “A bird! A bird! A bird!”
“I do see,” he replied, studying the picture at the same time he glanced around. He could always tell what kind of a day Jilly’d had by the state of her bedroom. On a good day, the room was tidy, everything put away neatly if not compulsively. On a bad day, the room reflected the chaos that sometimes stirred in Jilly’s mind, and on those days anything could—and often did—happen. Today Jilly’s desk was neat as a pin. So far, so good.
It was one of the two reasons Charlie came back to Conroy.
“You drew a great bird, Jilly. A beautiful bird,” he told her.
“More.” She pointed to him gravely. “More more.”
“A beautiful bird,” he repeated. Then because today was a
three
day, he said it again. “A beautiful bird.”
Jilly smiled broadly, and he reached for the picture she held out to him just as his cell phone rang. His sister clapped her hands over her ears and moaned, falling to the floor in a heap, a look of intense pain on her face. He fumbled with the phone in his pocket to turn it off.
“Jesus, Charlie!” his mother called from the next room. “Damn it, how many times have I told you to turn that damned thing off before you come into the house? You know what it
He parked in front of the one-level masonry house on Fourth Street where his family had lived since 1997, when his father died and the family circumstances changed drastically. His father had lost his job just months earlier, and with his job had gone his benefits, including the only life insurance policy he’d had. The death of Charlie Senior had taken the family from their lovely brick colonial in Toby Falls to the tired little ranch in this tired neighborhood. Charlie had been three years out of college and still working off his obligation to the navy—tuition, room, and board in return for four years of service after graduation—and though he’d come home to help with the move from one house to the other, he’d never really felt the full impact of that move. Chances were he still wouldn’t have if his mother’s next-door neighbor, Lena Woods, hadn’t called him six weeks ago to tell him just how bad things had gotten and ask him when he was going to do something about it.
Charlie had never lived in this small house, which even all these years later he thought of as the “new” house. He’d grown up in their old home, and all of his childhood memories had been made there. He’d come here for occasional visits, holidays and special family event days, but he hadn’t stayed. On those visits, he’d slept on the sleeper sofa in the basement recreation room, since this house had three bedrooms, and all of them were occupied. He’d never really minded sleeping in the basement, though. It gave his visit more of a transitory flavor, and for years that was fine with him.
Not anymore, he reminded himself as he grabbed the morning paper from the lawn where it had been tossed and forgotten, and unlocked the front door.
The house was dark, as it generally was these days, and quiet—also normal—so much so that upon entering the tiny space that served as a front foyer, Charlie could hear water dripping from the spigot in the kitchen sink. He turned on the hall light and followed the sound of the drip.
“Charlie’s home! Charlie’s home! Charlie’s home!” The whirlwind that was his sister flashed into the kitchen. “I drew a picture for you! Come see! Come see! Come see!”
Ah,
he thought.
Today everything comes in threes.
“I’m coming, Jilly,” he told her as she grabbed on to his arm and tugged him along with her to her room. “Show me what you did today.”
“See see see,” she said as she dragged him to the small table in the corner of her bedroom. “A bird! A bird! A bird!”
“I do see,” he replied, studying the picture at the same time he glanced around. He could always tell what kind of a day Jilly’d had by the state of her bedroom. On a good day, the room was tidy, everything put away neatly if not compulsively. On a bad day, the room reflected the chaos that sometimes stirred in Jilly’s mind, and on those days anything could—and often did—happen. Today Jilly’s desk was neat as a pin. So far, so good.
It was one of the two reasons Charlie came back to Conroy.
“You drew a great bird, Jilly. A beautiful bird,” he told her.
“More.” She pointed to him gravely. “More more.”
“A beautiful bird,” he repeated. Then because today was a
three
day, he said it again. “A beautiful bird.”
Jilly smiled broadly, and he reached for the picture she held out to him just as his cell phone rang. His sister clapped her hands over her ears and moaned, falling to the floor in a heap, a look of intense pain on her face. He fumbled with the phone in his pocket to turn it off.
“Jesus, Charlie!” his mother called from the next room. “Damn it, how many times have I told you to turn that damned thing off before you come into the house? You know what it
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