Chương 13: De Nada

Just one more hour was three hours ago. The clock radio was tuned to DJ Bobby Box on KQEO. Dreams by Fleetwood Mac began to play, in perfect time with the Kit-Cat Klock. Una frowned, she wasn't much for this new music. She couldn't get up to change the station either. She'd come to the tricky part of the painted bunting where red, green, yellow, and blue met at breast, wing, back, and crest. She squinted and soldiered on. The birds were so demanding.

After a whole night of painting, they'd barely scraped together minimum wage. Worse, the church would only pay if their birds passed muster. Una was sure of her birds. Even her practice bluebird was up to snuff. For Robin's efforts, not so much. His bluebird was blotchy, the color was off on his cardinal, and the goldfinch he'd labored over was a good effort at best. It wasn't for want of trying. He'd fallen asleep at the table. He just needed time to practice. He just needed time. John McVie's bass line rolled on.

Una set down the bird, finished at last. Robin's face rested on the newspaper. Gently, she pried his brush from between his fingers and swished it in the jar so the paint wouldn't dry and ruin the bristles. His hair fell over his eyes. At his crown, his hair had thinned into middle-age. Tomorrow, she decided, and realized tomorrow had already become today. She counted the birds, omitting Robin's three. Over the refrigerator was a cookie tin she called 'St. Matthew'.

It was the tin saint's job to hold all her pocket change for a rainy day. She took it down and counted the money, though she knew to the penny what was inside. No miracle multiplied her nickels, she was still short. Why had she splurged at a restaurant when they had food at home? With a sigh, she walked over to Robin and roused him. When he lifted up his head, newsprint stuck to his cheek. She led him to bed and wished she could still carry him.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it." Duerme bien, mi cielo (Sleep well, my sky)," Una murmured and closed the door. She shuffled back to the kitchen and cut off the radio. The night pressed on her, the heavy feeling returned. What did they call it when they piled rocks on someone until they agreed to plead? Peine forte et dure. (Tough punishment) She let out a sigh that went on for five ticks.

Una sat at the table, tempted to sweep all the birds and paint onto the floor and smash them all. She closed her hands into fists and shut her eyes tight until sparks danced behind them.

"Tómalo y dámelo (Take it from him and put it on me)," she demanded. Tick, tick, tick, the clock answered. * In the morning, Robin woke to the smell of pancakes. He had to force himself to go out and pretend to be happy about them. He'd used to love the smell. Now, pancakes meant treatment day, because they came up easy.

"Gracias," Robin said as he sat down.

"De nada." Una's eyes were red. Robin wondered how late she'd stayed up. He looked around for the birds they'd painted.

"I don't think my birds are good enough," Robin said.

"Maybe I should prime and re-paint them."

"Don't worry about it," Una told him.

"Study your openings instead, gran maestro (grandmaster). I'm through gifting you pawns."

"Where are they?"

"In the back of the Falcon. Finish your pancakes." Una waved his question away. It stuck in his mind. Robin was worried Father Domingo would accept the bad birds just because he was sick and they felt sorry for him. While Una was in the shower, he slipped out to look at the birds. Maybe they weren't as bad as he thought. He peeked in the cardboard box. They were all perfect. Una had stayed up all night and repainted his birds.