Jailbird Kid Read online

  “That’s a Thompson submachine gun,” Dad explained. “It’s sometimes called a French Broom. The Mob calls it The Typewriter.”

  “Oh” was all I could say. Like, what was he talking about?

  Dad held the picture at arm’s length, admiring the three-dimensional effect he’d created. Then he carefully laid it flat on the table. “I’ll teach you how to draw, Angel, if you like,” he said. “We can start tomorrow. Get you some artist’s sketch pads, charcoals, water paints.”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  I wouldn’t, really. I knew how to paint, but his pictures were disrupting. So was he ... sort of. He didn’t seem like the same man who had painted the clowns. But he was my dad, so I loved him. And now he had come home. Maybe for good this time.

  5

  Canary

  Dad and I were sitting at the kitchen table, sipping on cans of Coke, when we heard a car pull up. He jumped up and darted into the living room to peer through the curtain. “Who’s that?” he snapped.

  “It’s Mom!”

  “I mean, whose car?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe someone from work gave her a ride home.”

  “What’s she bringing in?”

  A man got out of the car and began hauling a strange contraption from the trunk.

  “It’s a cage!” I cried. “A birdcage!”

  “A what?” Dad asked.

  The man handed the cage to Mom, who was carrying a small box and a bag. I ran out to meet her. “Mom, Dad’s home!”

  She looked at the man quickly, who nodded goodbye, got into the car, and drove away. “Angela, please don’t reveal our home life to others,” she said quietly.

  “What?”

  “That was Jon Percy, my boss. I don’t want him knowing anything about me other than that I show up for work on time, and do my job. Understand?”

  “Sure. But what’s wrong with saying Dad’s home ...”

  “Sshh! Sorry, honey, but that’s the way it’s got to be. Now — happy birthday!” She held the cage out to me.

  “What is it?”

  “A birdcage. What does it look like?”

  “But, we don’t have a bird.”

  “We do now!” She handed me a cardboard box, and I heard a cheeping sound from inside. “Don’t open it until we’re in the house.”

  I took the cage and box and raced toward the house. “Mom got me a present!” I yelled to Dad, who’d been spying like a burglar from behind the curtains, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring straight ahead at Mom as she came up the walk. I went into my bedroom so they could be alone for their first meeting in two years.

  Setting the cage on the bed, I opened the little door and then carefully uncovered the box. A bright yellow canary sat inside. He blinked and gazed up at me. “Oh! You’re beautiful.” Gently, I took him into my hands and stroked his back. He didn’t seem afraid. I placed him inside the cage and onto a perch. “I don’t care whether you’re a boy or girl canary. I’m going to name you Patsy, after Patsy Cline. She’s Grandma’s favourite singer, and you’ll be a singer, too.”

  Inside the bag were boxes of canary seed and gravel. I filled the little dishes and put them inside. I was just going to the bathroom to fill the water dish when I heard Mom’s and Dad’s voices. Our house was small, and it wasn’t hard to hear every word.

  “Sorry I’m late, Con,” Dad said. “I stopped to do some shopping.”

  “Shopping?”

  “Yeah, well, I had to see a couple of guys. And I picked up a present for Angela.” He must have pointed to the clock. I didn’t hear Mom say anything, so I figured she wasn’t too impressed.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “You went shopping and visiting for three days instead of coming home?”

  “Yeah, well, I had to get something for the kid. And I had some business stuff to look after.”

  Mom still said nothing, but I could tell she was hurt and angry.

  “Then I got a ride here with a guy, so it didn’t cost me bus fare,” Dad continued, “and I brought you a present with the money I saved.” I heard a rustle of paper and a gasp from Mom. “Pretty skimpy, huh? I thought you’d look pretty in them.”

  I imagined Dad had brought her some lacy pajamas.

  “Well, are you glad to see me, or not?” Dad’s voice was hopeful yet petulant, like a naughty kid wanting instant forgiveness.

  Big silence.

  Come on, Mom, I thought. Say it. Say anything, even if you have to lie a little. Make him feel welcome!

  Just when I thought she was never going to speak to him again, I heard her voice, so low I could barely make out the words. “Yes, I’m glad you’re home. Everything’s fine. Thanks for the ...” Her voice faded, and I realized they might be hugging. Oh, yeah.

  I turned my attention back to Patsy, who was already pecking at the birdseed. Then I made a noise before I went across to the bathroom to fill the water dish. But Mom and Dad were nowhere in sight.

  Lying on my bed, I read Space-Song and talked to Patsy. No one seemed to notice that suppertime had come and gone. The only one eating was Patsy, and I didn’t feel like sharing birdseed.

  Finally, I went into the kitchen and took some cold chicken from the fridge. I heard voices coming from Mom and Dad’s bedroom, so I made lots of noise to remind them that someone else lived in this house besides them. Dad eventually came out of the bedroom. He saw me and smiled.

  “Sorry, Angel. Your mom and I were talking over old times. Want me to cook something for supper?”

  I smiled. “No, there’s a lot left over from my birthday dinner.”

  When I opened the fridge, he came to stand beside me, looking in awe at its contents. He picked up an egg. “Boy, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen these things. Almost forgot they came in shells.” He laughed. “Do you mind if I have a beer? I haven’t had one in two years.”

  “Of course not. Mom bought them for you.”

  “She did?” Dad seemed pleased. He took one out, flipped open his belt buckle, and expertly used it to snap the cap off the bottle. Fastening his belt again, he spun a kitchen chair around to sit on, then gazed up at me. “Gee, it’s good to be home.” His eyes darted left to right, as if casing the room, just like those of Felix the Cat. “Home sweet home. I’m never going to leave it again.”

  Peep! Peep!

  Dad tensed. “What’s that?”

  I ran into my room and brought out the birdcage.

  “Who brought that thing in here?” He pointed an accusing finger at Patsy.

  “Dad, what’s wrong? It’s a yellow canary. Mom bought him for my birthday. I named him Patsy.”

  “A canary! A canary named Patsy!” He looked as if he was about to choke.

  Mom came out of the bedroom, tying her red silk kimono. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, it’s only a bird. Drop the jailhouse mentality!”

  I didn’t understand, but I took my offending present back to my room.

  Later Dad came in to explain. “A canary’s a sign of a singer, a squealer.” He sat on my bed. “That’s the lowest form of life. And a patsy’s a fall guy, someone set up to take the rap.” His voice lowered. “Sometimes, if a patsy tries to get off and sings — tells on the gang — he’ll be sent a yellow canary. Usually dead. Like he’ll be soon.”

  I draped a towel over Patsy’s cage.

  Our home was turning into a halfway house. Mom was trying to guard us from prying outsiders, Dad was home complete with a mental jailhouse attitude, and I was trying to be normal in a house decorated with a spooky wild-eyed clock and pictures of graveyards, hangmen’s nooses, and French Brooms.

  And now we’d added a yellow canary named Patsy who, the minute his cover was lifted, began to sing his little heart out.

>   6

  Confession

  “I’m making breakfast today!” Dad announced. “Chef de cuisine!” He began to flip pancakes at high speed. Some drooped crookedly over the edge of the pan, but we pretended not to notice. It was nice having Dad around. Kids needed dads; mothers needed husbands. It made things easier for them, and though my dad wasn’t the kind featured on television sitcoms, he was here, he was ours, and he could be fun.

  “I’m going to get a job real soon,” Dad announced as we sat around the breakfast table. “I’m going to look after this family. You’ll see.”

  “That’s nice,” Mom said.

  “Yeah. I’ve been thinking ...” Dad began.

  “That could be dangerous,” Mom said.

  “No, honest, I have. I thought about how I got myself into trouble — all those bad deals — but that’s behind me. I’m home for good.” He got up to raise the flipper high in the air, tossing three more pancakes that made equally poor landings, then announced, “I’m going to get into business.”

  “Business!” Mom cried.

  “You bet! There are lots of things a guy can do to make money. One fellow I met, he used to install lightning rods on houses. Made a fortune. And another guy designed these little things you use to open any door, or a car, a house, you name it. I bought one, see?” He brought out the little tool he’d used to break into our own house. It looked like a bobby pin.

  I shuddered and concentrated on smothering my pancakes with syrup. “So why were all these guys in jail?”

  “Oh ... reasons. Some of them weren’t too smart. But I studied in there, books and everything. I even learned to type.”

  “Nick, why don’t you take it easy for a couple of days?” Mom suggested. “Something will turn up.”

  “You could look for a job in the paper,” I said.

  “I’m not looking for a job in the paper!” Dad’s voice was rising. “Those jobs are for idiots. I’m going to do something on my own. You’ll see. You’ll be real proud of me.”

  I took my plate and glass to the counter, ran water over them, and gathered my books into my backpack. Then I called out goodbye, but no one seemed to hear.

  As I was going out the door, I heard Mom plead, “Start small, Nick, please. Maybe Hank could get you on at the packing plant.”

  “The packing plant!” Dad yelled. “They kill things in there. Innocent animals. You want me to get a job killing animals? No way!”

  I closed the door and walked to school. Should I tell Ryan and Hannah that Dad was home? He wasn’t going to be an easy person to hide. His tattoos and his manner of dressing and talking were different from other kids’ fathers. Hannah’s dad wore a tie to mow the lawn!

  Hannah was waiting for me in our usual spot in the schoolyard under a big tree outside the main door. She had freckles, pretty, layered blond hair, and brown eyes. Hannah was tall and slim like me, and we looked good together — one blond and one brunette.

  “I like your dress,” she said. “It’s new. Where did you get it?”

  “Thanks. My grandma sent it from California. She’s my mom’s mother.”

  “I wish I had a grandma who lived there. Do you ever go to stay with her? Check out celebrities’ homes?”

  “No.”

  “How come?”

  I took a deep breath. “My mom’s parents don’t like Dad. They don’t ever write or phone. They send birthday and Christmas presents to me, that’s all.”

  “Oh.”

  I waited, my heart pounding. She didn’t ask anything more, so I decided to get it over with and tell all. “My dad is ... different, Hannah. He’s, well, he’s never made very much money. Not like my Aunt Jackie’s husband. Uncle Jon teaches at a university in Santa Barbara, and they’re rich.”

  “I thought your dad had a business that took him out of town a lot. A salesman or something. That’s an okay job, isn’t it?”

  “Well, it’s not the same as being a professor or a bank manager.”

  “Oh, well ...”

  “My dad just got out of jail.”

  The words burst out, and I couldn’t take them back. I looked away. The sky was clear blue; it was going to be hot again today. Hannah and I sauntered along in step, while I held my breath, waiting for her response to my confession.

  “Do you think you can swim with me after school?” she asked. “My mom will drive us out to the lake.”

  When I dared to look at Hannah through tears that blurred my eyes, she was ambling along as usual, waiting for my answer. Perhaps she hadn’t heard what I’d said. But when we turned to go into the school she hugged me, and we continued into our classroom the way best friends should.

  7

  Reunion

  We were eating supper, Mom, Dad, and I, when a quick knock sounded on the door. Dad jumped up, ready for flight.

  “Dad! Where are you going?”

  His face turned red as he sat down again and Mom went to answer the door.

  It was Gemma, Grandma, and Grandpa Hank. When Dad heard their voices, he charged out to greet them. There were big hugs all around. Grandma didn’t let go until Dad was squashed and out of breath.

  Then it was Gemma’s turn. She flung herself into Dad’s arms, nearly knocking him off balance. They leaned back to examine each other.

  “You’re looking great, Nick! You’ve gained weight. You got a new tattoo! Let’s see!” Gemma pulled at Dad’s arm. He jerked back, but Gemma twisted it around to read the message on his left forearm: death before dishonour.

  “Hey, Nick, that’s real nice,” Gemma said. “Who did it?”

  “A guy who used to be in the navy. I met some real artists in there. I thought Uncle Al would like this — a real pro job.” Dad reached for Gemma’s pack of cigarettes and helped himself to one. “Anyone seen Uncle Al?”

  “No!” Grandma’s reply was sharp. She sat down with a whump on the couch. Hank perched lightly beside her.

  Gemma was still examining Dad’s tattooed messages. “Here’s an entwined WW. That stand for Weasel Wroboski?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Right on! I’m gonna call you that all the time now. And I want to look at all the pictures you drew. Angela tells me you did a big valentine. Who for — the warden?”

  They laughed and joked and punched each other on the arms. I watched everyone else. Mom didn’t belong in this room — she was so pretty and classy. Gemma was attractive, but in a category of her own. Grandma loved both of her kids, but she’d heard all their dumb stories and was tired of them. She didn’t like how Gemma seemed excited about crime. Hank stayed neutral. He’d said once that he’d married Grandma, not her clan.

  While Mom and I cleared away the supper dishes, Gemma and Dad studied his collection of treasures.

  “This magazine came out,” Dad said, “and I bought every copy in town. Come here, Angel. You should see this. Al Capone’s car, a 1930 V-16 Cadillac, one hundred and twenty miles an hour! Bulletproof glass three panes thick. Little portholes in the side windows for shooting through.”

  Mom stood between me and the bags of stuff. “Angela doesn’t need to see this garbage!”

  “Aw, Con, I’m just showing the kid some pictures. They’re not dirty magazines. They’re just cars and guns and dead guys.”

  Mom sighed heavily.

  I went over to sit beside Grandma. She put her arm around me. “Just sit quiet. It’ll blow over, honey.”

  Hank winked at me. He knew how to stay out of the heat.

  The evening went okay after that, with everyone being nice. But after Mom served coffee and my leftover birthday cake, Dad got fidgety. He snapped his fingers and nervously tapped his feet on the floor, causing the chains draped around his boot heels to jangle. Then he got up and sat down a couple of ti
mes. Finally, he scraped back his chair and stood to do a little boxing dance, punching at the air.

  “Hey, Con, if you can lend me some cash, I’ll go downtown and get us some beer. Hank, you wanna come?”

  Hank appeared stuck for words, so Grandma laid it out for him. “Connie, lend Nick twenty bucks. It’ll be good for him to get out of the house. Hank, you go, too. We women will clean up the dishes and talk about you.” She chuckled throatily, and tension disappeared like ice on a stove.

  When they were gone, the four of us pitched in to clean up. Grandma and I dried dishes — a good time for girl talk.

  “Mom, tell us again how you and Dad met,” I said.

  “Well, first I met Grandma,” Mom replied.

  Grandma laughed. “Sorry about that!”

  “My mother and stepfather, my sister, Jackie, and I, had just moved there,” Mom continued. “It was winter. I was walking home from school when I saw this lady —” she indicated Grandma “— outside scooping snow into a bucket. But not just any snow. She told me she was looking for perfect snow.”

  “For snow ice cream!” Gemma yelped.

  “That’s right. And she said I should come in and have some when it was finished.”

  “Catch a bowl of snow,” Grandma said in a singsong voice, “sweeten it with sugar, flavour with vanilla. Add pink or green food colouring, or instant chocolate, or any flavour and colour your heart desires.”

  “But not yellow,” Gemma said. “Yellow snow is icky.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  Everyone laughed.

  “I want to learn all our old family’s stories,” I said.

  “Like how Grandma used to store her chickens over the winter before she had a deep freeze?” Mom asked. “I nearly fainted when I stumbled on her cache.”