Chapter 6 Wendybird #3
“Cheers.” Jill perched on the chair’s matching ottoman. “Wow.” This Scotch went down like liquid gold. Charles didn’t fool around. Pam didn’t either. She chugged her drink immediately.
Look at you, Jill thought, as she refilled Pam’s glass.
“I can’t sleep here. My bed is terrible,” Pam said.
Jill made common cause. “I’m in a trundle.”
“Wendy’s little trundle?”
“Yup.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“In Wendy’s shrine with the stuffed animals.”
“Parsley, the rabbit.”
“Parsley?” Jill was impressed and also annoyed by Pam’s name-dropping. Parsley the rabbit. No one had told her that.
Know-it-all Pam said, “You can see the stitches where his ears ripped. Wendy sewed them on when she was five.”
“She could sew at five?”
Pam leaned back in her father’s chair like a specialist in Wendyana. “Absolutely. That was her thing.”
“What else was?” Jill filled Pam’s glass again.
Pam thought for a moment. “She built these little dollhouses from cardboard. She would sew blankets, and then she’d tuck her dolls in and sing to them.”
“Aw. What else?”
Blankly, Pam looked at Jill.
“Tell me everything.”
When Jill poured a new shot, Pam drank it like medicine, even as her words slowed down.
“I remember when I was ten. She must have been seven. We were out in the yard, and she found a bird. He was alive but couldn’t fly.
I said, Don’t touch that! Everybody told her don’t touch it, but she got a shoebox and lined it with cotton to make a bed, so she could take the bird inside.
Mom said, You can’t touch that bird. They have parasites; they’re filthy, but Wendy picked him up anyway.
As soon as she had him in her hands, he opened his wings.
I think he had flown into a window and was stunned.
The second Wendy picked him up, he woke from his trance and flew away. She cried and cried.”
“Why? Wasn’t she glad?”
“No, she wanted to nurse that bird back to health! She always wanted something to take care of. She was very sweet,” Pam added dreamily.
“Mmm,” said Jill, allowing Pam her moment. Then time was up. “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Why do you treat her like shit?”
Pam started, flushed and disbelieving. “I don’t!”
“Your sister calls, and you don’t answer. She sends you presents, and you don’t acknowledge them.”
“That’s not true!”
“You’re gonna sit there and deny it?” Jill leaned in close and threatening. “You and your parents. The three of you think Wendy is like Santa’s little helper. She’s not even human to you. She’s some kind of elf.”
Pam protested, “I don’t think Wendy is an elf.”
“Telling me she’s sweet. What the hell is that? Sweet? You mean less—because she knits!”
“I don’t think of her as less.”
“You don’t think of her at all, and when you see her, which is hardly ever, you look down on her.”
“I do not.”
“So tell me. What is she to you? The entertainment? The warm-up act before you walk in with your dumbass dog?”
“You don’t know what she is to me.”
“Oh really?” Jill threw the sodden hat into Pam’s lap. “You took Wendy’s work and used it for a rag.”
“What is that?”
“The hat. Remember the hat?”
Gingerly, Pam lifted the wet yarn. Jill saw confusion in her face and finally recognition and defensiveness and shame. “Rosie got it!”
“Yeah, right. The dog ate it. And why was that? Because you let her!”
Pam shrank back, but Jill leaned over her, hand on the chair, her face in Pam’s face. “Get away from me,” Pam gasped.
“Listen up,” Jill whispered in her ear. “If you ever ever disrespect my wife again, you lose the dog. Wherever Shadow went, that’s where Rosie’s going too.
If you in any way ignore, discard, or deface Wendy’s work, the dog is gone.
You understand?” Jill didn’t wait for an answer.
“This shit stops now. You get your high-functioning ass in gear and answer your phone when Wendy calls. And if a present comes, you send a fucking thank-you note. Within twenty-four hours. And a photo. With the gift fully visible.”
Jill stood and left Pam sitting in the dark.
—
Of course, Wendy would have been horrified. Jill was horrified herself, by morning. Truthfully, she had no plan to murder Rosie. She would never hurt a dog. Wendy’s sister was another story.
Jill scanned the living room as Wendy said her goodbyes. Maybe Pam had thrown the ruined hat in the garbage. Maybe she’d returned it to Rosie. It was nowhere to be seen. Pam stood meekly with Charles as Wendy said, “Goodbye, Daddy.”
Meanwhile, Jill stared at Pam. Her eyes burned through Wendy’s sister.
—
It was good to be home. Jill ran out for milk, and the next day she and Wendy returned to work, keeping the peace and bringing joy in their respective jobs.
Weeks passed, and Jill never mentioned confronting Pam.
She did not say a word about the Scotch, the ruined hat, the late-night conversation.
Because of this, Wendy was startled to receive a thank-you text the very day of Pam’s March birthday.
“Look at this,” she told Jill.
“What is it?”
“A thank-you for the present I sent.”
“Let me see that.” Jill picked up Wendy’s phone.
Dear Wendybird, the message began. Thank you so much for your beautiful and thoughtful donation in my honor…
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Jill said, skimming.
“And look at the photo.”
Jill studied the picture. Like a suspect in a lineup, Pam clutched a certificate of appreciation from Arts for Incarcerated Youth. “Okay,” Jill said. “That’s what I’m talking about.”