I notice the finches have returned to our feeders today. I miss Dad; he would have been the first to notice. He adored swapping stories about birds. Who are the newcomers, any returners, which peckers.
Jimmy was on his tenth game of xBox. And Donna lay on the couch, glued to the tv. Glomming down a bag of pretzel rods. I switched it off. “Enough,” I said.
“Mom,” she complained.
“You can practice piano, do schoolwork, anything but vegging out on the couch.” I felt hypocritical, recalling those scores of after-school movies I watched at her age.
“Yeah, whatever.” Donna shuffled off to her room, her 5 foot 2 frame carrying enough weight for both of them.
I sighed. Back out the window, I notice the Blazer in the Wilkinson’s driveway, our snowbird neighbors are back from Florida. I hope I’d remembered to put Jack Wilkinson’s porn DVDs back in alphabetical order. By title, just like he prefers them.
A robin flies past, an assortment of twigs in her beak, building a nest in the lilac bush. Her mate is perched, at attention.
Do they watch them together? Those movies?
I was going to tell my husband, then I decided it would be my secret. I’m sure he has some. He doesn’t even know the Wilkinsons asked me to watch their things.
Actually, what Alice said was, “Keep an eye on the house.”