Each Little Bird That Sings: Chapters 8–14

I sat at the window seat and peered through Aunt Florentine’s binoculars. It took three people to pry Peach out of the car. He was as stiff as a stalk of celosia, already up to his ears in overemotional shenanigans. His eyes were clamped shut, and his face was as ashen as the dead.

I sat at the window seat and peered through Aunt Florentine’s binoculars. It took three people to pry Peach out of the car. He was as stiff as a stalk of celosia, already up to his ears in overemotional shenanigans. His eyes were clamped shut, and his face was as ashen as the dead.

The mantel clock gave off a satisfying tock-tick, tock-tick, tock-tick sound that made the wallpaper roses look like they might nod off to sleep.

When Declaration spent the night, Aunt Florentine gave us egg-white facials, shared all her beauty tips, and let us rummage through her jewelry box.

Even Aunt Florentine’s pillows looked lonesome. I could almost hear Aunt Florentine say, These are my pillows, which I have left for you. Enjoy them and remember me. So I gathered them up. I tucked one under each arm and traveled across the wide hallway to my room.

All around the edges of the carpet, I put my Essential Equipment. First, a dictionary (I looked up the word decorum: “Good taste in conduct; dignity.” Peach and dignity would never exist side by side—what was Mama thinking?).

At Great-uncle Edisto’s funeral—after he had ruined the punch bowl, after he’d spewed his lunch into a potted fern (then dribbled on Declaration’s shoes), and after he had smashed himself into the azaleas—Peach lay sobbing into the flowers, and of course, I was sent to extract him from the bushes since everyone else was busy with spilled punch and vomit.

Peach gaped at Great-great-aunt Florentine while his nose dripped onto the pink blooms. Aunt Florentine pulled a Snowberger’s handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress and mopped at Peach’s face.

Aunt Florentine had a knack for talking sense to folks.

As I turned it, a fiery hot shriek split the serenity at Snowberger’s, as if touching the doorknob had set off an alarm. I was struck still—I couldn’t have moved if I’d wanted to. Right on the heels of the shriek was the longest, highest wail I had ever heard.

“I don’t know what possessed him,” said Aunt Goldie. “He’s never come to a viewing before, so of course he’s never seen...He insisted on coming...Said Florentine told him to...This whole ordeal has been so hard for him...” She looked at Daddy with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, brother,” she said. Daddy shook his head and said nothing.

I woke up in my bed. I half remembered Daddy putting me there. The ether smell that surrounded him like a cloud had lulled me back to sleep.

Uncle Edisto always said, “The sun serves us on a funeral day. What a good omen!”

Dismay nuzzled his cold, wet nose into my neck and slurped my cheek with his sloppy tongue.

“Comfort!” he called in his tinny, puny, scrawny voice. He made a tentative chicken-step into the room. And with the same great anticipation in his voice that he’d used when he had greeted Uncle Edisto and then Aunt Florentine, he said to me: “It’s morning and I’ve come to see you!”

“Comfort!” he called in his tinny, puny, scrawny voice. He made a tentative chicken-step into the room. And with the same great anticipation in his voice that he’d used when he had greeted Uncle Edisto and then Aunt Florentine, he said to me: “It’s morning and I’ve come to see you!”

Peach’s dam burst, and then came the torrent of tears.

Dismay scampered to Peach and sat at his side, panting, like he knew he was needed for that very thing.

Peach would not be silenced. His thin, piercing wails rose and fell, just like the noon whistle that sounded every day at the Snapfinger Volunteer Fire Department.

I felt an inquisitive pat-pat-pat on my arm. I turned my head and peeked out from under the sheet. There was Merry, staring at me with wonder written all over her face.

“Yelling never solved anything, Comfort,” said Mama. “You don’t know what Aunt Goldie contends with all by herself, and it’s none of your business to judge. Peach will grow up and he will grow out of this phase...”

“Take him to the oak grove—”
“He doesn’t like to go outside,” I said morosely. “He’ll sneeze and complain. ‘Comfort! It’s too hot!’ and ‘Comfort! Bugs!”’

Mama held on tight and spoke in a voice full of finality. “We will get through this day.”

“No, no!” I said, disentangling myself from Tidings. “Where’s Declaration!”

Kristen and Tiffany had entwined their arms. They studied the asphalt at their feet.

Tiffany put her hand over her mouth and stifled a giggle. Declaration looked at me, wide-eyed, and I stared back at her in a helpless way.

Peach was running in my direction, waving his skinny arms in the air, his head bobbing on his thin-as-a-noodle neck as he ran. His whole body careened first right, then left; he was like a bony little bird flapping out of control.

“Commmforrrt!” Peach implored. “I’ve come to see you!”
I opened the back door and faced my zigzagging cousin.
“Get lost!” I shouted. I slammed the door in his face.

“You need to eat something, dear heart,” said Aunt Goldie. “Tidings, butter this girl a biscuit.” She poured me more tea and said, “When Peach doesn’t eat, his blood sugar plummets and we have to pick him up off the floor and put him to bed for hours—I’m surprised you’re still upright, Comfort!”

“Glory, hallelujah!” said Peach. “I’m coming to see you, Comfort!” He had a toothy grin on his face and an expectant look. I gave him a halfway smile back.