Roost by Ali Bryan Read Free Book Online Page B

plate.
    “Thanks,” I tell him.
    “What was that, dear?” Dad asks.
    “Nothing. Listen, how are you getting home?”
    “Your brother’s renting a car.”
    “Are you sure Dan should be driving? I mean … this soon?”
    “We’re not leaving until tomorrow. We have to make arrangements to have your mother moved first.”
    “Call me before you leave. Okay? I love you, Dad.”
    I pick at the turnover.
    “How is he?” Glen asks, taking a second turnover from the plastic tray.
    “I don’t think he’s slept.”
    Minutes go by. I stare at the ceiling and start humming the Hockey Song. All I know is the chorus. After a few times Glen begins whistling along.
    “She wants Stompin’ Tom played at her funeral.”
    Glen collects LEGO from the carpet. “That’s right,” Glen says, waving his finger. “I remember her telling me that once.”
    “My mom discussed her funeral with you?”
    “No, no. Just that she liked him. What song are you going to play?”
    “No idea. Dad didn’t know. What other songs are there?”
    “‘The Sasquatch Song,’ ‘The Snowmobile Song,’ ‘Margo’s Cargo’ …”
    I glare at him.
    “What?” he says defensively. “I don’t know. Go look them up.”
    I take my laptop out of the bag along with a pink cup and saucer and a fake egg. It is a habit of Joan’s to stow away parts of her tea set so in the event of a natural disaster we can still have a tea party. I google Stompin’ Tom and get a website with his discography. There are hundreds of songs. I scroll down the track lists for something appropriately titled for a funeral.
    “Ever hear of ‘I Am the Wind?’”
    “How does it go?” Glen asks from the bathroom.
    “I don’t know.”
    “What else is there?”
    “‘Just a Blue Moon Away’?”
    “Nope. Never heard of it.
    I keep scrolling and find one called “Rubberhead” and I start laughing because of the irony and it’s absolutely not funny, and because of this I laugh more. My stomach throbs and I cover my face with an afghan. It smells like yogurt, but I keep my face under there because I am completely ashamed and still laughing. When I come up for air, Glen’s emerging from the bathroom and it looks like he has toothpaste on his chin and I am suspicious he’s used my toothbrush.
    He touches my shoulder and says, “It’s going to be okay.” I pull the afghan away. The smell is unbearable and I’ve gained control and I wipe at my eyes, but when I think about the song I start laughing again.
    “Are you …
laughing?
” Glen says, walking around to the front of the couch.
    I shake my head. I fall into the arm of the couch and the laughter turns into crying because only evil people would find “Rubberhead” amusing under the circumstances. Glen takes the laptop and sets it on the coffee table. He pulls me by the arm up to a sitting position, continues scrolling down the screen, and there, second-last track from the bottom, he finds “Sable Island.”
    “That will work,” I say.

13
    After supper I take the kids to Dairy Queen
. They both order Dilly Bars. I choke down a cheeseburger in three bites. We sit in the parking lot across from a couple in a car with two doors, who smoke out their windows, flicking ashes into the wind. Our car smells like pickles. I turn off the engine and tell the kids about their grandmother. The chocolate around Joan’s mouth looks like facial hair, but my attempts to clean it off are futile from the front seat.
    “How’d she die?” Wesley asks. His eyebrows furl like his father’s when he is contemplating something.
    “She had something called a stroke.”
    “Because she got hit by the boat?”
    “Sort of,” I say, still unsure whether the events are connected.
    “Where is she?”
    “She’s in heaven,” I explain.
    Joan asks, “With Jesus?”
    “Yes, with Jesus,” I reply, turning in my seat to face her. It hurts my neck.
    “Who else is there?” Wesley wants to know.
    “Lots of people, I