RIIIINNGG-RIIIINNGG, RIIINNG-RIIIINNGG…

“Lucy, your phone is ringing!” Wilson waved it around in the air.

“Oh!” Wiping off the marinara sauce from her face, she pushed the chair back, fixing her dress as she stood. “Thanks.”

"Hello?" A raspy voice answered the phone, which Lucy recognized. “Is this Lucy Turner?”

“Yes... It is.” Releasing her breath slowly, she asked, “Might I ask who this is?”

“Jack Carson.”

“How did you get my number?”

“Now, that’s for me to know. You need not worry about a thing.” Jack paused, and the tension rose. “Now that I’ve made my way outta prison, I’ll be comin’ for the bird. He was my ma's, but she ain’t around no more, so now he’s mine.

“You lost your right to own Barley when you abused him.” She sneered.

“Now, now. I wouldn’t call it abuse. After all, he is only an animal.”

“And you can abuse an animal, Jack.

“No, you can’t. Let me tell you something, Lucy.” Jack lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. “Animals are animals, and men are men. Can’t change that.”

“Where are you going with this, Jack?” Jack laughed, knowing Lucy was tense. “You sound like your lungs will give out any moment with the amount of cigarettes and alcohol you consume.”

“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. Lemme tell you something else. Animals belong in cages, like women belong in the kitchen, and men rule over them.”

“You’re sick, Jack. Real sick.” Lucy’s stomach churned as Jack spoke; how could someone say such things? Lucy worried for Barley and Jack. She didn’t want Jack to get Barley, but what happened to Jack to make him this way? Poor child. She thought. I knew his mother; the nicest woman you’d ever meet, so what happened?

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

“Well, that’s fine by me. I’ll be coming for the bird, old lady; you can’t stop me.” Jack hung up the phone and raised a bottle of gin in a toast to himself. “To makin’ my way outta jail,” he chuckled.

—-

Lucy swayed, feeling as though her lunch might make a reappearance. As she made her way across the room, she collapsed on the couch. I’ll have to tell Barley. She thought, tears welling up.

“Lucy? Are you okay?” Wilson’s voice started her, but Lucy stayed silent, so Wilson sat next to her, grieving with her in silence. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” He whispered. She thought for a moment, bursting out in a sob.

“Jack called. He said he’s coming for Barley.” She choked on her tears. “How do I tell Barley?” Lucy buried her face in Wilson's shoulder and sobbed.

“You won't have to.” Wilson patted Lucy’s head and said, “I’m going to call the cops and make sure that son of a gun doesn’t come anywhere near our family.” Squeezing Lucy, Wilson lifted himself from the couch.

Lucy’s crying calmed, and Wilson switched the television on, heading for his office.

—

“What did they say?” Lucy anticipated his answer.

“They can’t do anything about him. If he’s only threatened us but made no moves, they can't intervene.” Wilson bit his lip. “I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about ‘im right now.”

“Is that so?” Folding her hands in front of her and entering the kitchen, she said, “Well, that’s alright. We’ll just carry on for now, and if we meet Jack, then we can take further action, but I would like some extra locks installed.” Lucy smiled. “I’m going to start dinner now, shoo shoo!”

Barley stared at the bird in the mirror. Why was he copying Barley’s every move? Who was he? “Don’t do much?” Barley cawed. “No… “ Barley’s thoughts worked better than his words.

I should work on my speech, Barley thought. How do I start practicing? Maybe I’ll talk to the other bird more. He stared at his reflection, preparing himself. “Hi. Hi. Who are you?” His head bobbed as he spoke.

“Barley can be so funny sometimes.” Lucy chuckled. “Talking to himself like that. I suppose he doesn’t know it’s himself though.”

“He’s a good bird. He was well behaved too; till Jack got ‘em.” Wilson sat on a stool behind the counter and watched Lucy pull out a bag of carrots and start shaving. “Need any help?” he asked.

“No, but I’ll tell you if I do.” Her eyes lit up, and her face wrinkled as she smiled, showing off her age. Wilson smiled back.

Wilson looked around the rooms. The colorful cabinets they never finished painting had been left half blue and half yellow for years. Checkerboard tiles on both the kitchen walls and floor reminded him of diners in the 90s. Lucy liked plants, so they covered the house, being most present in the kitchen, with windows lined with new growth and sprouts that they’d transfer to the backyard garden when they were ready.

He turned his head to the left and looked at the cased opening; either side was covered in pictures of their wedding. Looking past the opening, he saw the couch they took with them from the apartment they lived in when they first married. It was old, tattered leather that had begun to fall apart and crack. Blankets covered where their first cat scratched the top, and pillows took up most of the couch. Plants infested the living room, as well as old trinkets and collectibles.

Looking back at Lucy, who was now hit with the light from golden hour, making her look twenty years younger. I might just be the luckiest man on earth. Wilson ruminatively thought. “We’ve lived a many good years here, haven’t we?”

“We have.” Lucy smiled back. “And I intend to live many more. Now, why won’t you start helping me by chopping this onion while I begin the soup?”

Wilson laughed. “Just want me to be the one who tears up now, do ya?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Lucy replied. “I’ll get Barley his dinner once I’m done starting the soup.”

“Alright. Think you’ll need my help making sure he don’t get out?”

“No, I think I’ll be fine.”