Just one more hour was three hours ago. The clock radio was tuned to DJ Bobby Box on KQEO. Dreams by Fleetwood Mac began to play, in perfect time with the Kit-Cat clock. Una frowned, she wasn’t much for this new music. She couldn’t get up to change the station either. She’d come to the tricky part of the painted bunting where red, green, yellow, and blue met at breast, wing, back, and crest. She squinted and soldiered on.

The birds were so demanding. A whole night of painting and they’d barely scraped together minimum wage. That was only if their birds passed muster. Una was sure of her birds, even her practice bluebird was up to snuff. For Robin’s efforts, not so much. His bluebird was blotchy, the color was off on his cardinal, and the goldfinch he’d labored over was a good effort at best. It wasn’t for want of trying, he just needed time to practice.

He just needed time.

The thought drummed on in her head as John McVie’s bassline droned on. Una set down the bird, finished at last. She found Robin’s head had drowsed down to a resting position on the newspaper that covered the kitchen table. Gently, she pried his brush from between his fingers and swished it in the thinner so the paint wouldn’t dry and ruin the bristles. His hair fell over his eyes, at the crown of his head, the black strands had thinned into middle-age.

Tomorrow, she decided, and realized tomorrow had already become today. She counted the birds, omitting Robin’s three. Over the refrigerator was a cookie tin she called St. Matthew. It was his job to hold all her pocket change for a rainy day. She took the tin down and whispered the novena. Then she counted the money, though she knew to the penny what was inside. No miracle multiplied her nickels, she was still short. With a sigh, she walked over to Robin and roused him. When he lifted up his head, newsprint stuck to his cheek. She led him to bed and wished she could still carry him.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Duerme bien, mi cielo,” Una murmured and closed the door. She shuffled back to the kitchen and cut off the radio. The night pressed on her, Peine forte et dure. No sleep, now.

Una sat at the table, overcome by a wave of desire to sweep all the birds and paint onto the floor and smash them all. She closed her hands into fists and shut her eyes tight until sparks danced behind them.

“Quitale su carga y dámela a mi!" she demanded.

Tick, tick, tick, the clock answered.

* * *

In the morning, Robin woke up to the smell of pancakes. He had to force himself to go out and pretend to be happy about them. He’d used to love the smell. Now, it only made him anxious. Pancakes meant it was a treatment day, because they came up easy.

“Gracias,” Robin said as he sat down.

“De nada.”

Una’s eyes were red. Robin wondered how late she’d stayed up. He looked around for the birds they’d painted.

“I don’t think my birds are good enough,” Robin said. “Maybe I should prime and re-paint them before we take them to the church.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Una said. “Study your openings instead, today I’m only giving you a pawn.”

“Where are they?”

“In the back of the Falcon. Finish your pancakes,” Una waved his question away.

It stuck in his mind. He worried they would accept the birds just because he was sick and they felt sorry for him. While Una was in the shower, he slipped out to the car to look at the birds. Maybe they weren’t as bad as he thought.

They were all perfect. He realized why. Una had stayed up all night and repainted his birds.