Uncontrollable (The Nature of Grace, Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

squawks, “You don’t want to ruffle my feathers.”
    I eye Birdee. “You have waaaaay too much time on your hands. You’ve taught him to be the only bird in the world that speaks in complete sentences.”
    She beams proudly as if watching her baby walk for the first time. “That’s right. He’s smarter than half the fools in this state.”
    “That’s not saying much.” I fling my arm around her tiny waist as we head toward the house. “I love you, Birdee.”
    She hugs me back. “I love you too, Chicken.”
    Petey bounces up and down. “I love chicken.”
    We both laugh, and Birdee pinches my waist. “Now let’s get some meat on those bones.”
     
    * * *
     
    Birdee doesn’t stop talking through the entire meal.
    As I scarf down Dad’s favorite dinner – meatloaf and macaroni casserole with a buttery side of Brussels sprouts – I can’t help but notice how quiet Mom’s been the whole night. Every time I look at her, she avoids meeting my eyes, and I think I know why.
    Even though Birdee’s visit brightens things up around here, like a breeze blowing through a boarded-up home, she can’t help but remind Mom and me of Dad. Birdee’s got the same dimpled smile, the same obnoxious laugh, and the same quirky mannerisms – the way she piles her food into little separate piles and goes from one pile to the next, the way she scrapes her fork across the plate after each bite, and the way she wipes her mouth with her napkin using both hands. Those are just a few of the thousands of things they do alike. She is so much like Dad, it makes me more aware of the fact that he isn’t here.
    Birdee rambles on in the background about the Carolina Parakeet she spotted. How they were thought to be poisonous because they ate toxic seeds. I glance over at Mom. This time, she smiles weakly and reaches over to squeeze my hand. She knows what I’m thinking, too.
    Birdee reaches over and slaps my hand. “Napkin, Chicken.”
    I shove the cloth into my lap as she clinks a glass with her knife. “Hello? Attention, peanut gallery? Why am I the only one talking? You know it’s not polite to let the guest carry the whole conversation. Too much pressure for one old lady.”
    I smile. “We were waiting on you to pause. Maybe use a period at the end of a sentence for a change.”
    Birdee eyes me and then addresses my mother. “Girl’s getting too smart. Just like her Daddy.”
    The D-word hits me hard, almost knocking the breath out of me. I even hear myself gasp for air out loud. I suddenly realize I’ll never call out for my daddy again, and tears spring to my eyes.
    For a few seconds, no one says a word. We all grasp for a filler-sentence or maybe linking sentences that can take us from the topic of Dad’s death quickly to another subject, like the bad weather. It doesn’t matter, any subject will do. Suddenly my mind goes blank. No topics scroll through my head. It’s just a black screen with a big picture of Dad’s face plastered in the middle. Everyone looks at each other – Birdee to Mom, Mom to me, Mom to Birdee, Birdee to me.
    Birdee places her napkin on the table and sits back in her chair. “Well. We’re going to have to get used to talking about Joe at some point.” Her voice cracks a little when she says Dad’s name, and she pauses as if collecting herself. “We can’t all hide from his name forever, and he wouldn’t want us to crumble every time he pops up in the conversation. And the good Lord knows Joe wouldn’t want to be forgotten. Not even for a second.”
    A tear trickles down my Mom’s cheek. She quickly wipes it away as if that means it never fell and struggles to find words. “It’s just, we don’t like to talk about it. I guess it hurts too much.”
    Birdee shakes her head, and her blue eyes water. The way they glisten reminds me of Bear Creek, and all the times Dad and I fished there together in the bright sunlight. I can’t help but get choked up when I see her face. I’ve never seen