Page 27 of Other Birds
Oliver steered her away from the door so they wouldn’t be heard. He didn’t want Garland to know that he knew. Not yet.
“But he has a lot of money now. He didn’t have to wait until he was thirty to get control of his money, like Garland has to.”
“She wants his money?” he asked softly, then wished he hadn’t. He sounded naive.
“Of course she wants his money. She was okay as long as she was in school and her father gave her an allowance. But when she flunked out, he cut her off and told her she needed to get a job, which she refused to do. That’s why she still lives here. She tried hooking up with Cooper after she flunked out, but Cooper had become a big man on campus. He wasn’t the lapdog he was in high school. But she knew exactly what to do to get to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Cooper hates guys who are cuter than he is. That’s why you’re here. Garland’s dad gave her an ultimatum before he left on vacation. When he got back, Garland had to have a job or she’d have to move out. Cooper and the place he just bought in LA are her safety net. Didn’t you know?”
No, he didn’t know. But he could hardly be angry about her using him to get what she wanted when he’d been doing the same thing. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “You don’t like her very much, do you?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve known her my whole life. The more important question is doyoulike her?”
Oliver moved his hands from his eyes to see that Heather Two had stepped close to him, her chest grazing his. She put her arms around his neck slowly, not taking her bright blue eyes off him. He couldn’t move. He just stood there as if watching the whole thing happen from outside his body as she put her lips to his. She’d just brushed her teeth. The taste almost made him gag and he pulled back.
He didn’t understand these people. And he didn’t know who he was when he was around them.
He turned without another word and walked back to the room he shared with Garland. He stripped, fell into bed, and was asleep before the squeaking down the hall ended with a muffled groan.
Zoey heard Frasier’s voice coming from Lizbeth’s living room later that morning. Charlotte greeted him, then asked him when he was removing the bookcase. Her words were clipped with censure. She called it a deathcase.
A moment later, Frasier knocked on Lizbeth’s bedroom door. Pigeon, who had been hopping around the floor pecking and tearing at stray pieces of paper while Zoey blindly followed her, trying to make her stop, flew up. Frasier put his hand to his wiry white hair as if he’d felt her fly out of the room.
Zoey’s brows knit. No one but her had ever felt Pigeon before.
“I was okay, finding the bookcase yesterday,” Zoey said before he could say anything. Then, in a lower voice, “I think Charlotte was more upset about it than I was.”
“She’s right, though. I should have had it removed before I asked you to do this. Sometimes I find myself with an astounding lack of long-term thinking when it comes to people I care about. Charlotte is just looking out for you.” He walked in and sat at the computer desk, his eyes going around the room. “I haven’t seen these walls in a long time. Hello, walls.”
He didn’t say anything else. He just sat there, looking around. Zoey, still kneeling, moved her mask to her head and pointed behind him. “Did you know Lizbeth’s computer is still on? I didn’t want to turn it off in case Roscoe wanted to go through it to see if she had any kind of document on it. I mean, I didn’t want to turn it off in case it wouldn’t turn back on again. It’s pretty old. Lizbethwas logged on to a message board for fans ofSweet Mallow,and the board is still active. Should I write to them? The fans, I mean? To tell them about Lizbeth?”
Frasier swiveled to the computer and pressed the space bar on the keyboard. The monitor sprang to life. He gave the message board only the briefest of glances before turning back around. “If you’d like.”
“I figure Roscoe wouldn’t want the board to descend into chaos.”
“It meant much more to Lizbeth than it ever meant to him.”
“He doesn’t care what his readers are saying?” she asked, surprised.
“Sweet Mallowtook on a life of its own after it was published. Roscoe doesn’t even think of it as his book anymore. He always wanted to move past it.”
“Mac told me he wrote another book,Dancing with the Della- wisps,” she said. “And that you illustrated it.”
Frasier nodded slowly, almost as if he considered her question suspicious. “Roscoe and I have known each other all our lives.”
“It must have been a great experience, working with him.”
“It was a long time ago,” he said.
“What is he like?”
“Old, like me. And cranky. Resting on your laurels isn’t as comfortable as it sounds. In fact, if you asked him, he would probably say it was more like sitting on thorns.”
Zoey hesitated, then figured there wouldn’t be any harm in asking. “Do you have an extra copy ofDancing with the DellawispsI could read?”
“No. I gave the damn things away years ago. And good riddance,” he said. When he saw that she’d raised her brows, he added in a gentler tone, “I’m sorry, Zoey. If I still had one, I would give it to you.”
