bring Ray-feel his plucking vest.”
“You work on Sundays?”
“Don’t tell anyone.” The marbled stone behind him accentuates the variant depths in his green eyes. “I like your hair.”
I resist the urge to fluff my curls and feel sorry for the women who aren’t immune to good looks and smooth drawls. “Thank you.” I glance at Raphael and see that it’s not a sweater but a fleece and it’s Velcroed across his back. “That vest is pink.”
“Magenta,” Simon corrects me. “It takes a confident man to wear magenta.”
“Can he fly in that thing?”
“Absolutely.”
“Dang. He’s been getting out of his cage.”
“Tell me, are you being a handful?” Simon turns the bird to face him as if he expects a reply.
“That’s a nice way to put it.” Lindsey scoots back further into the sofa and turns an evil eye on her nemesis. “He screams and chases people.”
“That’s true. He likes to antagonize Lindsey.”
“He whistles at me,” Mom says from across the room.
I lower my voice and say, “He doesn’t whistle.”
“No?” He touches his finger to Raphael’s beak to get his attention and whistles as if a hot girl just walked into the room. After two more tries, the bird mimics the catcall. I look from Raphael to Mom in disbelief. She’d been right all along.
“But he doesn’t talk,” Mom adds.
Simon scratches the top of Raphael’s head. “Bonjour, bon ami.” Raphael closes his eyes, but Simon persists until the bird repeats the greeting, sounding very French, like he could be wearing a magenta beret to match his vest.
Mom claps her hands. “What else does he say?”
“Bonjour, mon vieux,” rolls off Simon’s tongue and the dang bird replicates it perfectly.
“What’s he sayin’?” Mom shouts, like we’re all hard of hearing.
“Hello, old man,” Simon answers.
“I didn’t know he was a French-speaking bird,” I tell him.
“He speaks four languages: English, French, Cajun, and gambler. Shake your tail feathers,” he says, and Raphael repeats it right down to the Southern drawl. “I’m feeling lucky. Call my bookie,” he squawks. Next in his repertoire, he mimics the front door’s squeaky hinges as it opens and shuts. He squawks random words and sentences. He bays like a hound dog, and follows it up with “Merde! Shut the fuck up, Boomer!” sounding remarkably like Simon.
“I think that’s enough for now. Quiet down, Ray-feel.”
Surprisingly, the bird shuts his beak. “I take it you have a dog named Boomer.”
“He’s a good huntin’ dog, but just as hardheaded as Ray-feel.” Simon chuckles. “Give me your hand.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t explain before he reaches for my hand and raises it next to Raphael. The bird takes a few steps sideways and wraps his talons around my finger. It feels really weird, reptilian and bony. Simon supports the bottom of my hand with his palm and warms my wrist. Raphael’s black eyes stare into mine without blinking. “Is he going to bite me?”
“Probably not.”
My gaze shoots upward to the heavens, and Simon laughs. Another big, boisterous laugh like when he told me about Uncle Jasper’s mattress. Neither is as funny as he seems to think.
“Scratch his head.”
Reluctantly, I raise my free hand to the fine red feathers on the top of Raphael’s head and lightly scratch. He tilts his beak up and purrs. “He sounds like a cat.”
“What?” Mom yells from across the room.
“He sounds like a cat when you scratch his head,” I yell back.
Lindsey says something grouchy that I don’t catch.
“He’s heavy.”
“He’s gained some weight since I brought him back home.” Simon takes Raphael onto his finger and returns him to his cage. I can almost feel Lindsey’s relief. “He likes you.”
“Me?” I doubt that.
“He hates me,” Lindsey says while keeping her eyes on the cage door.
“Ray-feel chases you because he can smell your fear.”
I picture her running from the naked bird, and me running interference. I can’t help but chuckle.
“It’s not funny.” Lindsey has no sense of humor when it comes to Ray-feel. “Aren’t you going to shut his cage door?” she asks, her brows rising up her forehead.
“Sure, but he’ll let himself right back out when he feels like it.” Simon closes the wire door so that Lindsey can relax. “He likes to unscrew bolts with his beak. So you might want to check your chairs before you sit.”
I thought one of the dining room chairs wobbled more than it had the day before. “Do you have an estimate for the rail?” I ask him.
“I have to look at it yet.”
“We passed a good time.” Mom’s scarlet lips turn up in a coy smile.
“It won’t