A Tree Born Crooked Read Online Free Page A

lost interest. She turned back to James, settling herself on the couch and moving the glass ashtray off the armrest so she could stretch out.  
    “So, what took you so long, huh?”
    James leaned forward.  
    “Well, for one, I got a postcard instead of a phone call. Want to tell me what that was all about?”
    “I tried calling you. Couldn’t get ahold of nobody. I guess those rat traps you’re always staying in don’t got their telephones connected or something.”
    “I have a cell phone. We’re in the twenty-first century.”
    Birdie Mae wouldn’t make eye contact with James. She stared over his head at an abstract picture made of string art and black velvet hanging on the wall. She had won it one night at Bingo and was very proud of it.  
    “I ain’t known where you was staying. Always moving ‘round like you got a fire lit up under your butt. When’re you gonna settle down and marry some girl, huh? All this running ‘round, like to tire a body out.”
    James refused to be distracted.  
    “Mama, that’s the point of having a cell phone. It goes with you. It ain’t tied into the wall like you seem to pretend to think. And if you didn’t know where I was staying, how did you have my address?”
    Birdie looked down at her hands. She picked at a cuticle for a second before snapping her head back up.
    “Alright, fine, Mister Smarty Pants. I lost your damn phone number. I think I had it written on a receipt or something, but I couldn’t find it nowheres. Wasn’t like I had all day to clean the house trying to find it, neither. I had other things going on, you know.”
    James pushed himself up out of the armchair and went into the kitchen. Birdie Mae leaned over one arm of the couch, watching him.
    “What’re you doing now?”
    He yanked on the fridge handle, bent down, and leaned against the top of the open door. Half a block of Velveeta in a plastic sandwich baggie occupied the top shelf. Two paper fast-food bags with the tops rolled down and grease leaking out of the bottoms kept company with the butt end of a stick of margarine. There were three different flavors of Jell-O cups to choose from.
    “You don’t have any beer.”
    “You got something to drink.”
    James stood up and glared at Birdie Mae. She was still craning her neck to keep an eye on him and make sure he wasn’t rearranging her refrigerator.
    “There’s some wine coolers in the door there.”
    “How ‘bout liquor?”
    “I said, there’s some wine coolers in there.”
    James glanced at the three bottles of Arbor Mist, one lying sideways next to a crusty bottle of mustard. He sighed, closed the door, and went back into the living room. Birdie Mae gave him a smug smile.
    “Ain’t find what you wanted?”
    James sat up slightly and pulled a pack of crushed cigarettes from his back pocket. He smoothed one out, put it between his lips, and looked around for a lighter.  
    “There, on top of the TV. Hey, the show’s back on.”
    He reached for the lighter and then switched off the television set. James leaned his elbows on his knees and lit the cigarette. He blew a stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth and handed Birdie the lighter across the coffee table.
    “So, how’d he go?”
    Birdie Mae lit her long, skinny cigarette and set it in the ashtray without smoking it.  
    “That’s what you want to ask me? I ain’t seen you in more’n three years and that’s what you ask me?”
    “Mama, I ain’t got time for this shit.”
    “Watch your mouth. You got somewhere important you gotta be?”
    “How did he go?”
    She stared at the darkened television screen for a moment before answering.
    “It weren’t pretty.”  
    “Mama.”
    Birdie finally turned to look at James.  
    “Orville’d been on oxygen for the past year. You wouldn’t know that though, ‘cause you never come ‘round here, nor take no interest in what goes on, but the doctor put him on it back in June. Had a little tank with wheels that he could