Imperfect Birds Read Online Free Page A

because you were a mess, and lonely, and His or Her child. God loved you no matter how crazy you felt on the inside, no matter what a fake you were; always, even in your current condition, even before coffee. God loves you crazily, like I love you, Rae said, like a slightly overweight auntie, who sees only your marvelousness and need.

    E lizabeth turned to look over her shoulders at a commotion across the Parkade by the bus kiosk. A group of young people had gathered, passing a joint and sniggering, shoving, sharing: it was ridiculous, like a last-chance preschool. Some were older kids who had already graduated from high school but stayed around, who had dropped out of college or been kicked out, or who had forgotten to move out of their parents’ houses. There were men in their mid-twenties, too. A couple of them were known to be dealers. You didn’t ever see them dealing, but you did see them with sexy stoned adoring girls.
    She glanced around for Rosie. James had gone off with the old couple, but he should be back in a few minutes. There would be no more stalling in the hopes that Rosie would appear. Cars drove in at the western edge of the Parkade, and exited to the east, across from the movie theater, near the other set of stairs. People were parking and getting out of cars, or walking to check out library books, or buy hardware, or order muffins at the KerryDas Café. They bumped into one another, checked in briefly, and Elizabeth eavesdropped:
    “Where’s Chelsea for the summer?”
    “Habitat for Humanity, in Georgia.” That might be a good plan for Rosie next summer, come to think of it.
    “Hi, April—long time! Did you get your tomatoes in yet?”
    “How about those Giants? Look to you like the fire sale’s about to begin?”
    “Hey, Smitty—why weren’t you at soccer Saturday morning?”
    “Special Olympics, remember?”
    “Oh, yeah. Did Hannah have a good time?”
    “Yes, but this year she got stuck next to the pincher.” Elizabeth smiled and made a note to tell James. They went to the Special Olympics every couple of years, and knew the pincher.
    James came into sight, on his return from helping out the old folks. She hung her head. The jig was up and she walked toward him. Someone had put new geraniums in the flower boxes that lined the steps. Bees and white butterflies flew above the pink flowers. She reflexively nipped off the dead heads.
    “I’m going to go put this in the recycling,” he called to her, holding up his paper and changing course. She watched him pass a group of teenagers, lowering his eyes like a spy, then glancing back over his shoulder. He constantly pumped Rosie for details of the lives of the people who hung around at the Parkade, for the novel he was working on. One of them in particular interested him: a handsome surfer type in his mid-twenties named Fenn, who wore wire-rimmed glasses and always seemed to have a young beauty in tow. James had pointed him out to Rosie. “There’s a guy in my book like him. The same great looks and flat confidence. As if he has an internal story he doesn’t have to explain to anyone. Or maybe a kind of predatory patience.”
    Rosie had rolled her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake, James, it’s all in your head. Remember how panicky you guys were over Luther?” Luther was the old wino who’d started watching Rosie play tennis the year she turned fourteen, her last year on the courts. The year she and her partner Simone were ranked number one in the state for fourteen-and-under doubles. The year Simone got pregnant and moved to Ukiah. When Rosie was still fretful and shy and skinny, before the breasts and contempt. Luther, darker than shadows, terrorized the parents of girls on the tennis circuit, who thought he was a pedophile. “And remember what dastardly deed he ended up doing to me?” Rosie glared. “He helped me with my serve , for God’s sake.”
    This was her new phrase, said with clipped disbelief at your stupidity— for