“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 take me long,” he says, and true to his word, he’s back within ten minutes. He spends another ten minutes saying goodbye to Mom.
“That was fast.” I walk with him to the front door and out onto the porch. “Did you look at everything?”
He pauses a moment like he’s going to say something, but he just shakes his head and continues down the steps. “I know this house inside and out. I could have given an estimate over the phone, but I wanted to bring by Ray-feel’s vest.”