I've spent most of the day on the back swing staring at nothing. Aunt Beth tried to move me and shoved several plates of food in my hands. I didn't eat any of them. When I put them on the ground, my turkey wandered over and found me. He ate all the food and tried to eat the plate, too. I grab the plate quickly and put it out of his reach. "I need to get you to a vet so you can fly again. Walking must suck. Once we get you fixed up, I bet you'll head over to the Turnpike to hang with the other vultures." Not that I've ever seen any over there. Aunt Beth calls me from the back of the house. I make the bird scat. Aunt Beth already threatened to stuff him once today. She's been crying and cooking nonstop along with the other women in my family—well, all of them except me. For the most part, they've left me alone. "Sidney, we're out of flour," she explains, dusting off her hands on the apron my mother wore so many times. I glance at her shoes. They're white like she dropped the bag. Flour clings to her pants.
