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“It wasn’t just about Dolly Parton!” I blurted, desperate to keep him here.
He turned back to face me, curious now.
“I mean… I mean, that’s not the whole reason I was upset at you,” I mumbled, mortified.
To my surprise, Charlie’s expression morphed into a little smirk, and his dark eyes danced. “You mean to tell me you haven’t been holding a grudge against me for fifteen years over a turkey? Because there’s a costume around here that suggests otherwise…”
“Sarcasm isn’t sexy, asshole,” I lied. “And I said Dolly’s not the whole reason. He’s definitely part of the reason. That turkey was a beloved companion for twelve whole years after that incident. Followed me around as I built my business from scratch and never once left me with no…” I stopped speaking before I could finish my thought.
Dolly had never up and left me with no explanation. Unlike other people.
Charlie sighed and took a seat next to me on the sofa. “I’m glad he was a good companion. But… Hunter, I didn’t hurt Dolly Parton. I would never have done hurt him. Or you.”
I nodded slowly. I believed him. “So why did you take him?” I asked for the first time.
Charlie lifted his hand and hesitated before bringing it over mine and pulling my hand between both of his. It almost felt like he was grabbing hold of me to keep me from leaving until he’d had a chance to make his case. Regardless, the dry warmth of his fingers tangled in mine released some of the tension in my shoulders.
“Look, I… I’m not saying I handled things well,” he admitted. “I was doing the best I could, but looking back, there were better ways…”
I squeezed his hand. “And you were fourteen, so you didn’t know them. Just tell me, Charlie.”
“Right. Well. I came over to your place the morning of the competition to see if you needed any help transporting Dolly to the show, but your grandpa said you were busy upstairs getting your shirt and tie on. You’d been telling all of us at school about how you’d bathed him a couple days before and gotten him all shined up—”
“Only his beak,” I corrected loftily. “According to the poultry competition handbook, entrants are only allowed to apply Vaseline to the bird’s beak and toes. Otherwise, it might affect their proper tail carriage.”
Charlie winced. “Wellll, yes. About that.” He coughed lightly. “I, ah, wanted to see how nice Dolly looked, so I went out to his habitat while I waited for you, and… thebirdwaslubed.”
“The…” I shook my head. “Say again?”
“Dolly Parton. He was coated in lube,” Charlie managed. “I mean, wattle to tail feathers, all the way down to his skin, just fucking glistening and slimy with it. So gunky that a bunch of straw and little rocks from his habitat were stuck to him like, um, little rhinestones?”
“That’s not possible.” I frowned. “How could…”
“Your sister was sitting off to the side, next to a few of your grooming tools, with the half-empty tub of Vaseline. She’d only smeared it up to her elbows by the time I found her. And she said, ‘Charlie, look! Dolly and me are all pretty for the show! Hunter’s gonna be so happy!’”
I groaned. Alana had been seven or eight at the time—young enough that I hadn’t wanted her “help” getting Dolly ready for the show, old enough to be put out about that fact. Many, many times, I’d had to rescue Dolly from her attempts to add glitter and ribbon to the bird’s “wardrobe,” and no matter how often I’d told her off or how many big-eyed looks she’d given me, she’d been persistent.
“I… I panicked,” Charlie admitted. “I wiped Alana off and told her to go get changed, but that turkey would not wipe down. And I could just picture you coming out and finding Dolly like that, knowing Alana had done it. You’d have been so angry, and she’d have been heartbroken. She wanted to see Dolly get first prize as much as you did.”
“So you took him.”
Charlie nodded. “I only took him so I could bathe him. I meant to bring him back before you found out what happened. But when I got him to Uncle Amos’s place…” He grimaced. “Have you ever tried to get five pounds of lube off a very pissed-off tom?”
I tucked my tongue into my cheek, suddenly fighting the urge to laugh. “Can’t say I have.”
“Zero out of ten, do not recommend, let me just tell you. Not to speak ill of the dead or whatever, but that bird was fierce when he didn’t get his way. Nearly as stubborn as his owner. Look.” He removed his hand from mine and pointed to a small silver crescent on the skin near his hairline. “Battle scar.”
I reached up to run my fingertip over it. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”
