Treasure Island!!!

Lars. Also it’s no secret that the way you read your book is somewhat partial. My nephew showed me the Disney version. ‘Oh my god,’ I said, ‘this is completely different! How come she never talks about the
pirate
business?’ But my concern isn’t literary accuracy; it’s Richard. I don’t know what happened to him. And that’s why I came today: to learn the truth about the bird.”
    “He’s dead,” my father said.
    “
Who’s
dead?” Lars said.
    “I know he’s dead,” Rena said, “but did she kill him?”
    I stamped up the crumbs on my plate with a damp thumb. “Rena has a soft spot for birds, and I know the rest of you thought of Richard as family. Well, he was as much a part of the family as Aunt Boothie’s ex-husband—not the one who worked in the steel industry, but the one who ran off with his secretary to Peru, who Mom always suspected wiped his butt on the towel at Thanksgiving. I forget if he was Boothie’s Two or Three.”
    “Did you hear the question?” Adrianna said.
    My mother put down her teacup. “I know it’s a sensitive question, but you can see, it
does
make a difference to us, if Richard died of natural causes, than if you, let’s say, under the influence of a book, or whatever else you might be, unknown to us, downloading from the Internet . . . ”
    “Focus,” Adrianna said. “Let her answer the question.”
    “Why on earth is everybody scrutinizing
my
obsessions? Don’t you think other people in this family have damaging enthusiasms? Should we call up Don Tatum and let
him
have a word? It’s not
my
book—it’s
his
penis that ought to be getting an intervention!”
    “Now you’ve gone too far,” Adrianna said.
    “I still can’t get over it,” Lars said, after a pause. His voice was listless and he twisted his napkin. “Nobody even told me Richard was dead.”
    My mother covered her head with her hands. “All right, we are not going to delve into these subjects again. This kind of conversation is destructive for everybody. Instead we’re going to enjoy the pie. Tell me, Ms. Wang, do you think the nutmeg overwhelms the pumpkin?”
    Adrianna was livid. “Do you want me go fetch that plastic bag? The one from T.J.Maxx that reeks of feather dust? Because this isn’t about Don and me, or Don and Mom, or you and me, it’s about whether you
took a life
.” Her chin shook as she spoke. Fine rhetoric, I granted her that. But no matter how many arguments Adrianna made—and clearly she wanted to argue until she was blue in the face—I was not going to get exercised about my so-called shortage of PET-LOVE and SLOPPY KINDNESS .
    “If you want my ear, talk about BOLDNESS, RESOLUTION, INDEPENDENCE, and HORN-BLOWING!”
    “But you’re none of those things!” Adrianna said. “Where did this boy-hero stuff come from? We had the same childhood! We shared an Easy-Bake Oven and a Lite-Brite, remember? You showed me how to use a tampon! We used to
like
the same books. Remember
Little Women?
”
    “Is that what you think?” I sat up in my chair. “That we shared a childhood? We were two separate people in one house, treated differently, according to how
they
perceived our abilities and talents.”
    Adrianna rolled her eyes. “It’s either Mom or Dad or me—anyone but you—who’s to blame for all the stuff you don’t like. You want to pretend Latin I and Latin II set me up for success? All right, go ahead and think it! But at some point you’ll see your life is the result of your own sorry choices!”
    I made a strange, guttural noise of exasperation, picked up the pie knife, and hacked at the crust on my plate. Butter crust, crumble shards. “That parrot died of natural causes and you all know it,” I said. “And even if he didn’t, you can’t pin me with murder. If anything, it was a mercy kill.”
    “Mercy?” Rena said.
    “He hated his life. A bird is supposed to be able to talk, and he couldn’t talk—not in a meaningful way—and it made him really miserable. Plus, you know—he lived in a cage.”
    There was an appalled silence.
    “I was an idiot to think we could help you,” Adrianna said slowly. “I embody your values more than you do. It was bold of
us
to gather here, it was resolute. I wouldn’t call us “independent,” but so what? Interdependent people are nicer. You live like you’re the only person in the room!”
    “You studied my index cards more than you let on. I suppose now you’re going to tell me you know more than