Free Bird by Crystal Chan Page B

John’s free hands pushed Grandpa’s away, and he stalked to the other side of the kitchen.
    â€œGrandpa, is that true?” Mom asked.
    Grandpa glowered at John.
    â€œIt’s true,” I said, feeling sick. “Grandpa punched him.”
    â€œLooks like Jewel’s grandpa forgot about the whole mi casa es su casa thing,” John replied, holding his cheek.
    Grandpa’s nostrils flared. His eyes were flint stones sparking as he stared at John. His breathing came in quick pants, and he shifted his weight like he was ready to spring at John again at any moment.
    Mom stepped in front of Grandpa. “Enough. You are not to touch this young man, do you hear me?”
    Grandpa sneered.
    â€œHe is Jewel’s guest. Our guest. You have no right to lay a finger on him.” She stared him in the face, her hands on her hips. I’d never seen Mom speak so directly to Grandpa before. “Leave this room. Now.”
    Grandpa glowered at her, then at John. He turned around, took a couple steps to the dining room table, and snatched the saltshaker. As he stared at John, he shook some salt onto the floor.
    â€œLeave,” Mom said.
    The way she said that made me shiver.
    Grandpa clenched the saltshaker and shook his fist at John with it. Then he stomped down our hallway and slammed his bedroom door behind him.
    I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding in. Water was still gushing out of the faucet, and I went to turn it off. John was rubbing his face, casually, as if he got punched every morning.
    But I had seen that look of fear in his eyes.
    â€œIs it bad?” I asked.
    â€œI can’t believe he hit you,” Mom said, putting a hand to her forehead.
    â€œTake a look for yourself,” John said, pointing to the already swelling skin at his cheekbone.
    â€œOh, my God,” Mom said, lightly touching the skin around John’s eye. “Let me get you some ice.” She crossed to the refrigerator. “Why is there water all over the floor? And your . . .”
    Wet clothes clung to my skin. It was hard to hide a water fight. “John was teaching me about water pressure,” I said lamely.
    â€œWater pressure?” Mom’s brow furrowed as she slipped some ice into a grocery bag, then doubled it over so it wouldn’t drip everywhere.
    John smiled a lopsided smile. “Jewel was asking about the physics of water faucets, and I was teaching her,” he said. “And I think the lesson got a little out of control. We’ll clean it up, don’t worry. It’ll be even cleaner than when you left it.”
    â€œI see.” The skin around Mom’s eyes turned soft, like when she wants to smile but doesn’t. She handed John the bag of ice. “Rose. Call me Rose.”
    I was confused. Rose? Not Mrs. Campbell?
    He took the ice and pressed it to his cheek. “I’m John.”
    â€œJohn?” Her voice turned thick.
    John nodded.
    I winced.
    She looked at him for a good, long time. Finally she wiped her hands on her pants and took his right hand in both of hers. “I’m glad you’re here, John.” She glanced at me. “And you picked a great day for a lesson on water pressure.”
    I grinned.
    It didn’t take long for John and Mom to hit it off. She sat the two of us down at the kitchen table and brought us iced tea and even suddenly appeared with those expensive packaged cookies that were her favorite.
    â€œWhen did you get to Caledonia?” she asked him, pushing the plate of cookies in his direction.
    â€œJust a couple weeks ago. I’m visiting my uncle Tim for a while.”
    Mom’s brow furrowed. “Tim McLaren?” She was too polite to mention that Mr. McLaren was white.
    â€œYup,” John said, sipping his iced tea. He turned his face slightly toward our oscillating fan to catch the humming breeze. “He’s my mother’s brother.”
    Mom stared at him.