“You’re right, Dad.” Patty whistles. "Polly, oh pretty Polly!"
A bright green bird flutters onto the set and lands softly on Patty’s finger like she’s Cinderella in a cartoon of her own.
"Please let it poop on her dress," Nellie mumbles.
“Her dadandthe animal.” Mr. Bruce sounds perturbed.
Polly whistles a catcall, then says to Mr. Mitchell, "What's cooking, good looking?"
Patty wags her finger. "I didn't bring you out here to flirt. How about you tell everyone what cookies we’re making today.”
"Peppermint Patty's Pom-Poms," it squawks on command.
Patty and her dad grin at each other, and a sliver of jealousy cuts through me. I set my mimosa on the coffee table, and my hope wanes as the show plays on.
It’s clear that Mr. Mitchell isn’t used to being on this side of the camera, but the connection between them is natural. Together, they make a shortbread cookie dunked in powdered sugar and drizzled with red peppermint icing.
Mr. Bruce and Nellie become commentators, but I barely hear them. All I can think is how unfair it is that Patty has her dad, and I won't have mine for another six-to-eight years.
“Hmph,” Mr. Bruce grumbles once it’s through. “I bet those pom-poms taste gross.”
I shut off the TV and look at Nellie.
Her lips are pursed, her brow is furrowed, and her nostrils are flared. “Well,bleep—she actually didn’t suck this time.”
“Suck?” I screech. “Her whole segment wasperfect. When Ishot with my dad and Bruno we had half a dozen things go wrong.”
“I hate that she copied you,” Nellie growls.
Mr. Bruce lifts a finger. “Why don’t you beat her at her own game?You’rethe one who had her father on the show first. Do it again.”
Nellie catches my gaze, then holds it as a wordless breath passes between us. She’s the only one who knows where my dad is.
My face gets hot as frantic thuds rumble my ribcage. I don’t want people to know. Sure, the embezzlement is public information, but who goes searching stuff like that up?
I go with the most obvious angle. “Won’t it look like I’m copying Patty if I do that?”
His expression falls flat. “It might.”
“Yeah,” Nellie agrees. “Probably best not to do it now.”
“Wait!” Mr. Bruce blurts so loudly Jinxy jumps off his lap and onto Nellie’s.
I gasp and flinch back, expecting Nellie to shove him off and scream. Incredibly enough, she doesn’t. Instead, Nellie strokes his rubbery-looking spine. “It’s okay, Jinx,” she soothes. “Auntie Nellie’s got you.”
Mr. Bruce smiles warmly at the sight before clearing his throat and shooting to his feet. “Here’s what you do. Start the show by saying, ‘due to popular demand, my dad and Bruno are back for a special holiday segment.’That will make it obvious thatshe’sthe copycat.”
My shoulders droop. “That’s true.”
Nellie deflates too. Jinxy starts licking her chin which makes her—not gag, my friends—but giggle and speak in a baby voice. “Aww, thank you for the kisses, sweet boy.”
I shudder and look away.
“What do you say?” Mr. Bruce asks, eyes lit with hope.
I can’t do what he’s suggesting unless we shoot from the federal prison, but I also can’t tell him why the idea won’t work.I don’t want Mr. Bruce’s opinion of my father to change. Dad’s a very good man who just…did a very bad thing, something he regrets terribly.
It’s the reason I couldn’t swallow my pride and call Jude after it all went down.
