Pecked to Death by Vanessa Gray Bartal Page A

sorted through Aunt Abby’s death, but the only job available was handling a vat of chemicals at the new company in the industrial complex at the edge of town. She was on board with the hazmat suit, but when they brought out a waiver for her to sign, one that detailed all the ways she might die, she lost her nerve. “Isn’t there anything else?” she asked. “Anything at all?”
     
    Mr. Hanaford studied her with a critical eye. “There’s one thing, but I don’t think you’ll be interested. The pay is low and its, uh, not very glamorous.”
     
    Sadie’s gut clenched. What job would he think was worse than losing her hair and nails to chemical vapors? “What is it?” she asked.
     
    He showed her a picture. She backed out of the room and ran to her car. Four hours later, she returned defeated. The town was as economically depressed as ever. No one wanted to hire anyone who only planned to be there for two weeks. The temp job was Sadie’s only hope. It was also how she found herself dressed as a giant chicken, standing in front of a restaurant, and twirling a sign.
     
    Her only consolation was that no one would recognize her behind the giant yellow chicken head. But two hours into her shift, someone did. Luke pulled up in front of her and rolled down his window. She stared at him, glaring through the nylon eyes of the chicken, trying not to sneeze or think of how many others had worn the outfit before her. If the smell was any indication, someone had died in it.
     
    Luke poked his head out the window. “Aren’t you supposed to say something?”
     
    She debated telling him where to get off, but that would only prolong her agony. Knowing him, he would probably run inside and tattle to the manager. The manager would fire her. He had been waiting for her to give in or mess up all day. They were cut of the same cloth—weasels, both of them. So she sucked up her courage and spit out the necessary words. “A buck, buck, buck will get a cluck, cluck, cluck.”
     
    He pulled out a dollar and stuffed it in her beak. “There you go. Buy yourself something pretty, chicken.” As he drove away, he rolled up his window, but it didn’t matter; Sadie could still hear his laughter.
     
    Five hours later, her shift was over. Money in her pocket helped ease the humiliation. The gig was so undesirable that she was paid at the end of each shift to keep her coming back. The job only paid minimum wage plus tips for clucking, but her job at the television station had paid so poorly that she was only making slightly less than she had then. Of course then she had dressed in nice clothes, had her hair and makeup styled by professionals, and received accolades from fans. Now she wore polyester and nylon that made her appear four times her size and instead of predicting the weather she strutted giant bird feet and twirled a sign that announced “Five fingers for five dollars is a five finger discount that won’t get you arrested!” All day people had laughed and honked at her. One group of teenagers had thrown trash at her, aiming for her beak. She remembered their license plate number, but what could she do? Call the police and file a report for fowl play?
     
    Gideon wasn’t home. Since he retired three years ago, Sadie had no idea what he did with his days. Or nights, for that matter. Who did he spend his time with? Where did he go? What did he do? The fact that she didn’t know was a testament to their lackluster relationship and made her sad. Too bad her sadness wasn’t as strong as her resentment.
     
    She shimmied out of her bright orange tights and rested her feet on the coffee table. They hurt. A lot. Who knew standing and walking the pavement for a few hours could be so painful? Maybe she should invest in some white padded shoes, the kind nurses use. Except this job was temporary and new shoes would probably take a day’s wages. Her earnings were so meager that she would need to hold on to every penny just to pay