“Gran feels Cainsville isn’t a good influence on you right now.”
He shot a look at his grandmother, who returned a small, smug smile and ate another forkful of peas.
“Remember what happened when you visited last month?” his father said. “You came home and you were quite a little terror.”
That was a lie. His grandmother had punished him twice as much after they got back, making up twice as many stories about him misbehaving. He’d thought she was just angry because her plan—whatever it had been—failed.
Gran’s smile widened, her false teeth shining as she watched him.
“I don’t care,” the Gnat said. “I hate Cainsville. It’s boring.”
His grandmother patted her head. “I agree.”
He shot to his feet.
“Bobby…” his father said.
“May I be excused?” he asked.
His father sighed. “If you’re done.”
Bobby walked to his room, trying very hard not to run in and slam the door. Once he got there, he fell facedown on his bed. The door clicked open. His grandmother walked in.
“You’re a very stupid little beast,” she said. “You should have told the elders. They’d take you back.”
He flipped over to look at her.
“If you’re being mistreated, they’ll take you back,” she said. “But you didn’t tell them, so now we have to wait for them to come to us. I’ll make sure they come to us.”
Hisgrandmother soon discovered another flaw in her plan. Two, actually. First, that whoever she thought would “come for him” was not coming, no matter how harsh her punishments. Second, that his parents’ blindness had limits.
As the months of abuse had passed, he’d come to accept that his parents weren’t really as oblivious as they pretended. Nor were they as enlightened as they thought. Even if they’d never admit it, there seemed to be a part of them that thought his grandmother’s wild accusation was true. Or perhaps not that they actually believed him a changeling faerie child, but that they thought there was something wrong—terribly wrong—with him. He was different. Odd. Too distant and too cold. His sister hated him. Other children avoided him. Like animals, they sensed something was off and steered clear. Perhaps, then, the beatings would help. Not that they’d ever admit such a thing—heavens no, they were modern parents—but if he didn’t complain, then perhaps neither should they.
They did have limits, though. When the sore spots became bruises and then welts, they objected. What would the neighbors think? Or, worse, his teachers, who might call children’sservices. Hadn’t the family been through enough? Gran could punish him if he misbehaved, but she must use a lighter hand.
That did not solve the problem, but it opened a door. A possibility. That door cracked open a little more when his mother received a call at work from one of the elders, who wondered why they hadn’t seen the Sheehan family in so long. Was everything all right? His mother said it was, but when she reported the call at home, over dinner, his grandmother fairly gnashed her teeth. His mother noticed and asked what was wrong, and Gran said nothing but still, his motherhadnoticed. He tucked that away and remembered it.
Christmas came, and he waited until he was alone in the house with his mother, and asked if they’d visit family in Cainsville. His mother wavered. And he was ready.
“Your grandmother doesn’t think you’re ready,” she said as they sat in front of the television, wrapping gifts.
“I’ve been much better,” he said.
“I’m not sure that you have.”
He stretched tape over a seam. “I don’t think I’m as bad as Gran says. I think she’s still mad at me because we had to move.”
A soft sigh, but his mother said nothing. He finished his package and took another.
“I think she might exaggerate sometimes,” he said quietly. “I think Natalie might, too. I get the feeling they don’t like me very much.”
Of course his mother had to protest that, but her protests were muted, as if she couldn’t work up true conviction.
“If you don’t see me misbehaving, maybe I’m not,” he said. “I do, sometimes. All kids do. But maybe it’s not quite as much as Gran and Natalie say.”
He worded it all so carefully. Not blaming anyone. Only giving his opinion, as a child. His mother went silent, wrappingher gift while nibbling her lower lip, the same way he did when he was thinking.
“I have friends in Cainsville,” he said. “Little girls who like playing with me. They’re very nice girls.”
