My hesitance combined with Margot’s dare makes the decision for Jasper. He launches.
Jasper lands on his feet and promptly falls forward, hands and knees in the mulch. For a moment, he is silent, and I freeze on my own swing, fingers tightening around the metal chains.
“Nailed it!” Jasper calls, picking himself up out of the mulch with a giant grin on his face.
Instinctively, I flick a glance toward the mother on the other bench. She looks my way, and though I expect to find judgment in her eyes, there’s more of that unbridled intensity. But as quickly as she meets my gaze, it returns to her son, now digging a hole at the base of the smaller slide.
“Did you see, Jo? I got so high!” Jasper says.
“I did. Let’s not tell Mom you did that,” I say. Jasper’s grin doesn’t waver. He heads for the jungle gym, presumably the big slide, unfazed by how badly his little leap could have gone.
Meanwhile, I’m still stuck in the moment he hit the ground and the dozen alternatives to a safe landing. I don’t even know where the hospital is. If it’s walkable. The images flash: his eyes red-rimmed, his knees bloody, his limbs wrapped in casts.
Shaking off the lingering anxiety, I make my way over to the bench with Margot. She glances up when I sit but doesn’t say anything.
“You shouldn’t egg him on. He could get hurt,” I say.
Margot snorts. Since she turned fifteen a few months ago, most of her responses are scoffs and snorts; she rolls her eyes so much, I’m surprised they haven’t gotten stuck that way.
“He could get hurt walking on the sidewalk, too. Or getting out of bed in the morning.”
I inhale through my nose, not taking the bait.
Jasper comes flying down the tall, curly slide, landing with a thud. He sweeps his hair out of his eyes and turns, climbing back up the slide instead of wasting time on the stairs.
On the bench, the mother rests one hand on her baby’s head. She checks a watch on the other hand, and her face tightens. She pushes to her feet and gestures for the little boy.
“All right, Elijah. Time to head home.”
Elijah, knee-deep in a hole he’s made considerable progress on, frowns.
“Don’ wanna go,” he says.
“I know, sweet pea. But it’s getting late. Come on.”
At my side, Margot checks the clock on her phone. She turns the screen my way before I can ask. Seven p.m. In the dead of winter, when the sun can’t be bothered to stick around past dinnertime and the cold settles in like a fog, I’d understand. But that’s one of the perks of the summer. More time to let the kids run themselves ragged. The sun still has another hour and a half before it fully disappears for the night. And curfew isn’t until eight.
Margot lifts a brow at me. I shrug, shaking my head.
“Elijah. Now.” The mother’s energy changes, hardens.
The little boy, Elijah, begins to cry. His mother sighs as she makes her way toward him. He cries louder and decides too late to make a run for it. His mom catches his tiny hand in hers.
“I know, baby. But it’s time to go,” she coos.
“Don’t wanna!”
She pulls him gently out of the mulch, onto the grass surrounding the playground. She makes her way toward us.
“You kids should head on home,” the mom says, lingering near our bench. She has a tight grip on little Elijah’s hand. He looks about five seconds away from a full-blown meltdown. The baby strapped to her chest, too, is starting to fuss.
I’m so shocked at the almost-instruction—coming from this complete stranger—I can’t form words. I look to Margot, who takes the order as well as she takes any, which is not at all.
“Thanks, but we’re okay,” Margot says, not at all thankful. She’s stiff, and she folds her arms over her chest.
The mom shifts her weight. Like she’s deciding whether her fight is worth it. But I have no idea why there’d be a fight at all. The mother looks between Margot and me, over at Jasper, blissfully making himself sick on the curly slide. Looks down at her own children. She lets out a sigh.
“Just be careful,” she says. “This town isn’t safe.” With that, she heads off, piling into the only car parked at the curb. Even as the minivan rumbles to life, I can feel her eyes on us until the car pulls away.
