Elaine’s decision to let him stay home, watching movies and playing video games while she plied him with his favorite foods, was a horrible idea.
“She’s raising a mouse instead of a man,” Jimmy had said last night. “J.J. and Charles are eleven months apart, but you’d think it was five years.”
This morning, over breakfast, Natalie had taken a long look at her eldest son. He seemed even taller than he had at the end of the school year. Sunlight and chlorine had turned his hair platinum, and his torso was tanned and muscular. He’d been upset by the disappearance of the two boys, but he was starting to come around. He ate heartily and chugged two glasses of orange juice. Then he belched near Jill’s ear, hoping to elicit a response.
He didn’t get one.
Jill didn’t even move. She wore the vacant look of a lobotomy patient as she pushed cold scrambled eggs around her plate.
Nothing a little fresh air, exercise, and time with her peers can’t cure. She needs to learn how to push through.
Jill and J.J. had spent the last two days clearing debris from Mrs. Smith’s garden. There were so many trash bags at the curb that Natalie wondered if any plants were left behind that tall, rusted iron fence. Not that she cared. Her kids were doing the neighborhood a favor by attacking the chaos that was Mrs. Smith’s backyard, and they were being paid handsomely for their efforts.
They never saw Mrs. Smith, but at some point during the night, she’d placed two envelopes of cash in the Scotts’ mailbox. Natalie hadn’t asked her kids how much they’d earned, but she had a feeling it was more than Mrs. Smith originally promised.
The kids were scheduled to work for another three hours that afternoon, and Natalie hoped Jill wasn’t going to try to worm her way out of her commitment.
“Why are you holding your hand like that?” she asked her daughter.
“I cut it at Mrs. Smith’s. There was this—I don’t know—thorn? Scale? It was sharp. I washed my hand when I got home, but it really hurts.”
Natalie beckoned for Jill to join her at the sink. “Lemme see.”
Of all her children, Jill had the highest pain tolerance. Considering she was also the most accident-prone, that was a good thing. To hear her say that a cut on her palm really hurt was out of character.
Jill peeled off the Band-Aid. Then she moved her hand closer to Natalie’s and slowly uncurled her fingers.
The smell hit Natalie like a slap in the face.
Her daughter’s hand smelled like their bait bucket. Briny and rotten.
Recoiling, she gestured for Jill to toss the Band-Aid in the trash can under the sink. Then she studied her daughter’s wound.
The skin in the center of her palm was puckered. The red-purple lines surrounding a dark purple circle looked like an almond. Or an eye.
Natalie gently pressed on the skin. “Looks infected.”
Jill let out a hiss and snatched her hand away.
The reaction took Natalie by surprise. “Did you use iodine? You didn’t, did you? I can tell.”
“Just soap.”
Natalie shrugged. “There you go. You know you have to clean cuts with iodine.”
“But it stings!”
“That’s why you blow on it. Soap isn’t enough. You’ll have to soak your hand in a bowl for a few minutes and then use the iodine. Show Una. She’ll know what to do.”
Natalie turned back to the mirror and applied her lipstick. Next, she dabbed perfume on her wrists and behind her ears. She could sense Jill watching her. Her daughter had more to say.
Annoyed by the weighty silence, Natalie said, “What is it? I need to go.”
“Should I go to swim practice after I soak my hand?”
Natalie’s eyes moved over Jill’s body. “Of course you should. It won’t make your hand worse. If anything, it’ll help.”
“What about Mrs. Smith’s?”
