where Ryan smelled Lysol and remembered the lie he’d told his mother aboutthe bathroom.
And there she was, hair covered by a shower cap, a giant sponge in one yellow-gloved hand.
“Oh, dear,” their father said.
She scowled. “You can say that again!”
“We’re closed for lunch. Thought I’d see what I could do for half an hour. Chopping? Mopping?”
“Hoppin’!” James shouted, and he marched his feet up and down.
“James,” Bill said, and he reached down and lifted James in his arms.
“Get them some lunch, would you?” Penny said irritably. “Someone peed in here!”
Bill carried James to the kitchen with Rebecca and Ryan following. “I suppose,” he said, “it might be better not to ask who peed in the bathroom.”
It took Rebecca a moment to get it, but then she burst out laughing. How dare someone pee in the bathroom ! Ryan laughed, too, unconvincingly. She wished Robert were there, because he would have been cracking up, and the two of them might have started knocking into each other and ended up on the floor laughing their heads off.
“It was James,” Ryan said.
“James!” their father said. “Lunchtime!”
Mornings when he wasn’t at the hospital, he did assembly-line lunch making, bread in pairs, slap on a slice of meat, slap on a slice of cheese, swipe on the mayo, and the children lined up to receive the sandwiches and wrapped them up themselves, in waxed paper he’d previously torn from the roll, each piece coming off with a satisfying rip against the tiny metal teeth of the box.
Now they all dove in. He found paper plates, and they took their food outside and crowded onto the bench, their father in the middle, Rebecca on one side, Ryan on the other, and James standing facing his father with his plate on his father’s lap.
“Where’s Robert?” Ryan said.
“I’m sure he’s working,” their father said, and this seemed right.
Rebecca finished quickly and went back inside. This made room for Ryan’s badger to take a seat on the bench. “James was going to play with his dog today,” Ryan said, and James looked up at their father with peanut butter ringing his lips.
“I’m goin’ on my twike,” he said. “Down the hill.”
“Ah, James,” their father said. “Your trike.”
Ryan stopped eating. He had a feeling he knew what was going to happen.
“Down the hill,” James said again.
“Oh, dear,” their father said, smiling sadly at James. “That will have to wait for another day.”
Ryan recovered Badger and took his paper plate into the house. James’s screams were not as hard to hear when he was on the other side of a door, even a screen door. Leaving the kitchen, he heard his mother in her bedroom, and he crept past her open door to his room. There was James’s dog, on the floor again. He set his badger on his bed and put the two of them face-to-face. “Dog,” said the badger. “Badger,” said the dog. “Mmm mmm mmmm,” they said to each other, kissing. Ryan felt sorry for Dog, but he couldn’t take care of him and do a good job with Badger. He needed to find a way to help James take care of Dog. Ever since Dog’s collar got lost, James had ignored him. He wondered if Rebecca might have a ribbon that would be a good collar. Ryan sat on his bed, bringing both animals onto his lap. He held their paws together, and they swayed the way he and James had earlier, back and forth, back and forth. He held their bodies together, and they danced.
Back outside, James was on the ground having a tantrum. Hehit his fists against the concrete and pounded his feet, and Bill watched him.
“James,” Bill said.
James looked up. “My twike,” he whimpered, getting to his knees.
“Oh, I know,” Bill said. “I know. Now can you stand up?”
James stood.
“We’ll go another time. All right?”
James nodded, using his palm to wipe the tears from his face.
Bill lifted him onto his lap, facing the grass, and began bouncing him, ba-bump, ba-bump,
Learning to Kill: Stories