Кевин Уилсон - Nothing to See Here

“But those fibers are to keep the fire away from people,” Carl said. “The kids are the fire. We’re not keeping the fire away from the kids. We’re trying to keep the fire away from everyone else. From other things that might catch on fire.”

“Wouldn’t it work the same way? If it’s flame… what do you call it?”

“Flame resistant,” Carl replied.

“Right, if it’s flame resistant, then it still does the same job. The kids catch on fire, and the material keeps it contained to them.”

“I guess that’s right,” Carl said, like I’d solved a very simple math problem but it was still kind of impressive.

“It buys us time. It protects us. It protects the house. Right?”

“I guess so,” he said. And then, like it had just occurred to him, he continued, “I have a buddy. He’s a stuntman in Hollywood. They have this kind of gel, a water-based gel, that they use for fire stunts. You rub it on your skin and the fire won’t hurt you. It would do the same thing. The kids catch on fire, and this gel would contain it just long enough for us to put them out.”

“Okay, cool. Buy, like, a hundred gallons of that gel. Buy firefighter clothes. But that’s only half of the problem.”

“What else?” he asked.

“We have to keep them from catching on fire in the first place. We have to make it so that when they find themselves in situations where they usually catch on fire, they don’t catch on fire.”

“Zen meditation,” he said, actually snapping his fingers, like it all made sense now, like maybe I wasn’t as insane as he’d thought.

“Something like that,” I said. “One of my mom’s boyfriends did yoga, and, god, it was so stupid-looking and irritating because we all had to be quiet while he did it, but he was the calmest motherfucker I’ve ever met in my life. Nothing my mom did would even faze him for a second. She ended up leaving him because he was too calm. She said—”

“That’s fine, Lillian,” Carl said, cutting me off.

“Anyway, we do yoga every morning. We teach them, I don’t know, like a mantra or something so they can calm themselves down.”

“Why not just give them a ton of medication, lithium or something? Keep them at an enforced level?”

“Do you think Jasper wants us drugging his kids?”

“I don’t think we have to tell Jasper that we’re drugging his kids,” Carl replied.

“We’re not drugging children, okay?” I said. “We do deep breathing exercises. We stay calm.”

“Cognitive behavioral therapy,” he said.

“Well, get me some books on that,” I told him. “Get me that weird fire gel from Hollywood and get me books on cognitive behavioral therapy. Yoga tapes.”

“Okay,” he said, and he sounded actually kind of satisfied. “Okay, this is what we’ll do.”

“What is?” Bessie said. She and Roland were standing right beside us. Even Carl jumped when he heard her.

“You’re supposed to be in the pool,” I told them.

“Tell me about that stuntman gel,” Roland asked Carl.

“No pills,” Bessie said. “No pills. If you tried to make us take something, it would make me so angry. I would catch the couch on fire.”

“No pills,” I said, nodding.

“Okay,” Bessie said, and her gaze was so far off, staring into a deep cave, like she still wasn’t sure that she could trust me, which kind of hurt my feelings. Then I realized that my brainstorming notebook had listed sleeping pills as an option.

“The real reason that I came to see you,” Carl said, “is that Mrs. Roberts wants to have a family dinner. Senator Roberts will be home this weekend. She wants the children to come to the house. She wants to try to make this work.”

“Can we have pizza?” Roland asked. “Or chicken nuggets?”

“That’s not up to me, Roland,” Carl said.

“So we get to go over there?” I asked, not quite believing it.

“In four days,” he said. “As long as there aren’t any incidents in the meantime.”

“It’s not our fault, okay?” Bessie said, indignant.

“We were born this way!” Roland shouted.

“I’d better get going,” Carl said, standing up. “Good luck, Lillian.”

“Bye, Carl,” I said, and, then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Roland peeing directly into the pool.

“Roland!” I shouted.

“The chemicals,” he said, flustered. “The pool stays clean.”

“Look at that jerk,” Bessie said, and I thought she meant her brother, but then I saw that she was looking back at the house, and there was Timothy again, holding a stuffed animal, looking at us through those opera glasses. And behind him was Madison, beautiful even from this distance. I waved, and Madison waved back. I gave her a thumbs-up. I wanted to tell her about Nomex, about yoga, but she was so far away, all the way in that giant mansion. I missed her.

“Okay, kiddos,” I told them. “Back in the pool.” They groaned, but then cannonballed into the water, splashing my legs.

“Come in with us,” Bessie said, but I shook my head. I got up and walked to a lounge chair, reclined. In my sunglasses, I felt like a movie star. I couldn’t see myself, which helped the fantasy. “I’m going to lounge for a bit,” I said.

“Aw,” Roland said. “That’s no fun.”

“Watch us,” Bessie said, her hand slapping the surface of the water, like she was punishing some stupid baby.

“I am watching,” I said. With my sunglasses, they couldn’t really tell where I was looking. I just needed a second, this little space where they were not my entire world. I needed the smallest break. Who would deny me this? I mean, besides these two kids. I looked up at the clouds. They all looked like things, but I was too tired to give them names.

I wondered what Madison was doing. It was hard not to feel like she had tricked me. I had barely seen her. I remembered those first days, before the kids, when it was just the two of us. She bought me a wardrobe. We played basketball. I thought we’d be together. I mean, I knew I’d be here, with the kids, but in my mind, Madison was sitting next to me, laughing. I thought we’d be eating those dainty, gross tea sandwiches while the kids played hopscotch or some shit.

“Watch us,” Bessie said again, louder.

“I am watching you,” I said. “You look beautiful.”

“Aww,” Roland said, knowing that I was lying.

I felt the sun on my face, listened to the sound of the kids in the pool. It was peaceful. It was boring as shit, but it was peaceful. I closed my eyes for a second. The summer seemed to stretch out for miles, forever.

When I woke up, my whole body startling into consciousness, I looked in the pool and the kids were gone. How long had I been asleep? A minute? Eight years? Anything between these two periods of time seemed possible. My neck was killing me. “Bessie?” I said, quiet, so no one would hear me. It defeated the purpose, but I was trying to be cool, so cool. “Roland?” I said. Nothing. The pool was calm, empty. I looked around. The kids were gone. I instinctively looked toward the windows in the mansion. There was no sign of Timothy, no witness to my irresponsibility. And then I thought, What if the kids are in the mansion? What if they sneaked into it? What if they’ve got Timothy in a headlock? I felt sick to my stomach.

I stood up and started walking around the pool, checking behind the lounge chairs, making sure they weren’t hiding from me to teach me a lesson. I looked into the pool, all the way to the bottom, but it was empty. I ran back to the guesthouse, opened the door, and shouted for them, but there was no response. I checked every room: no sign of them. I looked at the phone, thought for a split second about calling Carl, but I could not imagine the judgment inherent in that interaction. I’d never live it down. It would be noted in the permanent record on me that Carl kept inside his brain.