bed and chased each other around it, yelling and banging. Elise remembered jumping up and down on the mattress with Rick, yelling, “Because they wanted to!” The boys pounced on the bed and rolled around, tickling. A little strip of feeling wiggled free inside her. She burst off the chair and jumped on the bed, grabbing Andy and tickling him. He squealed and turned in to her embrace with a shy, writhing twist. Penny began to scream. Everything closed up.
“Stop it,” said Elise. She sat up and pried Andy off her. “Be quiet now.”
The boys looked down nervously. Elise put her hand on Penny and made her rock on the squishy mattress. The baby kept screaming. Elise felt a hard little hiccup of fear. The boys slid off the bed and went away. Her fear got bigger. Frightened, she slid her hands under the baby and took it in her arms. Penny bellowed and wet through her diaper. Elise didn’t know what to do. She didn’t remember how to change the diaper. She walked the length of the floor with the baby, turned and walked the other way. Her heart pounded. Maybe Penny would stop screaming before the pee got sticky and itchy. Then Elise could think about the diaper. She tried to walk slow and soothingly.
Sometimes her father would run around and scream because the dog down the street wouldn’t stop barking. For a while, she would come home from school every day and would find her father yelling about the dog and her stepmother pretending not to hear him. Elise would go upstairs and knock on Rick’s door, and he would let her in, putting on a show of reluctance but smiling. “Hi, Leesy,” he would say. He would sit on the bed and play his guitar, hunching in on himself as he sang her a song. Or they would sit on his orange pile rug, eating candy corn left over from Halloween and making fun of their father for going crazy over the dog.
“I’m going to kill him!” screamed their father. “I’ll beat his skull in!” There was yelling and scuffling, and then the back door slammed.
“Yeah, right,” said Rick.
But when the dog stopped barking, they were fascinated and nonplussed. If their father had beaten the neighbor’s dog to death, what would happen next? “They’d put him in jail,” said Elise.
“Nah,” said Rick. “Just a fine, but it would embarrass him.”
They filed down the stairs in excited apprehension. Elise looked back at Rick; he put his hands over his mouth and bugged out his eyes. He meant to be funny, but with his smirking mouth covered, his distended eyes had the flat hysteria of a mask.
“If he kills that fucking dog I’ll divorce him, and I mean it. I mean it! It’s not normal! What kind of person would go after a dog with a golf club?”
“An asshole,” said Rick.
Sandy banged her hand on the counter and yelled, “Shut up!” Her voice broke; she had hit her hand hard enough to hurt it.
Their father came in the back door. His face wore an expression of gentle puzzlement, his golf club was dozing in his hand. He looked as if he been holding a baby against his breast. “That poor sonofabitch is lonely,” he said mildly. “When he saw me coming, he started jumping up and down, wanting me to play with him. No wonder he barks! They’ve got the sad bastard on a short leash, walking around in his own shit.” The frilly green curtain on the back window flared out behind his armpit, the little brass bell attached to the curtain rod dangled above his head. Elise thought of the frilled collar and silly hat of a clown. “I just petted him for a few minutes,” he said. ‘And listen, he’s still quiet.” He came into the kitchen and put his golf club in a corner. It immediately fell down; he gently muttered “Shit” and bent to stand it up again, and Elise was stricken with unbearable pity. It hit her so fast, she didn’t have time to be furious or contemptuous. She looked at Rick and saw that under his look of bored distaste was a rigid muscular contraction, like a grimace of
“Stop it,” said Elise. She sat up and pried Andy off her. “Be quiet now.”
The boys looked down nervously. Elise put her hand on Penny and made her rock on the squishy mattress. The baby kept screaming. Elise felt a hard little hiccup of fear. The boys slid off the bed and went away. Her fear got bigger. Frightened, she slid her hands under the baby and took it in her arms. Penny bellowed and wet through her diaper. Elise didn’t know what to do. She didn’t remember how to change the diaper. She walked the length of the floor with the baby, turned and walked the other way. Her heart pounded. Maybe Penny would stop screaming before the pee got sticky and itchy. Then Elise could think about the diaper. She tried to walk slow and soothingly.
Sometimes her father would run around and scream because the dog down the street wouldn’t stop barking. For a while, she would come home from school every day and would find her father yelling about the dog and her stepmother pretending not to hear him. Elise would go upstairs and knock on Rick’s door, and he would let her in, putting on a show of reluctance but smiling. “Hi, Leesy,” he would say. He would sit on the bed and play his guitar, hunching in on himself as he sang her a song. Or they would sit on his orange pile rug, eating candy corn left over from Halloween and making fun of their father for going crazy over the dog.
“I’m going to kill him!” screamed their father. “I’ll beat his skull in!” There was yelling and scuffling, and then the back door slammed.
“Yeah, right,” said Rick.
But when the dog stopped barking, they were fascinated and nonplussed. If their father had beaten the neighbor’s dog to death, what would happen next? “They’d put him in jail,” said Elise.
“Nah,” said Rick. “Just a fine, but it would embarrass him.”
They filed down the stairs in excited apprehension. Elise looked back at Rick; he put his hands over his mouth and bugged out his eyes. He meant to be funny, but with his smirking mouth covered, his distended eyes had the flat hysteria of a mask.
“If he kills that fucking dog I’ll divorce him, and I mean it. I mean it! It’s not normal! What kind of person would go after a dog with a golf club?”
“An asshole,” said Rick.
Sandy banged her hand on the counter and yelled, “Shut up!” Her voice broke; she had hit her hand hard enough to hurt it.
Their father came in the back door. His face wore an expression of gentle puzzlement, his golf club was dozing in his hand. He looked as if he been holding a baby against his breast. “That poor sonofabitch is lonely,” he said mildly. “When he saw me coming, he started jumping up and down, wanting me to play with him. No wonder he barks! They’ve got the sad bastard on a short leash, walking around in his own shit.” The frilly green curtain on the back window flared out behind his armpit, the little brass bell attached to the curtain rod dangled above his head. Elise thought of the frilled collar and silly hat of a clown. “I just petted him for a few minutes,” he said. ‘And listen, he’s still quiet.” He came into the kitchen and put his golf club in a corner. It immediately fell down; he gently muttered “Shit” and bent to stand it up again, and Elise was stricken with unbearable pity. It hit her so fast, she didn’t have time to be furious or contemptuous. She looked at Rick and saw that under his look of bored distaste was a rigid muscular contraction, like a grimace of
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