comes through the screen door then, in a white nightgown and bare
feet, her hair loose and curly on her shoulders.
There are cobwebs all around us, one of them stretched like a shroud across my face. Felicia has a death grip on the bottom
of my shirt. The garage has a dirt floor; anything could be living in here, including a snake.
Lisa kneels and lifts each of our kittens out for a moment and then sets them back inside the box. Lisa and Trent talk quietly,
at one point both of them pausing to stare penetratingly out into the night.
When Strout pokes his head up and starts looking around, Trent lifts the box by its flaps and carries it inside while Lisa
holds the screen door. She starts to follow and then changes her mind and walks to the edge of the porch, shielding her eyes
and looking out toward the silent, empty street.
Her nightgown comes to just below the knee and seems made of gauze; in the porch light we can see right through it. Her eyes
are dark and calm, like Daniel’s. She gives a little wave, out into the summer dark, and then turns and follows her husband
inside.
We can’t bring ourselves to go back to the camper. Too dank, too claustrophobic, like being zipped into a gym bag for the
night. Instead, we lie on someone’s terrace and look at the sky. There are a million stars, and it’s warm. On the other side
of the street, the parochial kid’s window is open and there’s a low lamp on somewhere in the room.
It was strange seeing Lisa and Trent like that, in their pajamas.
“They were definitely letting it all hang out,” Felicia says.
The only signs of life I ever saw in their bedroom were the tracks the vacuum cleaner left in the pale blue carpet. Nothing
in the drawers but folded clothes, nothing on the nightstand but an alarm clock, nothing on the dresser but a cluster of glass
grapes and a padded jewelry box. Nothing to alert you to their nighttime selves, his bare shoulders and chest, the precise
line of hair running down his abdomen, disappearing into the waistband of his pajama bottoms, the dark smudges visible through
her gown, the frank way she looked up at him, kneeling. You could somehow see that it wouldn’t be that big a leap from them
inspecting a box of kittens together to an activity closer to what Yvonne and Chuck might be involved in.
We lie there for a while on the sloped terrace, looking up at the black sky. This is how poor Daniel would look up at the
ceiling, no matter where you put him. Just gazing upward, chin wet with wonder. I hope they take him outside sometimes, in
the warm months, because this is so interesting, the immense galaxy looming overhead—billions of stars, ringed by the oak
trees and slanted roofs of Zanesville.
Felicia cracks her knuckles, one by one, while an airplane blinks its way across the sky. We both know the Kozak family has
won. At least we’ll be getting a raise.
“We’re just finishing out the summer,” she says finally. “And then no more babysitting, ever again.”
I’ve always mentally kept track of them by cataloging the whole clan in descending order: Chuck, Yvonne, Derek, Renee, Stewart,
Wanda, Dale, Miles, Lurch, whatever snakes they’ve been able to round up, and the tarantula.
“If you’re doing size, Lurch is bigger than Miles,” Felicia points out.
She’s right, it should go Lurch and then Miles, but I hate to see Miles followed by a snake. “I’m doing it by species,” I
say.
“Oh,” she says.
I’ll be able to pay for the things I’ve already laid away plus new things that haven’t even arrived in the store yet. Besides
what I’m going to wear to school once it starts, I wouldn’t mind having a new nightgown, something delicate and gauzy.
In the future, I want something more interesting to happen than normally happens to me. “I’m sick of being a late bloomer,”
I say.
“Ha,” she says. “You should be.”
“We both are, according to your mother, who
feet, her hair loose and curly on her shoulders.
There are cobwebs all around us, one of them stretched like a shroud across my face. Felicia has a death grip on the bottom
of my shirt. The garage has a dirt floor; anything could be living in here, including a snake.
Lisa kneels and lifts each of our kittens out for a moment and then sets them back inside the box. Lisa and Trent talk quietly,
at one point both of them pausing to stare penetratingly out into the night.
When Strout pokes his head up and starts looking around, Trent lifts the box by its flaps and carries it inside while Lisa
holds the screen door. She starts to follow and then changes her mind and walks to the edge of the porch, shielding her eyes
and looking out toward the silent, empty street.
Her nightgown comes to just below the knee and seems made of gauze; in the porch light we can see right through it. Her eyes
are dark and calm, like Daniel’s. She gives a little wave, out into the summer dark, and then turns and follows her husband
inside.
We can’t bring ourselves to go back to the camper. Too dank, too claustrophobic, like being zipped into a gym bag for the
night. Instead, we lie on someone’s terrace and look at the sky. There are a million stars, and it’s warm. On the other side
of the street, the parochial kid’s window is open and there’s a low lamp on somewhere in the room.
It was strange seeing Lisa and Trent like that, in their pajamas.
“They were definitely letting it all hang out,” Felicia says.
The only signs of life I ever saw in their bedroom were the tracks the vacuum cleaner left in the pale blue carpet. Nothing
in the drawers but folded clothes, nothing on the nightstand but an alarm clock, nothing on the dresser but a cluster of glass
grapes and a padded jewelry box. Nothing to alert you to their nighttime selves, his bare shoulders and chest, the precise
line of hair running down his abdomen, disappearing into the waistband of his pajama bottoms, the dark smudges visible through
her gown, the frank way she looked up at him, kneeling. You could somehow see that it wouldn’t be that big a leap from them
inspecting a box of kittens together to an activity closer to what Yvonne and Chuck might be involved in.
We lie there for a while on the sloped terrace, looking up at the black sky. This is how poor Daniel would look up at the
ceiling, no matter where you put him. Just gazing upward, chin wet with wonder. I hope they take him outside sometimes, in
the warm months, because this is so interesting, the immense galaxy looming overhead—billions of stars, ringed by the oak
trees and slanted roofs of Zanesville.
Felicia cracks her knuckles, one by one, while an airplane blinks its way across the sky. We both know the Kozak family has
won. At least we’ll be getting a raise.
“We’re just finishing out the summer,” she says finally. “And then no more babysitting, ever again.”
I’ve always mentally kept track of them by cataloging the whole clan in descending order: Chuck, Yvonne, Derek, Renee, Stewart,
Wanda, Dale, Miles, Lurch, whatever snakes they’ve been able to round up, and the tarantula.
“If you’re doing size, Lurch is bigger than Miles,” Felicia points out.
She’s right, it should go Lurch and then Miles, but I hate to see Miles followed by a snake. “I’m doing it by species,” I
say.
“Oh,” she says.
I’ll be able to pay for the things I’ve already laid away plus new things that haven’t even arrived in the store yet. Besides
what I’m going to wear to school once it starts, I wouldn’t mind having a new nightgown, something delicate and gauzy.
In the future, I want something more interesting to happen than normally happens to me. “I’m sick of being a late bloomer,”
I say.
“Ha,” she says. “You should be.”
“We both are, according to your mother, who
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