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“Clifford’s red,” Oscar muttered, as if that made everything okay.
Along with open bottles of blue, green, and yellow, the red was lying sideways on the floor between them, soaking into the carpet. It was acrylic and would probably come out, but Lynn had no intention of touching it—that was Josh’s problem.
“I can’t reach the paint,” Oscar added.
“Can too!” Gracie shouted. “From the counter. You climb up with the stool!”
Oscar yelled something in response, but Lynn didn’t hear it. The buzzing in her ears drowned it out. The rush of hot blood. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt it in her teeth.
They were arguing again. Screaming. This muffled mess of words tripping over each other. Lynn covered her ears again, but it did little good. “Stop.”
They ignored her.
Gracie smacked the paint bottle with the palm of her hand, and it cracked against Oscar’s chest, sending red spittle everywhere.
“STOP!”
Both kids went quiet.
Down the hall, her computer dinged with another message box. Probably one telling her she’d be fired if she didn’t get onthe phone. She thought of the pills in her drawer, and her mouth watered. “Both of you, take off your clothes and get in the bath.”
Gracie glared at her, horrified. “I’m not taking a bath with him! I’m too old!”
Lynn wanted to grab her by the shoulders. Shake her. Throw her from the second-floor window. Anything to shut her up. She sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. “Take off your goddamn clothes.”
Gracie’s jaw began to quiver, and her eyes glistened.
“NOW!”
Fighting tears, Gracie stood and pulled her shirt up over her head, dropped it on the floor in the puddle of paint, and shed the rest of her clothes.
Lynn yanked at Oscar’s pajama top, and when it caught on his elbow, she pulled even harder, nearly lifted him off the ground before something tore and the top came free. Oscar yelped and started crying. He cradled his arm as she tore away his pants and the pull-up diapers he still wore at night. The smell of stale pee lofted out, filled the room. Josh hadn’t bothered to change him before running off. Of course not. Why would he?
Lynn was shaking nearly as much as her kids when she jerked her finger toward the hallway and pointed. “Bathroom. Now.”
8
Matt
IT ENDED AS QUICKLYas it began. The fluttering of wings and screaming birds vanished, replaced by muffled sobs and broken shouts as one by one the diners crawled out from under tables and chairs.
Matt had pulled Gabby so close their bodies might have been one. Every inch of her trembled. Her warm breath brushed his neck in short gasps. He nestled his face deeper into her hair and whispered, “You okay?”
She didn’t answer. There was only a rushed nod. Her fingers tightened around his and squeezed.
He managed a sitting position, lifting Gabby with him, holding her against him. He didn’t want to let go.
The strange girl was about five feet to their left, also sitting, hugging her knees against her chest. She watched him from behind her long dark hair, ruffled and partially covering her face. A curiosity behind her eyes, this strange tunnel vision, as if they were the only two people in the room and unspoken words passed between them. She looked from him to Gabby, then hergaze jumped across the diner to where Addie huddled under a table near the old Wurlitzer jukebox in the far corner, then back to Matt, and when their eyes met that second time, there was something else there.
Matt’s heart thumped.
She knows.
When the corner of her mouth twitched up, he was certain of it.
Matt forced himself to break away and cleared his throat. “Is anyone hurt?”
“Got some scrapes and cuts from the glass over here!”
