Page 48 of The Family Across the Street
George opens his mouth a little and she gives her head a slight shake. ‘Wait,’ she mouths. She mouths it three times before he nods that he has understood.
They need to wait.
37
Logan
The kitchen is empty; a white marble countertop gleams in the afternoon sun. Shiny black cabinets sit below the counter and stark white ones above. A black-and-white checkerboard floor of tiles adds to what should be a magazine-perfect look but there are too many things out of place for a magazine. The sink is filled with dirty dishes. A trail of ants marches along the countertop that is covered in cracker boxes and half-eaten pieces of fruit, on which fruit flies converge and gorge themselves. Disinfectant wipes lie unopened next to the mess. He glances at the large fridge, which is covered in photos and children’s drawings held up by animal magnets.
He takes a step forward, hears a crunch under his foot and silently curses as he looks down to see a spilled bag of crisps. He knows that this is not how this kitchen usually looks. He takes a deep breath and steps around the crisps, looking down, his feet careful as he listens for movement in the house.
38
Gladys
Gladys waits, hating the heat and the sun and this day more with each passing minute. ‘Where are you?’ she mutters, peering down the street. ‘Where are you?’ She looks at her watch and sees that Logan has only been inside the house for a minute or so. The heat is oppressive and the cicadas are maddening whenever she tunes in to them. She looks at her phone again, waiting, hoping – for what, she’s not sure.
39
When I get to five, I slow my count, leaving the space of one breath in between the numbers, because a life can change in just one breath, because I’m going to take a breath and change their lives.
I’m not sure I’m ready for this. I’ve fired a gun before. My father once took me to a shooting range. It was a present for my fourteenth birthday. He didn’t tell me where we were going. He wanted it to be a surprise. It was a rifle range and I found the gun unwieldy to hold. I wasn’t very good but my father was. He hit the target every time. ‘I’ve always had a good eye,’ he told me. I think it was one of the last good days he had. I wonder if you can miss if you shoot with a handgun in a small room. I wonder what the kickback will feel like, if there will be a smell in the air.
There is no way back and nothing else to do. I feel that; my broken heart knows that. And when I’m done with her, with them, I’ll make sure that I don’t have to feel anything anymore or ever again. I believe that was the plan all along. I never meant to make it out of this alive. Maybe there was something else I was going to do today but not anymore. It is easier to leave pain behind, easier to not have to feel. I tried it one way, I really did, but I failed the same way my father failed. I am my father’s son, but I am going to do one thing differently to the way he did it. I am going to take those who hurt me with me.
40
Katherine
Her thoughts are a chaotic whirl as she tries to figure out how she’s going to do this. She can feel the presence of another human being in the house. Her senses are heightened, fear making her hyper-aware of everything. Maybe Gladys is in the kitchen. Perhaps the older woman has sensed something, knows something. Perhaps it is someone even more dangerous than what she is dealing with here – but she doubts that. Nothing makes a man more dangerous than hate.
She needs to tell George what to do and she needs to figure out her part. Think, Katherine, she silently admonishes herself. She would like to give in to the agony of her body, the exhaustion of her mind. She would like to curl up on this sofa and stay very still but mothers don’t get a choice like that.
The children need to get away and they can only get away if he’s distracted. She needs to be the distraction. No matter what is going to happen to her now, she needs to be the distraction. She leans forward and puts her head on her knees in a gesture of defeat, praying that her daughter and son will react the way she thinks they will. She breathes in and out slowly, one breath in, one breath out – how many breaths until her last?
Sophie moves right up to her and drapes herself over her mother, and George leans down and puts his face next to hers. ‘Don’t cry, Mum,’ he whispers.
‘How touching,’ he sneers.
She lifts the arm with the broken wrist and pulls George to her, feeling his surprise at how tightly she is holding him, ignoring the searing stream of pain right up into her neck, and she whispers, barely moving her mouth and hoping that he will hear what she has to say. ‘When I say “now” you need to run to the kitchen.’ His body relaxes against her and she breathes out with relief. One more breath? Two more breaths? How far is he into his countdown?
She sits up and looks at her son. ‘George loves Captain America, don’t you, George?’ she says. He loves the character, and has seen all the movies with his father. He has a dress-up with a shield and a mask that he puts on whenever he gets the chance and he stands up taller when he’s in the costume, believes he is capable of more. Captain America is brave and strong and she wants George to know that this is what he must be. She watches as his little back straightens and he plants his feet firmly on the carpet, his body tilted slightly forward. He is getting ready to run and this is what she wants.
She can’t wait any longer.
‘I know what you’re doing,’ she says. ‘I can see you counting. You think that this is the solution to your broken heart, that this is how you make it stop hurting. But it’s not going to happen, because I’m not going to let it happen. I will not allow you to hurt these children.’
‘You made me lose count,’ he says slowly, ‘now I have to start again.’ There is a lilt to his voice, a note of gratitude almost. He is happy he’s lost count.
‘Maybe you don’t want to do this.’
‘Maybe it’s the only thing I want to do. It’s what I came here to do and you can’t stop it now. You simply can’t.’
She stands up slowly.
‘Hey…’ He raises the gun.
‘Now, George!’ she shouts. ‘Now!’ And she launches herself at him – her whole body goes for him. She swings her arms and kicks her legs, a whirling dervish of fury, distracting him, forcing him to lift his hands. She attacks as her children run.
