Peta washed the sippy cup and left it in the dish rack. “I asked him why he cared,” she said. “I mean, what’s the connection? He said they couldn’t wait until the ball drops. What the hell does that mean?”
“Different things,” Vi said. “You guys paint this kitchen?”
Jens said, “It means a goddamn bomb, Pet, what do you think it means?”
Vi said, “Really, Peta, it’s always nonsense with those guys. Was this kitchen yellow last time I was here?”
“Yes,” said Peta, “but it was a different yellow. We got it painted in October. This yellow’s called Morning Lemon.”
Kai’s video was ending.
Peta said, “All right now, Kaiyahoga. Book and bed, you know the ritual. Let’s go, buddy, up.”
The credits rolled as Peta hauled the boy onto her hip with a grunt and carried him into the small bedroom at the front of the house. Vi had slept in that bedroom when she came here after Hinman. She had slept on Kai’s racecar bed, surrounded by Kai’s toys and books and blocks and stuffed animal collection. Kai had slept between his parents in the master bedroom. Sleeping with the toys was part of what had made it a disorienting visit, Vi thought, waking up to see twenty pair of dolls’ eyes staring into space.
Peta and Kai came out of the bedroom, laughing about something. Kai wore a pull-up and spaceman pajamas. They settled on the couch to read a book.
Vi listened from around the corner. She thought, I’m never in a home these days, a real home with real people living in it. Tower South, Vi’s cubicle/studio near the Pentagon, didn’t count as home. Little Flower’s squalid prison cabin wasn’t a home either — it was closer, in spirit, to the sinking mobile homes Vi had seen as drifting derelicts in Hinman, Illinois. But this formica-bright condo in The Bluffs was a real home to a real family — a sample of the country the bodyguards defended. Vi thought, that’s the problem — I’ve lost touch.
Peta said, “Book time! What shall we read?”
Kai wanted Look Out for Lollipops, but this was a baby book, Peta explained. “You’re not a baby, are you, Kai? You’re a big guy now. Now here’s a big-guy book—Bomb-Dog Bob. This was a special gift from your Auntie Vi.”
It was typical of Peta to make a point of reading Vi’s book when Vi was there, a thoughtful little gesture. Vi knew that Bomb-Dog Bob was a creepy and not exactly age-appropriate choice. She had bought it just before she had cleared out of Beltsville for her mental health leave in May. Coming home, she’d felt she ought to bring a gift for Kai, and Bomb-Dog Bob was the only kid’s book they sold at the Protection Campus gift shop.
“I don’t want Bomb Bob,” said Kai on the couch. “Momma, I want Lollipops. You read it.”
“That’s not such a nice way to talk,” Peta said. “What do we say when we want something?”
“Read it, Momma.”
“Please. The magic word is please.”
“Please Momma please I want please Lollipops please.”
“But that’s a baby book, Kai. Your Auntie Vi’s book is more for big guys like you. It’s the story of the Secret Service, which is where she works. Look, Kai, there’s a dog. His name is Bob. Can you guess what he’s looking for under that big limousine? When he’s done, he gets a special treat.”
Vi heard something hit the wall.
Peta said, “We don’t throw books, Kai.” Her voice was controlled. “That book was a gift from somebody who loves you a whole lot. Pick it up, son.”
“What’s the magic word?” asked Kai.
“Pick up the damn book.”
Vi couldn’t hear what Kai said.
Peta said, “I’m counting, Kai. One — Two—”
Jens said, “He loses his nerve around three usually.”
“Thank you,” Peta said. “Now get back on the couch.”
Vi listened as Peta read to Kai.
“‘Licky was a lollipop,’” Peta started bouncingly. “‘One day he asked his daddy, “What’s this big stick for?”’”
Kai said, “You’re skipping the beginning.”
“This is the beginning,” Peta said. “See Licky with his daddy?”
“Read the first page — Momma look.”
“Oh all right,” said Peta. She read, “‘Look Out For Lollipops, by Nancy Kleinfelt and Joan Melissa Oates. A My First Reader Book. London. New York. Sydney.’”
Kai turned the page for her.
Peta read, “‘Look Out for Lollipops’ by Nancy Kleinfelt and Joan Melissa Oates. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means—’”
Kai sighed. This was his favorite part of every book — his mother’s voice, the certainties.
“‘—electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the publisher.’”
Kai said, “I love you, Momma.”
Peta said, “I love you too. Now let’s read about Bob. I’m curious, aren’t you?”
Kai said, “No — more Lollipops.”
“‘Licky was a lollipop.’ God I hate this book. ‘One day he asked his daddy, “What’s this big stick for?” His daddy said, “That’s so they can lick you, son—”’”
Kai turned the pages as Peta read them. Together, they followed Licky’s journey of discovery to the candy emperor and finally to the belly of the boy who loved him best of all. They came to the last word on the last page, which was actually all.
Peta said, “The end.” She closed Lollipops solemnly.
Peta carried Kai past Jens and Auntie Vi for a round of sloppy goodnight kisses. The boy climbed out of Peta’s arms into Vi’s lap. Vi hugged the child, arms around his neck. His little hands patted her back and he pecked a kiss on her hair. Vi felt weak suddenly, her nose in the boy’s shoulder. Tears started in her eyes. She did not know why. She barely knew this child.
“Go,” she said, lifting Kai to Peta. “You go and have a good sleep, Kai, okay?”
Peta carried the boy down the hall to his bedroom. Kai bounced on the bed. Peta snapped the lights off.
“Sleep well, Kaiyo.”
“Momma, stay—” said Kai.
“There’s nothing to be frightened of,” Peta said.
“Momma—”
“All right,” Peta said, “I’ll lie down with you, Kai, but only for a minute.”
Vi heard Peta climb into the bed next to the child, the creaking of the wooden frame, a luffing of the sheets.
Jens said, “She’ll be asleep before he is, just watch. We go through this every night.” Jens looked at the wall, listening. He said, “She works too hard.”
Vi said, “Peta.”
Jens was nodding. “She’s always a zombie by eight thirty.”
Vi took an orange from the bowl. She wasn’t hungry for an orange, but she liked the rough, cool feel of it, the rounded weight, the pleasingly astringent cleaning-product smell of a ripe orange. She couldn’t get over how it had felt, Kai patting her back, those tiny hands.
“Mom sends us those oranges from Florida,” said Jens. “She enrolled us in a fruit club of some sort. Once a month, oranges. Also sometimes grapefruit. Never lemons, though. We have the walls for that.”
Evelyn Asplund had moved to a tennis-themed community between Tampa and Dade City. She played doubles every morning, volunteered for her good causes, visited her Boston cousins who had settled in surrounding towns. Rumor had it that she was dating a man from her development, a retired Navy captain, a widower named Burt. Burt had five grown children and a sailboat named The Escapade.