"Don't we?" Paul says. "I thought we did."
"The Meaderses were having liver. Liver and onions. I hate liver," Daniel says. "Could we order some pizza and maybe rent movies or something?"
"Sure," Paul says.
"Of course," Elaine says.
They drive to the video store. Paul borrows the phone and calls the pizza place while Daniel picks out horrible movies: The Price of Misfortune and BadZone-A Place You Don't Want to Go with Anyone. At the pizza place Elaine jumps out, picks up the pizzas and two six-packs of Cokes. They make one last stop for ice cream. "Mint chocolate chip," Daniel screams at his father across the parking lot.
Paul waves back at him-"Gotcha."
The sky is fading fast, dropping down into a deep navy blue. Pulling into the driveway, the headlights land on Sammy and Jennifer sitting outside on the kitchen steps.
"I thought the house was fixed," Daniel says when he sees them.
"There are still a few problems," Elaine says.
"Sammy's afraid to go inside," Paul says.
"Retread," Daniel says.
"Hi," Elaine calls, getting out of the car. "We're home, look who's here."
"The Scout returns," Jennifer says.
"Is that supposed to mean something?" Daniel asks.
"It means hi," she says.
"Pizza anyone?" Paul says.
They all go into the house. "Don't close the door," Sammy says.
"Did you hear about the two-digit snacker?" Daniel asks Jennifer.
"Who?" Elaine asks.
"Montgomery kid," Jennifer says.
"Shhh," Elaine says, not wanting anyone to talk about it.
"Like we haven't heard," Daniel says.
"Who's the snacker?" Sammy asks.
"The Montgomery kid-he bites the fingers off little boys like you and eats 'em," Daniel says.
"Fake," Sammy says.
"Real," Daniel says.
"Sit and stay," Jennifer says.
"Stop," Paul says.
Paul puts the pizza boxes on the coffee table while Elaine lays out plates, napkins, Cokes, and Daniel pops in the video.
"The less violent one first," Elaine requests, thinking of Sammy-more than impressionable, he's like a sponge, absorbing everything.
They dig in. Sammy pulls the cheese off his pizza. The opening sequence unfolds. A lost soldier with machine guns slung over both shoulders barrels through the forest.
"Nate's dad has lots of guns," Sammy says. "Bigger guns than that, guns he got in Vietnam."
Sammy pronounces "Vietnam" with what Paul thinks of as the redneck, Republican, or Nixonian intonation-"nam," like "ma'am."
"Interesting," Paul says, curious to hear more about Gerald, the mystery man, the silent type, former Green Beret.
"What's Vietnam?" Sammy asks, again pronouncing it wrong. The hair on the back of Paul's neck rises.
"Vietnam," he says, correcting him. "It's a country in Southeast Asia."
"Mr. Meaders used to live in Washington. He was going to be in the IRA, but then something happened," Daniel says. "He's a total math whiz, he even won a math prize."
"It's IRS, not IRA," Paul says, struggling to straighten things out, to unseat these men from the thrones his sons have set them on. "And Meaders is a weaselly numbers cruncher."
"I could live with the Meaderses," Daniel says blithely.
"For how long?" Paul asks.
"As long as I want," Daniel says.
"It's costing us more than twenty thousand dollars to fix up the house," Paul says. "That's a pretty penny."
Elaine looks at him; talk about pathetic. What do the boys care about what it costs to fix the house? They're kids, what do they know from twenty thousand dollars?
"Nate does push-ups. He tried doing them on me," Sammy says. "It was a special kind; you lie on top of the other boy and you do push-ups. I couldn't breathe. He punched me."
On-screen, helicopters search for the missing soldier, one of the choppers blows up, another crashes into the side of a hill, blood splashes across the windshield.
"Mr. Meaders whacks off twice a day, to keep himself fit," Daniel says. "That's what his father taught him. Frequency solves urgency."
"My mother has a vibrating bed," Jennifer says. "One of those Craft-Magic things they advertise on TV. It's deeply adjustable-head, feet, up, down, higher, lower. She calls it her luxury. She says, 'I'm going to go up and lie on my luxury.'"
Elaine is hearing things she doesn't want to know. "Everyone's got something," she says, shaking her head, emptying her ears.
Daniel takes another piece of pizza.
"How many is that for you?" Elaine asks.
"Only my fourth," he says.
Paul belches. "Leave room for ice cream," he says, kicking off his shoes.
Elaine gets up to clear the plates. She trips over a tennis shoe. Pizza crust falls to the floor.
"Shhhhh," Paul hisses.
"Sorry," she says, apologizing reflexively.
She looks at Paul, Daniel, Sammy, and Jennifer, woven onto a pile on the sofa, spilling over onto the floor. Paul stretches out to fill Elaine's spot. It's as though it's fine, as though it's well and good to burn down the house, fix it, and move back in, as though nothing has happened, as though nothing has changed.
Something has to change. Someone has to notice.
Elaine carries dishes into the kitchen.
She doesn't go downstairs, unscrew the fuse box, plunge them into darkness, and then turn around and march back into the living room and say, Okay, cavemen, it's my turn now, listen up-I want to be cooked for and cleaned up after. I want to be accommodated and paid attention to, instead of always worrying about how I'm failing you. I want to think about what I'm not getting here. Let's take a moment.
She thinks of Paul, of Pat, Bud Johnson, the cop. Everyone is fucking her, everyone is getting what they want except Elaine-Elaine wants relief, and Elaine wants attention. She wants someone to respond to her, not because they get something out of it, not because it fills some pathetic need of their own, not because they want something back, but just because..
She thinks of Mrs. Hansen, who she hasn't seen or heard a peep out of all day; she wonders if it's too late too call.
"You're such a good cookie," Mrs. Hansen says. "I'm just having a bad day. Tomorrow I'll be fine. I'm glad you called, glad someone noticed." There's a pause. "What are you doing home? It's Saturday night."
"The Montgomerys canceled at the last minute."
"Oh, baby, I bet that got everyone in a twist."
"Yep," Elaine says.
"Something with the boy."
"A complication," Elaine says.
"What about your two? Where are they?" Mrs. Hansen asks.
"We're all here," Elaine says. "Everyone's home. They're on the sofa watching TV."