Dad kneels and grabs Bobby’s injured arm and pulls it toward his mouth. “We gotta suck the poison out—the venom. Otherwise he’s gonna die.”
When Dad says this, Bobby lets loose with another shriek. Mom stares at Dad, paralyzed with indecision, but he doesn’t wait for her approval. He brings the bite wound to his mouth and sucks down for several seconds, then grimaces and pulls away, gagging and spitting.
“Did you get it?” Mom asks. “Did you get it?”
“I don’t know.” Dad wipes his mouth, disgusted. “Maybe.”
He starts gagging again, prompting him to hurry to the sink and lower his face under the faucet. It doesn’t take long for him to choke on the water pouring down his throat. He gives up and rests his forehead against the wall, out of breath, wheezing.
Meanwhile, Bobby’s still groaning and writhing on the floor. Mom helps him to his feet and together they get into the tub with me. I try to scoot to the side and give them plenty of room, but two seconds of the faucet digging into my spine is all the motivation I need to relinquish my porcelain grave. Mom scoops up the blanket from the floor and spreads it along the tub, then helps Bobby sprawl across it.
“You’ll be safer here, baby.”
“It hurts. It huuurrrts.”
“I know, baby. It’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay.”
“Did Daddy get the venom out?”
“Yes. He got it all out. You’re going to be just fine.”
Dad starts pacing around the bathroom, fists at his side, jaw clenched, rambling. “That motherfucker… that fucking… that fucking motherfucker…” He points at the upside-down trash can with intense rage. “You motherfucking motherfucker!”
I fold my arms across my chest, barely dodging my father’s erratic movements. “Is Bobby going to be okay? Mom, is Bobby going to be okay?”
“He’s going to be just fine.” Mom smiles at a terrified Bobby. “Isn’t that right, baby? You’re going to be just fine, right?”
“Y-y-y-yes?”
Mom searches frantically through the various bathroom items scattered across the floor and counter until finding the tall bottle of peroxide. She unscrews the lid, tells Bobby it’s going to hurt, and splashes some of it along his arm without waiting for a response.
Bobby clutches the wound and wails.
Off in the corner, I’m hugging myself and trying not to cry, whispering, “This is all my fault this is all my fault this is all my fault—”
“Am I going to need to see a doctor?” Bobby asks.
“Sure, just to be safe,” Mom says. “Once we get out of here.”
“But what if that man shoots us?”
“…We don’t know what that was.”
“These motherfuckers!” Dad screams, and charges the bathroom door. I leap out of the way just as he connects with the wood and bounces back on the floor. No visible damage is inflicted.
He remains flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, breathing heavily, seething.
I step back into the tub with Bobby and Mom and the three of us watch him, waiting to see what’s going to happen next.
In a voice so low and calm we can barely hear him, Dad says, “Why hasn’t he come to check on you yet?”
Another long silence.
And I can’t take it any longer. “Why hasn’t who—”
“Dee,” Dad says, cutting me off, “don’t play deaf. I know you heard me.” He sits up and glares at her. “It’s been a week. Maybe longer. Don’t you think he’s worried about you?”
“I don’t want to do this right now,” Mom tells him. “Not in front of the kids.”
Dad rubs his brow, annoyed. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, goddammit. I’m just saying. We need to get out of here or we’re all fucked. Especially now with Bobby. Is there a chance he might come?”
“Who are you guys talking about?” I ask, practically pleading at this point.
Mom doesn’t answer.
“Well?” Dad says, voice prodding.
She sighs. “I told him if he didn’t hear from me by midnight, that something might have happened.”
Dad narrows his eyes. “Something like what?”
“We shouldn’t get into this right now.”
He makes a big show of looking around the bathroom. “Oh, do you have a better time in mind? Maybe go out in the living room and continue this discussion, is that it?”
“You can’t go to the living room,” Bobby says, voice weak. “We’re stuck.”
“Thank you, Bobby. I guess I forgot.”
“You’re welcome.”
“What’s going on?” I ask again.
Dad cocks his head at Mom. “Dee?”
“I didn’t know how you’d react. I was scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“…of you.”
Dad laughs. “What did you think I’d do? Hurt you?”
“Maybe.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He wipes his lips. “Have I ever hurt you?” He gestures to me and Bobby. “Have I ever hurt your mom? Huh?”
“Sometimes you yell and get angry and make her cry,” Bobby tells him.
This response seems to sucker punch Dad into silence.
A half hour passes. Or maybe an entire day. Eventually Mom says, “If he was going to come, he would have already been here.”
“Where does he live?”
“Not far. Within walking distance.”
“Jesus fuck.”
I can feel the rage boiling inside me, much how I imagine it permanently cooks in my father. “Stop ignoring me!”
Everybody directs their attention my way. Like they just realized I’ve been trapped in this bathroom with them the entire time. I can’t stop shaking.
“What are you talking about?” I ask them.
Of course I’m met by another long silence.
“Hello?”
Dad lowers his head, quiet.
Mom clears her throat. “Your father and I are getting a divorce.”
“What?”
“No you’re not!” Bobby shouts from the tub. “That’s not true. Dad, tell Mom to stop lying.”
Dad remains unresponsive.
“We decided on it the night of the tornado,” Mom says. “We were going to tell you both the next day.”
Dad snorts. “We decided?”
Realization hits. All the clues, right in my face this entire time. “Oh my god, Mom, are you cheating on Dad?”
“I’ve been seeing someone. Yes. He makes me happy. I deserve to be happy.”
“And I don’t?” Dad asks.
“Goddammit, Robert, don’t pull that shit now.”
“Pull what shit?”
“I tried. I fucking tried. And I was miserable. I asked you to get sober. I asked you to help out more. I fucking begged you, Robert. I begged you.”
“I can’t believe you guys are getting a divorce,” I whisper.
“Who are we going to live with?” Bobby whines.
And I tell him, “Mom, obviously.”
Dad glares at me, hurt. “Why obviously?”
He catches me off guard. I realize I’ve screwed up. “I don’t know.”
“No. You said obviously. What the fuck did you mean by obviously?”
“Just… you know… I don’t… I don’t…”
Mom takes over for me. “She meant that I’m the only one who can actually take care of them without passing out drunk in the front yard.”