“Oh, there’s enough for another trap,” Ray said.
Playing at the level of a background conversation, the countertop radio alternated between periodic traffic reports for the morning rush hour and the drive-time DJ crew laughing at an intern convinced the radio station was haunted. Karen assumed they were pranking the young man, but had trouble following the conversation as Ray had also turned on the TV for a dose of the morning news but had inadvertently switched to a channel whose programming consisted solely of earnest infomercials. “But wait, there’s more…” There was always more. A deal too good to pass up. For a limited time only. Operators were standing by.
After setting the catch lever notch in the opening to set the trap, Ray crouched to open the cabinet and reached toward the back to set it down. “Freeloader’s days are numbered.”
“Worried he’ll take a seat at the breakfast table?”
“You’re a lovely woman,” Ray said. “But you lack the killer instinct.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Karen said, laughing. She flipped an egg and absently brushed her hand against the skillet of bacon, burning a finger. “Ouch!”
“You okay?”
“It’s nothing,” she said, pressing her finger to her lips. An occasional minor burn was the price paid by a busy cook, the fine for multitasking in the kitchen.
“No aloe plant?”
“Keep forgetting.”
Fresh from her post-run shower, Allyson entered the kitchen in school clothes, a pink cardigan and jeans, fussing with her backpack zipper. She always seemed three steps ahead of everyone else in the house. Karen wished she had as much energy as her daughter. “Everything okay?”
“Stupid zipper,” Allyson said. “Always gets stuck.”
“Try some WD-40,” Ray said absently as he prepped a second mouse trap.
“Ew? Seriously? That stuff reeks!”
“What? It evaporates.”
Allyson yanked on the zipper. “Besides, the zipper teeth are caught on the cloth.”
While Karen doled out breakfast portions to three plates, she said to Allyson, “I rescheduled my last session, so I’ll be able to make it tonight.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Allyson said, finally freeing the zipper. “It’s not that big of a deal,” she added casually.
Maybe too casually, Karen thought.
“Of course it is,” Ray said, satisfied that he had a big enough dollop of peanut butter on the second trap to tempt the most suspicious of rodents. “You got into National Honor Society. It’s a very big deal.” With the catch lever in place, he carefully withdrew his fingers. “I was top of my shop class, making ashtrays and birdhouses.”
Allyson nodded at the mouse trap. “No instruments of death?”
“Unfortunately, inventing a better mousetrap has so far eluded me.”
Karen navigated to the kitchen table, carrying two of three plates. “And we’re looking forward to meeting Cameron.”
“I knew his father, Lonnie, and his Uncle Wames. The entire Elam family has a… reputation.”
Karen shot him a disapproving look. “Ray, c’mon.”
“What? You know about his situation,” Ray said, picking up the loaded trap. “It’s a relevant factor. The whole household is—”
As he turned toward a different cabinet he jostled the trap and it snapped in his hand, the hammer smashing his finger. Startled, Ray flinched, dropping the trap and what remained of its blob of bait to the floor. Blood welled up from his finger. “Goddam it!”
“Don’t look at me,” Karen said. “I suggested a humane trap.”
“That’s not fair, Dad,” Allyson said, failing to stifle a laugh. “Cameron isn’t like that. He’s a nice guy.”
Karen retrieved the third plate and set it on the table. Maybe, for once, they’d all have time to have breakfast together.
Ray walked to the sink to wash his finger under cold water then dabbed it with a paper towel. “I’m not saying he’s not nice. It’s just—you’re too smart to go out with troublemakers and dipshits.”
“You’re right,” Allyson agreed, since she thought of Cameron as neither one nor the other. Karen filled three mugs with coffee while Ray grabbed a carton of orange juice from the fridge.
Allyson sat at the table. “Did you guys invite Grandmother like you said you would?”
Karen exchanged a look with Ray, a knowing exchange between the adults Allyson pretended not to notice. But Karen had caught the quick flicker of her gaze before she poked at a fried egg with her fork.
“I did,” Karen said, after too long a pause. “Talked to her yesterday.” She took a breath before sitting. “She’s not going to be able to make it.”
Allyson grabbed her backpack sitting on the empty chair beside her and gave her mother a skeptical look as she pulled the zipper tight. “Really?”
Ray sat opposite Allyson, avoiding eye contact with her by directing his attention to Karen. “Bad morning for fingers,” he said to her. “Which one did you burn?”
Karen waggled it at him, her gaze remaining on her daughter, but when Ray kissed her finger, she couldn’t miss the disapproving look he gave her. Probably trying to tell her, Allyson’s not buying it. Pull the ripcord, bail out, before it’s too late.
Karen remained committed, for Allyson’s sake. At least that’s what she kept reminding herself. “She’s agoraphobic. In serious need of cognitive… um… behavioral—”
Fortunately, as Karen had begun to flail, losing more credibility with each word that passed her lips, the doorbell rang.
“Vicky’s here,” Allyson said. “I gotta go.”
“But you haven’t eaten any of your breakfast,” Karen said.
Allyson looked down at her plate then back at her mother. “I’ve had enough,” she said, letting the statement hang for a moment. After a glance at the fruit bowl on the table, she added to lighten the mood, “Ate a banana before my run this morning.”
“But—but, where’s the protein?” Karen asked as Allyson wound her way out of the kitchen.
“In a bar in my bag,” Allyson called from the next room. “I’ll eat it on the way.”
“You know,” Karen said to Ray, “I don’t believe she has a protein bar in her backpack.”
Ray pushed away his own plate and stood up, staring down at her.
“Karen?” Ray said with exasperation, shaking his head. “What the hell?”
3
By the time Allyson stepped outside, Vicky and Dave had retreated to the curb. Sipping mango bubble tea from a clear plastic cup, Vicky wore her denim jacket, decorated with her growing collection of metal pins, over a maroon ringer t-shirt with a white collar and dark overalls. Her red Converse high-tops added a splash of color. Her straight blond hair flowed over the leather strap of her large knit shoulder bag, which she carried instead of the standard high-school backpack. Dave, on the other hand, toted the expected backpack with the addition of a green canvas pouch slung in front of him, which—if Allyson had to guess—contained non-school-approved supplies. He wore his fur-trimmed hat, a flannel coat with Navajo patterns, dark-green cargo pants and scuffed brown boots.
Of course, they had no plan to leave for school without her. They’d stepped away from the front door in case Allyson hadn’t been the one to answer the doorbell, because Dave had already—big surprise—fired up a joint. As she joined them, he took a deep hit, no longer concerned about discretion.
“Off to an early start, Dave,” Allyson commented. Then immediately worried she’d come across as too judgmental after sitting through her mother’s performance.
“Medicinal,” Dave said.
“How’s that?”
“Don’t ask,” Vicky said, rolling her eyes.
“For school,” Dave said, grinning. “Raises my bullshit tolerance quotient.”