"My husband," Elaine says, introducing Paul.
"This isn't a holdup at 7-Eleven. It isn't like some irate employee at the post office went off. These are nine-year-olds," Paul charges.
The cop looks at Paul. He waits.
Paul tries again. "What seems to be the exact nature of the problem?"
"Last we heard, the boy had a gun aimed at your son's head," the cop says. "How well do you know the other boy? Does he have a history of mental illness?"
"We wouldn't know," Elaine says, looking at Paul.
"Any idea what could have prompted this?"
"We had a little fire at our house," Elaine says. "Sammy's been staying at Nate's."
"For how long?"
"Just this week."
"Do the boys get along?"
"They're boys," Paul offers, as though that explains it. He doesn't elaborate. He is thinking of what Sammy said that morning about Mrs. Apple moving.
"Nate kind of runs the show," Elaine says, looking at the cop. "He's not always nice."
"When was Nate mean?" Paul asks.
"I'm just saying there's some tension between them. Nate peed on Sammy the other day."
"He missed," Paul says.
"When you dropped Sammy at their house, you told me that Nate opened the door, said something crappy, and ran away," Elaine reminds Paul. "And Saturday, when Sammy came home, he said something about Nate making him do push-ups. It sounded weird, but I was tired, I didn't really pay attention," Elaine confesses to the cop. Mentally, she berates herself. She should have known something was wrong, she should have paid more attention, she should have been vigilant, ever on alert.
A television truck pulls up. Its antenna crawls into the air. The school buses start to arrive. Parents, having been notified via the telephone tree, are flocking to the school. There is a traffic jam as cars circle the block.
The secretary chases the principal around the parking lot. "You're needed at the top of the hill. They're boarding the buses, but they don't know what to do with the students whose mothers couldn't be reached. Can they send them home to empty houses?"
"There's only one of me," the principal says, throwing her arms up. "I'm doing the best I can."
"Are they handling this right?" Paul asks. "Can't they just shoot him with a tranquilizer dart?"
"This isn't Wild Kingdom," the secretary says.
In the distance, children are shouting, playing games, a ball is being tossed around. It is a perfect summer afternoon.
The Good Humor man has set up at the top of the hill. A Frisbee flies. The normalness of their behavior seems surreal, distracting, disrespectful. Elaine wants to scream, Don't you understand what is going on here? He's holding a gun to my son's head.
In a parked car, a dog barks.
She thinks of Sammy homesick in the middle of the night. Sammy in his Superman pajamas asleep on top of Paul and Elaine. Tender Sammy.
Nate's mother arrives. Elaine sees her coming. She sees her running across the parking lot toward them. And in the distance Elaine sees the cop, her cop, directing traffic. She thinks of Sammy, the cop, the red balloon.
"I was at aerobics. I got home. There was a message." She is out of breath, pink, flushed. She's still wearing her gym outfit. "I haven't showered," she says. "It was hard getting through."
"Mrs. Warshofsky?" the cop asks.
She nods.
"Apparently your son has taken another boy hostage. We believe he is armed. We need some information-are guns kept in your house?"
"My husband is a war buff," she explains.
What does that mean-a war buff? Elaine imagines asking Nate to let them change places, to let the mothers stand in. She imagines being in the cloakroom with Susan. What would they do-pull each other's hair? Elaine imagines slapping Susan, punching her, scratching her, clawing. It's all your fault, you fucking aerobic idiot.
"How many guns? What kind?" the cop is asking.
"Half dozen, assorted?" Susan looks at Paul. She is his Mrs. Apple. He is her Friday Fun.
"What other kinds of explosive devices does your husband collect: rifles, shotguns, grenades? Any ammunition of other types? Land mines? What does your son know about weaponry?"
"Where is your husband?" another cop asks.
"At a convention in Minneapolis. I don't have the number. He's supposed to be calling tonight."
"Does your son know how to fire a gun?"
She nods. "Yes."
Elaine is imploding, erupting internally. He knows how to fire a gun. Who are these people? What is happening here?
"What was he wearing this morning?" the cop continues. "Was he carrying bags with him? Do you know what the content of his bags would be? There are reports of bulges or lumps on his body or under his clothing. We're just trying to figure out what he's got with him in there."
Paul is struggling to say something. Elaine watches him. She remembers last week rushing from lunch with Liz to Pat's, rushing to get to the school play by two o'clock, sitting on the gray metal folding chair. She remembers watching the back of Susan's head. She remembers Nate as a hunter in the play-Sammy was a rhino, and Nate shot him.
"Could we send someone over to your house to take a look around?" the cop asks.
"Of course." Susan drops the keys into the cop's open hand. "There's a gun case in the family room, and then there's something in the dresser upstairs, on the right, under the socks."
"Do I need a search warrant?" the cop asks.
"She gave you the keys to the house," the top cop says.
"Sammy was a rhino, and Nate shot him," Elaine says. She feels herself start to cry. A small sound leaks out; she presses her fingers to her mouth and pushes it back in.
Paul doesn't know what to say. "We'll get it straightened out as quick as we can, and then we'll go home."
Elaine shakes her head. She doesn't believe anything Paul says.
The three parents are inside the tape, in the zone. Paul is in the middle, pulled in both directions. They are all there, in the same place at the same time.
Elaine stands with her fingers pressed to her mouth, afraid it's all going to fall out, endlessly spew. All she can do is press it back, push it down, swallow it.
It is clear.
Everything is out from under.
She knows.
Elaine wants to walk, to run. If it weren't for Sammy, she would turn and go, she would be already gone. "What have you done?" Elaine asks. "Have you done something awful? Is that what this is about? Is that her?"
Paul stares at the classroom window.
"I am very uncomfortable," Elaine says, mechanically. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here anymore."
The TV crew is interviewing the cafeteria lady. "Sammy likes my baking, my snickerdoodles. We're one of the few elementary schools that still cooks our own food. All the others are heat and eat. I've been here since 1972.."
The Bomb Squad arrives in a station wagon. Two plain-clothes cops and two German shepherds get out. The dogs are panting, they are excited. Their penises are pink and pointy. The cops take black boxes out of the back; they pull on special uniforms. The dogs sniff everything.
"I feel sick," Elaine says.
On the hood of a car the principal sketches a map of the school. On a piece of lined notebook paper, she draws a detailed layout of the classroom.
Nate's mother steps forward, striding across the parking lot and onto the grass. She stands outside the classroom window. "Nate, can you hear me? It's Mommy. This isn't a game, guns are not toys. Come on out, and I'll take you to FAO Schwarz. I'll buy you anything you want. Sammy is your friend. I'm sure you don't mean to upset him." She pauses. "It's three-thirty, Nate. Time to go home. You know what's for dinner? Fish sticks. And tartar sauce. You know how much you like tartar sauce." She yells at the building. Her voice echoes off the brick, slapping back at her. "Five minutes, Nate, I'll wait five minutes."