‘And you?’ Moxie says. ‘How’d you and Jeremy meet?’
As Sam’s flu-numbed brain scrabbles for a lie, the De Lainey father walks in and taps his mug on the back of a chair. He clears his throat several times until one of the boys scrabbles to pause the TV and dozens of eyes peer over chairs at him.
‘Small announcement that concerns De Laineys.’ He indicates with his mug for the twins to come over.
They extricate themselves from the others and flop at the table while the TV blares back on. Grady uses a spoon as a bookmark and looks up. Moxie keeps adding more and more caramel sauce to her plate.
Sam should leave before Moxie asks more questions. Before her dad talks to him which – no, just no. Sam feels sick around adults.
But there are still waffles left and … well, waffles.
‘I want Monday’s schedule organised,’ their father says, ‘so I might as well give you the summer plans as well.’
‘Lie about in the sun and exist on watermelon and corn chips?’ Jack says.
‘Wishful,’ their father says, ‘but no. I already told you boys that you’re apprenticed to me for the summer.’
There are collective groans and one, ‘I thought you were joking.’
‘But then who’s looking after the babies?’ Moxie asks, but the words are barely out before horror dawns across her face. ‘Oh no. Nope. Absolutely not, Dad.’
‘I’ll take the weekends,’ their father says. ‘You’re wonderful with the babies and—’
‘I’m not their replacement mother!’ Moxie bursts out.
Sam slides another waffle on to his plate and tries to look like he’s not listening. Except that he is. He feels a twinge of sympathy for Moxie’s rapidly reddening face.
Her father’s voice stays unfailingly mild. ‘Sweetie, I’m not trying to make it that way. But I need the boys to build houses with me.’
Sam’s fork pauses, half stabbed in the bowl of blueberries. Mr De Lainey builds houses? His heart beats a little faster.
Moxie drops her head to the table, hair tumbling over her ears like a chocolate waterfall.
‘I’m sorry, kids, but this is the summer.’
Jeremy and Jack are already getting antsy, glancing back at their friends.
‘Right, so we’re sorted?’ Jack says. ‘No fun for us to prepare for the shitty world that is adulthood. Gotcha.’
Their father’s lips thin. In that moment, he looks like Moxie – barely masked displeasure. ‘Language, Jack. And we talked about this. You need work experience and I took on that house project that’s a lot larger than I anticipated. And there are …’ His voice thickens. ‘There are those hospital bills.’
It’s like a magic phrase that suddenly has all four De Lainey teenagers looking anywhere but at their father. Grady immediately gathers plates and mumbles something about loving building. Jack slinks back to the sofa and only Jeremy pauses for a moment to rest his head briefly on his dad’s shoulder.
‘You can knock off at three,’ his dad says. ‘You know I hate putting this on you kids and ruining your holidays, but—’
‘It’s OK, Dad,’ Jeremy says. ‘We’re just whining.’
His dad brushes affectionate knuckles over Jeremy’s head and then Jeremy slips back off to his friends. ‘Don’t make tonight too late.’
Moxie is still face down on the table.
‘Moxie.’ Their father gently nudges her shoulder.
‘Murmph.’
‘Look, it’s just the babies. Dash will be next door most of the summer, I assume.’
Dash, who’s obviously winning the elven board game and raking in piles of fake dragon coins while the others look peevish, waves a hand. ‘We’re going to make a film! Esther has a camera!’
Their father smiles but Moxie finally peels off the table with a ferocious look in her eyes. ‘And I was going to work on my design portfolio. You realise I don’t even have Kirby to come over and make it more tolerable, right? I’m alone and broken.’
Her father starts clearing up plates. ‘You can still sew. I’ll take over as soon as I get home. And when school starts, we’ll get the babies in daycare. Please, sweetie? This deadline is a beast.’
‘Fine. Fine. Just. Argh.’ She snatches her plate and stomps off to the kitchen.
Their father sinks down in the vacated spot and looks wryly at Sam. ‘I’m sure your folks aren’t spoiling your summer plans, eh? I feel like the worst dad.’
Sam’s mouth opens and closes because he can’t think of anything past ‘you’re basically the best father in the world compared to mine who I haven’t even seen in eight years after he beat my brother unconscious’ or ‘my folks would love to spoil my summer plans with a ride in the back of a police car after what I did at my old school, so you’re doing fine.’ But he doesn’t. And the De Lainey father doesn’t seem put out by Sam’s silence. He just gathers dishes while telling the girls to finish up their game, and then he disappears to put babies to bed.
Moxie reappears with a bowl of microwaved popcorn and instructs Sam to take it into the lounge. He does, unthinking, because Moxie is a force to be obeyed, and he finds himself swallowed by a sofa and a movie as everyone settles down for the evening. Younger guests disappear back next door and Dash is forced off to bed, while the teens are told to keep the sound low and have every non-De-Lainey out by eleven. The lights flick off. As soon as their dad leaves, Jack changes the film to a horror.
Moxie flops on the sofa next to Sam. It was the only available seat, he tells himself. That’s why she sat next to him.
He’s forgotten. And accepted. All at once.
And he’s so hungry for it, so wildly and madly hungry, that he stays.
Even though the movie seriously freaks him out.
He’s not a big fan of bodies going through wood chippers and blood splattering, but then one character gets possessed by a demon and attacks the others. With fists. And the more Sam watches, the tighter his muscles wind and the harder he finds it is to breathe.
Ridiculous. There’s plenty of air.
But his lungs don’t
quite work
any more.
He feels Moxie watching him out of the corner of her eye so he focuses on the screen, focuses on being still. Stop twitching your fingers. One character crushes the other to the floor with a boot and then punches them with a fist. Again. Again – againagainagain—
Then the walls in the creepy asylum explode with monsters so fast, so violently, that Sam’s flimsy grip on calm shatters. He gives a strangled cry and jumps so high that he falls backwards off the sofa.