Twenty-three Small Disasters

My ex-wife tells me on the phone that she thinks she saw a kid in her yard last night. She's got a lot of stuff in the shed that's worth money, like her boyfriend's tools and some nice bikes, and she's always going on about how her neighbors are coming over to steal stuff.

"It couldn't have been a kid," I say. "Maybe that old guy from across the street? He's pretty small." I'm encouraging her, I know, but it's possible it was that old guy. I once caught him peeping into the dining room window, and when I confronted him, he said he thought he smelled gas. That was when Steph and I were still together.

"I know how an old man moves," Steph says. "I know how a kid moves. This was a kid."

In the past I would have tried to humor her, which I thought was doing the right thing, but now I know it was part of my honesty problem. Since I stopped doing that, Steph and I are getting along better than we ever did when we were married. "It can't be a kid," I say again.

"It was."

"How good a look at him did you get? Was the porch light on?"

"No. The bulb burned out last weekend."

"They sell bulbs at the hardware store."

"I know, but it's too high for me to reach." Too high for her, but not too high for her boyfriend Tom.

"They sell ladders at the hardware store, too. Anyway, so, it was dark, right?"

"Moon-bright. Just like in The Birds."

I know what she's referring to. It's on the tip of my tongue. It's on the tip of both our tongues. "'Blackbird,'" I offer. "No, wait, that's a Beatles song."

The feeling of both of us trying to solve it, reaching for something like that together, is both nicely familiar and a little sad.

"No. Oh, Mockingbird."

"To Kill a Mockingbird?"

"Right. Moon-bright, like in To Kill a Mockingbird."

"Okay. Okay. So you really saw a kid. Really, really saw one. Because if you actually saw a kid, you should probably call someone."

"I did," Steph says. "But nobody will believe me, because, you know, it can't be a kid."

"Well, it's not likely. You have to admit that. When's the last time anyone saw a kid? Maybe it wasn't the old guy across the street, but it could have been another person. A small person. Is anything missing?"

"No. Nothing I noticed."

"You guys really should put a better lock on the shed. Hell, I might steal Tom's tools myself if you keep tempting me."

Steph sighs. "Might as well. It's not like he ever uses them."

This is the kind of remark that always brings about an awkward moment. I don't want to dump on Tom, because I don't want to do anything to add friction to their relationship, and I don't think Steph and Tom really have a problem about him not making use of his tools. I think stuff like this is more a way for Steph to express her feelngs about me. She doesn't want to say she still has feelings for me, so she does it by criticizing Tom. It's half nice, but mostly it's awkward and painful.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Steph. Are you going to stay up all night watching to see if the kid comes back?"

"I'm sure he'll come back," Steph says. "It was Scottie."

"Oh." Scottie was our son. He caught the sickness late—for a while there we thought he might not catch it at all—but once he did, he changed, just like all the other kids.

"Okay, I get what this is all about. Tom wants to borrow my shotgun."

I can almost hear Steph fidget over the phone. "Is that all right? I mean, it'd only be for a few nights, just in case Scottie—"

"It's fine," I tell her. "I'm out of shells, though. He'll have to get some."

"No problem," Steph says. "I can get shells during my lunch hour. I really appreciate it." The relief in her voice makes me glad I can do something for her.

"You wanna come to my place for the gun?" I say. "Or should I drop it off after work? Either way, it's the same to me."

"I'll come get it. My mom sent some banana loaf. I saved one for you, so I can bring it by."

When Steph and I broke up after Scottie and the thing with all the kids, I figured the world was over. I figured it would always be too hard and painful, and she'd be out of my life. But years later, Steph and I are really getting along.

Enough time goes by, and people can change.

Greg van Eekhout has published over two dozen stories in magazines and anthologies such as Asimov's Science Fiction, Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, and Starlight 3. His work has been featured in several years best compilations and has been nominated for the Nebula Award.

More about Greg at http://www.sff.net/people/greg/