Nothing to See Here

by Kevin Wilson

  “Yeah,” I said. “I might go back to school. That would be the smart thing to do.” I had almost a year and a half of credits from community college and night school, all the fits and starts when I’d told myself that I would pull my life together and then never lasted long enough to save myself. I prayed that they wouldn’t ask me what I’d major in, because that felt like a riddle, all the steps I’d have to take to give them an answer.

  “Maybe you’ll meet somebody,” Roland said. “And get married. And have kids.”

  “I doubt it,” I told him.

  “Maybe,” he said. “You never know, right?”

  “I guess not,” I said. I didn’t want to weigh him down with my life; what would be gained? I turned around, facing the opposite hoop, and threw the ball over my head. It went right in, and the kids cheered. It made me smile. I remembered those games when you would just ride this wave, when it felt like all you had to do was keep your feet under you and you couldn’t miss. If you thought about it, tried to figure out why it was happening, it would leave you, and you could feel it when you put up your next shot. It was gone. So you put your head down, ran down the court, stayed on your man, and just waited until it came back to you. And you promised yourself that you wouldn’t lose it again, that you’d hold on to it this time.

  We heard the car coming up the driveway, and we stopped shooting, watching it pull into the roundabout, right in front of the house. Bessie dropped the ball, and the two of them started sprinting to the car. I called out to them but then just started jogging after them, wondering what we were running toward, if we should have been going in the opposite direction.

  I saw Carl hop out of the driver’s side, looking ragged, his shirt untucked, and he ran around to get the door. By this time, I’d caught up to the kids, and we were just standing there, watching it all unfold like it was television, like it wasn’t real at all.

  Madison scootched out of the car, holding Timothy, who was wrapped up in this baby-blue towel. He was asleep, but as she stepped away from the car, he opened his eyes, gazed up at the mansion.

  “Hey,” I said, lame as hell. Madison looked at me, took a deep breath, and then nodded.

  “Can we say hi?” Roland asked Madison, who looked so tired. She didn’t say no, just stood there, and the kids came up to her.

  “Hey, Timothy,” Roland said.

  Timothy seemed to regard them for a moment, placing them in his mind. “Hello,” he said.

  “You were amazing,” Roland said, but Timothy just fell back against Madison.

  “He doesn’t remember,” Madison said to me. “At least I don’t think he does.”

  Jasper stepped out of the car and, seeing the children, said, irritation running all through his voice, “Madison, let’s get him inside. Could we please go inside?”

  What was the formal greeting for the secretary of state? Mr. Secretary? That sounded like a horse that finished last in the Kentucky Derby. He looked at me for a second, as if I were responsible for any of this shit, and then, once Madison went into the house, he followed her inside.

  Carl took me by the hand, squeezing it tightly. “We’re going to talk,” he said.

  “We saw it on TV,” I told him. “Holy shit.”

  “It was . . . it was ill-timed,” he admitted.

  “What happened?” I said. “Afterward?”

  He looked down at the kids. I told them to go ask Mary for something to eat, and they scampered into the house before anyone could stop them.

  “It was chaos. Nobody else could really understand what had happened, especially since Timothy was unharmed. Of course, we knew what had happened, but that’s not a human being’s first instinct, to assume that a child spontaneously combusted on the steps of the Capitol. It was all Madison. She moved so quickly, called media outlets, gave them updates. It was like two seconds after it all happened, she had a response ready. It really was impressive,” he admitted.

  “So, like, Jasper’s going to resign, right?” I asked.

  “Are you fucking crazy?” Carl said. “There’s no way he’s going to resign. Because his kid caught on fire? No way. And why would they take it away? They just confirmed him. They’d look like idiots.”

  “But if it happens again?” I asked. “Why risk it?”

  “It’s complicated,” Carl admitted.

  “Everyone keeps saying that,” I told him. “It seems not that complicated to me.”

  “Let’s go inside,” he told me.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “Lillian?” he said. “Just try to think about it rationally. Try to consider the situation.”

  “I want to talk to Madison,” I said. I ran ahead of him into the house. In the kitchen, Bessie and Roland were sitting at the counter, while Mary heated up some chicken nuggets. “Stay here,” I told them. I went back into the living room, where I’d first had iced tea with Madison. Jasper was standing there, pacing around the coffee table, running one hand through his silver hair.

  “Where’s Madison?” I asked.

  “She’s putting Timothy to bed,” he told me. Carl walked into the room and stood beside me.

  “Lillian,” Jasper continued, “as you can imagine, this has been a very stressful few days. The confirmation hearing alone, good lord, but now . . . now this.”

  “It’s crazy,” I said, but Carl kind of leaned against me, a signal to keep quiet. I shut up.

  “I want to thank you for your service,” he said. “You have helped us immensely, and we are so grateful for that. I know that you have done everything in your power to make sure that Roland and Bessie have been cared for.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. Thanking me for my service seemed weird, but it also felt like something political people said to mean any number of weird things that you had to do for them.

  “I’m afraid that the circumstances have changed, that we were perhaps naive to think that we could do this on our own, that you, without any training, could handle this.”

  I looked at Carl. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Jasper kept talking. “We no longer require your services. We have found other accommodations for the twins.”

  “Boarding school? I know about that. Do you think that’s such a hot idea, to send them away? To Europe?”

  Jasper looked confused and stared at Carl, who then spoke. “They’ll actually stay in Tennessee,” he said. “There is an alternative school, a kind of ranch, where trained professionals work with troubled children. It’s in the Smoky Mountains. It’s very private. Very discreet.”

  “When did you decide this?” I asked.

  “Carl found this place a long time ago,” Jasper said, “but I was too stubborn to listen.”

  “You did this?” I asked Carl, who blushed.

  “Early in the proceedings,” he said, “I was tasked with finding as many options as possible for the care and treatment of these kids.”

  “‘Troubled children’?” I said, and just hearing it made me angry.

  “You don’t think Bessie and Roland are troubled?” Jasper asked, dumbfounded. “This facility will work with them physically and mentally.”

  “This is bullshit,” I said. “What is it? You said ‘school’ and then you said ‘ranch’ and now you said ‘facility.’”

  “It’s multipurpose,” Carl said. “It’s kind of a rehab center.”

  “They call it an academy,” Jasper said.

  “Shut the fuck up, Jasper,” I said. “Carl, you know this is bullshit. You’re going to hide these kids and forget about them.”

  “We don’t have many options, Lillian,” Carl said.

  “I’m the secretary of state now,” Jasper said, his voice rising. “You cannot even imagine the sacrifices that I’ve made. My responsibilities—”

  “I could honestly punch you in the face right now, Jasper,” I said.

  “Lillian,” Carl said. “I don’t like this any more than—”

  “Then don’t fucking
do it, you moron. You fucking idiot,” I said. “This is so unfair. And what about Timothy? How are you going to take care of him? Why do Roland and Bessie get punished?”

  Carl looked at Jasper, who was shaking his head. Then he said, “For the next six months, Timothy will be checked in to a facility, to be observed.”

  “You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met, Jasper,” I told him.

  “There’s nothing sinister,” he said. “You think the worst of us. It’s like the Mayo Clinic, cutting-edge medicine. But . . . private.”

  “That sounds really fucking sinister. It sounds . . .” I searched so hard for the right words, but I couldn’t think straight. “Not good,” I finally said.

  “It does sound fucking sinister,” said Madison, who was now standing at the foot of the stairs.

  “We talked about this,” Jasper said.

  “Not Timothy,” Madison said. “That’s not what you said.”

  “It’s temporary,” Jasper said.

  “Six months?” Madison said. “No fucking way, Jasper.” She turned to Carl. “Where is this place?”

  Carl actually gulped, way out of his depth. “M-Montana.”

  “No fucking way,” Madison repeated, and she looked amazing. She shined with a kind of ferocity that you couldn’t teach, that you had to be born with. “I’ll go get Timothy right now.” She turned to go up the stairs. “We’ll stay with my parents. Did you hear that? I’ll go live with my terrible parents. My brothers will drive up here and beat the shit out of you.”

  “What else can we do?” Jasper asked, almost crying.

  “Why are you guys shouting?” Roland asked, walking into the room. Bessie was beside him, staring daggers at Jasper.

  “Carl?” Jasper said, gesturing to the kids, as if Carl was going to bonk them on the head and stuff them into a sack. “Carl?”

  Carl hesitated, staring at the kids. “Perhaps we need to rethink our plan of action, sir,” he finally said.

  “You have ruined my life!” Jasper shouted, his hair flopping over his face, which was red now. It wasn’t clear who he was talking to, exactly. All of us, probably.

  “You ruined our lives,” Bessie shouted, and I ran to her, knelt beside her.

  “Your mother ruined your life,” Jasper said, softly, like he was pleading with her.

  “You fucking idio—” I started to say, and I jumped up and grabbed his shirt, tried to claw his eyes, but Bessie was already on fire before I could do any damage. And then Roland was on fire. I shouted at Madison to go get Timothy, and she ran up the stairs.

  When I turned back, Jasper pushed me so hard that I fell through the coffee table, glass shattering. Carl went to restrain Jasper, holding him in a full nelson, forcefully walking him toward the front door.

  Madison came running down the steps, holding Timothy, and she looked at me for a second before she finally ran out of the house. Timothy looked at the fire through heavy lids, like he couldn’t be bothered.

  Bessie and Roland were simply touching objects, the sofa cushions, a painting on the wall, setting it all ablaze, calmly moving through the house.

  Still lying there, I turned to see Mary, holding some expensive pots and pans, walk out the front door without looking back. I wished her all the best in the world, every good thing.

  I pulled myself off the table. I was scratched up pretty bad, but no gashes, nothing too serious. I ran over to the children, who were now in the hallway.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “We have to go.”

  They looked at me, confused. “You and me,” I said. “We’re going. We’re going away.”

  “Just the three of us?” Bessie asked, and I nodded.

  They closed their eyes, took deep breaths. I wanted to hold them, to pull them into my arms, but I stood there, as close as I could get to the heat, and watched as they slowly pulled the fire back inside themselves. There were all these little fires burning in the mansion, and we stared at them, dumbfounded at the mess we had made. It wasn’t beautiful, but it was hard to look away from.

  Just then, Carl ran back into the mansion. “Get out of here,” he shouted. I grabbed the kids and we moved to the door, but then he stopped us.

  “The back door,” he said. “Go get some clothes, pack a bag. As quick as you can.” He handed me a ring of keys and pointed to one of them. “The Civic is in the garage,” he said. “Just take it. Don’t tell me where you’re going. Just go.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking the keys.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It’s okay,” I told him. He ran into the kitchen for a fire extinguisher, and we were out the back door.

  “Get some clothes,” I told the kids the second we were inside the guesthouse. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” It took us five minutes, maybe less, the kids shaking off their burned clothes and putting on their Nomex. I grabbed my wallet, a candy bar, trying to concentrate and not succeeding. When we walked out of the guesthouse, we saw the inside of the mansion lit up, flickering from the flames. We crept around to the garage and piled into the Honda. I started it up, told the kids to put on their seat belts. I looked at Madison, who was still holding Timothy. As I drove off, she turned to look at me. I waved to her. She smiled. She waved back. And then she turned to the house, watching it.

  Farther down the long driveway I saw Mary, and slowed to offer her a ride. She said that her boyfriend was coming to get her, and she waved me on. The kids said goodbye to her, and then I sped off, watching the mansion in my rearview the entire time; the children turned around to look, too. A few minutes later, two fire trucks, their sirens blaring, sped in the opposite direction, toward the estate.

  In that moment, still nearly hyperventilating, I couldn’t figure out just how bad things were. How illegal was it, what I’d done? Kidnapping? Arson? Physical assault against a secretary of state? I bet there were so many other charges that I wasn’t even considering, that I wouldn’t even know about until the judge read them off to me in court, while I was waving to the kids, telling them everything was real cool, just fine.

  I honestly just drove for a while, no real consideration of where I was or where I was going. Part of the problem was that I didn’t really know where to go. I figured we should get a hotel room, but that seemed suspicious. I was cut up from the coffee table.

  I finally found the interstate and got on it, speeding up to merge with traffic. The kids had been so quiet, probably traumatized, but there was nothing I could do about that now. Setting your childhood home on fire, that seemed like some symbolically heavy shit. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw that both of them were wide awake, staring at me.

  “Hey, kiddos,” I said, smiling.

  “Are we in trouble?” Bessie asked.

  “Some,” I admitted.

  “What are we going to do?” Roland asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” I said.

  “Well, where are we going?” Bessie asked.

  And I knew it, the way it clicked into place, the only option I had. The car was already going there. It was unavoidable.

  “We’re going home,” I told them.

  “Whose home?” they asked. They’d had so many over the last few months.

  “My home,” I said, almost crying, so fucking angry with myself.

  “Okay,” the kids said.

  Twelve

  My mother opened the door, saw Bessie and Roland on either side of me, and she just nodded, not saying a word. It was entirely possible that she had ignored pertinent details of my life for so long that she would accept the idea that I was the mother of ten-year-old twins.

  “Hi,” Roland said.

  “Mm-hmm,” my mother said. Even though she had given up smoking ten years earlier, she always looked like she was just about to take a long drag on a cigarette and blow the smoke right in your face.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said.

  “You’re bleeding,” she said, gesturing to some blood on the sleeve of my shirt, from one of
the cuts I’d received falling onto that glass table.

  “I know,” I said. “Can we come in?”

  “It’s your house, too,” she said, which made me want to cry, but it wasn’t clear exactly why.

  “This is Bessie, and this is Roland,” I said, tapping each kid softly on the head.

  “You’re their governess, right?” she replied.

  “I don’t know what I am to them, Mom,” I said. “It’s kind of jumbled up at the moment. I’m taking care of them, though. We need a place to stay, to keep them safe.”

  “Are you in trouble?” she asked me, still looking at the kids.

  “Kind of,” I said. “Kind of yes and kind of no.”

  “Well, your room is still there,” she said. “Haven’t been in it since you left.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said, but she waved me away with a flick of her wrist.

  I hustled the kids upstairs, up to the attic, which was sweltering because none of the fans were on. I cursed and started plugging them in and getting them going. I set the kids in front of the two biggest ones, cranked up to high, which just blew all this dust around the room, little particles hovering in the air. There was an old piece of pizza sitting in an opened box, petrified. It was so embarrassing, to show these kids what my life had been like before them. It must have vaporized any confidence they had that I knew what I was doing. I kind of shuffle-kicked the pizza box under the bed, but they’d both seen it.

  “We’re hungry,” Bessie told me. I realized that over the course of this summer they had become used to a lifestyle where someone simply reached into a refrigerator or cabinet and food immediately appeared. The pizza place delivered, but I was paranoid about the cops.

  “My stomach,” Roland said. “Listen to it growl.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “I get the picture. Just sit tight, and I’ll bring something up.”

  “Can’t we come down there?” they asked. “It’s hot up here.”

  “We kind of need to give my mom her space,” I told them. “She’s not good with kids.”

  I ran down the stairs, huffing. I reached behind me and touched a spot just above the waist of my jeans, and I felt a little piece of glass stuck in there. I tried to pull it out, but it was in there pretty good. It didn’t hurt, but now that I knew it was there, it was all I could think about. It could not be good to have open wounds and hang out in that musty attic. I was losing my focus. I went into the kitchen and my mom was there, reading a magazine, listening to soft rock on the radio.