Worry

by Jessica Westhead

  The nest is moving slightly, and a low, angry hum is coming from the swollen centre of it. It’s fascinating, really, this dry, grey husk full of activity. All that life going on inside. Ruth imagines smashing it open like a pinata at a kids’ party. How much fun that would be, until it wasn’t. They were always filled with such disappointing candy.

  “Ruth,” says Stef, and she’s much farther up the staircase now, herding Fern and Isabelle and Amelia ahead of her. “You need to keep walking or you’re going to get stung.”

  She was out of breath when she got to the top of the basement stairs and she was in the boy’s kitchen and where was the phone? She scanned the room until she saw the curly cord dangling—her dad liked to call it a piggy tail—and she rushed over and picked up the receiver and dialled her parents’ number with a shaking hand.

  The humming increases. Any second now, an angry swarm will fill the air around her. Then she’d have to run, but the wasps would be faster. The pain would be everywhere and she’d trip and lose her balance, and for a long, slow-motion moment, she’d be suspended with her arms outstretched, teetering above lake and trees and sky. And then she’d fall.

  “Hello?” said her father, and she was crying by then so she couldn’t even talk properly.

  “Ruthie,” he said, “what’s wrong?”

  “I’m at a boy’s house,” she managed. “I want to go home.”

  “Move,” says Stef. “Now.”

  “Tell me the address. I’ll be right there.”

  “I don’t know.” She glanced at the door to the basement, which she’d left wide open.

  “Look around. Is there any mail? Look for an envelope and then read me the address on it.”

  She scanned the room again and there was a basket on the kitchen table with apples and papers inside. She set the handset on the counter and hurried over and grabbed an envelope from the pile and hurried back. She read the address to her dad and he said, “Go outside and wait for me.”

  “Okay,” she said, and she hung up and ran.

  “Mama,” says Fern, “what’s wrong?”

  The little voice finally wakes her up and she moves away, leaving the danger alone so it will leave her alone too. She climbs the stairs until the angry hum subsides and she can smile and tell her daughter, “Nothing’s wrong, honey.”

  She was sitting on the boy’s front steps when her dad pulled into the driveway, and then the front door opened behind her and Stef was there.

  “You didn’t come back,” she said.

  Ruth blinked in the bright sun, which glinted off her parents’ car and made it even shinier. “I was going to.”

  “Sammy!” Stef hollers. “Slap some extra cheese on Ruth’s burger! And get me the can of Raid because I need to do some killing.”

  The two of them had climbed into the back of the car together and buckled their seat belts without a word.

  Ruth’s dad stared at them in the rear-view mirror. “Is everybody all right?”

  Ruth glanced at Stef, who was looking straight ahead, and gave him a tiny nod.

  “Good,” he said, and reversed out of the driveway and drove down the street, and the house got smaller and smaller until it was gone.

  Ruth huffs and puffs up the last few steps and watches Fern and Amelia and Isabelle run into the cottage, giggling and squealing and safe.

  Her friend stands at the top with her arms crossed. “I’m more responsible than you today,” she says. “Sometimes Auntie Stef’s not so bad after all.”

  From the tree branches overhead, the incessant electric whine of all the hidden cicadas rises in volume, filling the air until there isn’t room for any more sounds, and then it stops. Ruth has always wondered what makes them go quiet like that. She saw a dead one once, at the cottage with her parents. Her dad told her it was a tiny alien that had crash-landed on Earth, and she was sad that it was never going home.

  “You’re going to spray the nest now, right?” says Ruth.

  Stef arches an eyebrow. “What do you say?”

  The cottage towers above them, blank windows reflecting the sun. Making Ruth squint. “Please?”

  “Well, okay then.” Stef gives her a brisk nod. “Since you asked so nicely.”

  BY THE TIME she’s changed into shorts and a T-shirt and is sitting at the picnic table on the screened porch with a big glass of water and a giant cheeseburger in front of her, Ruth is feeling better.

  The twins are showing Fern something on their iPads, which apparently are no longer off-limits, but why should Ruth care? It’s not much different than TV, right? And video games are her husband’s job! They can’t be all bad. It’s fine.

  She even laughs at one of Sammy’s jokes, something about a porcupine hiding in an outhouse with disastrous consequences, and he grins at her and says, “Glad to see you’re finally on Cottage Time.”

  Ruth nods, and the movement feels bigger than usual.

  The lamp that hangs over the picnic table is swaying in the breeze. Inside it, the small, dark shapes of dead and dying bugs clutter the frosted glass.

  Stef had aimed the nozzle of the Raid can at the small hole at the bottom of the wasps’ nest and counted slowly to ten as she filled it up with poison. “This is the best time of day to do it, actually,” she said, “when they’re the least active. They’re all in there chilling out with the queen. We have to get them all, but especially her. If you let that bitch go free, she’ll just keep on pumping ’em out somewhere else.”

  Ruth had nodded from a few feet away, muscles tensed to start running.

  They were both still wearing their bathing suits—she’d suggested they put on more protective clothing first but Stef had said, “You want to do this now, or not?”

  When she was done spraying, Stef lifted the nozzle to her lips and blew on it like it was a smoking gun. “That was extremely satisfying,” she sighed, her other hand resting on her smooth, tanned belly.

  Ruth’s skin was so much paler, and her suit was riding up again. She tried to pick it out discreetly, waiting for Stef to catch her and say something sarcastic, but her friend was too busy drumming her fingers on that raised pink line between her hips, a few inches below her belly button.

  Ruth wondered if the workers inside the nest had any idea. Maybe one of them was dragging himself over to the queen right at that moment, telling her to hurry up and get the hell out before it was too late. Maybe the queen had just enough strength left to fly out of that little hole at the bottom and make the humans regret what they were doing to her palace.

  “Hey, hey!” Stef shouts now from across the table. “Don’t float away on us—the night is young. Sammy! Red Bull, stat!”

  Sammy climbs off the bench and scrambles to the kitchen, yanks open the fridge and tosses a blue-and-silver can across the room into his wife’s waiting hands.

  Stef pops it open with a hiss and thrusts it at Ruth. “Drink this.”

  Ruth has a headache. She massages her temples and drinks the drink.

  The three girls run in from the living room then, laughing and shrieking. They’re all wearing dresses for the party, exposing their bruised, bumpy knees.

  “Mom!” yells Amelia. “We’re hungry!”

  “Keep it down!” Stef yells back.

  This makes the twins shriek even louder, and Stef growls at them. “Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean I won’t kick you in the face.”

  “You wouldn’t kick us in the face,” singsongs Isabelle, “because that would be chiiild abuuuuse.”

  Fern has Monsieur Foomay under her arm, and Ruth lifts her up onto her lap and kisses her hair. “No bad dreams tonight, okay?”

  Fern nods and allows herself to be kissed.

  Somewhere in the cottage, a machine clicks on and starts humming, promising to take care of everyone. It’s a good sound, but Ruth doesn’t trust it.

  “Ask your father to give you some food,” Stef tells the twins.

  Amelia and Isabelle circle the picnic table in th
eir fancy outfits, sequins flashing, and Amelia squeezes one eye shut and flops out her tongue. “We want to eat Fern because she’s so yummy!”

  “If you ate me,” says Fern, “I would be poison and your guts would be dead.”

  “That’s not nice!” says Isabelle.

  “She was mean to me first,” Fern grumbles.

  Ruth pulls her closer and whispers, “I know.”

  Stef glares at Sammy. “Feed your children.”

  “Okay.” He pulls a bag out of the cupboard and sticks it in the microwave. “Who wants popcorn for dinner?”

  “Popcorn!” The twins fist-bump each other.

  Fern looks up at Ruth. “Can I have popcorn for dinner too?”

  “Only if you share some with me,” she says, and Fern laughs.

  “Look at you, all relaxed.” Stef gives Ruth a dazzling smile. “I knew you’d love it here.”

  Ruth smiles too. “It’s nice.”

  “I always wanted a cottage, ever since I was little.” Stef picks at a corner of unmelted cheese poking out of her own burger.

  “Well, you found a good place.”

  “To own, I mean. Not just to rent. Your mom and dad rented theirs, right?”

  Ruth nods, slowly. The humidity is stifling, pressing down on her.

  Fern is watching the two of them with big eyes, her fingers finding the spots she likes the best on Monsieur Foomay’s wings, worn down now to a comforting softness.

  “This place is probably a lot nicer than the one you went to with your parents, right? And bigger?” Stef flicks the cheese onto her plate. “I mean, I never saw it. So I wouldn’t know.”

  The air is too still and too warm. Yesterday it was much cooler by this time. “Yes,” says Ruth, “it wasn’t very big.” She wishes for a breeze, but there’s nothing.

  Then her pocket starts buzzing and jingling and she jerks around, and Fern tumbles off her lap and lands on the floor.

  “Ow! Mama! Look what you did!”

  Ruth reaches for her with one hand and pulls out her phone with the other, and there’s James, beaming at them in miniature.

  “Daddy!” Fern grabs the phone and kisses the screen.

  “Hey,” says Ruth, “you’re going to get it all slobbery.”

  “Oh, let her kiss me,” James admonishes from far away. “I love it.”

  “Fern, are you okay?” Ruth asks. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “I saw a dead fish, Daddy! And a scary movie!” Fern hops from one foot to the other. “And we’re going to a fire now but it’s hot so I have to be careful.”

  “Amazing.” James’s tinny laugh bubbles up, and then he pretend-pouts. “Mommy didn’t say hello to me.”

  Fern frowns at Ruth and hands back the phone. “Say hello, Mommy.”

  “Hello.” Ruth cradles James’s face in her hands and smiles down at him. “What are you up to?”

  His eyes light up. “I just watched a baby eating bacon for the first time! I’ll send you the link. It’ll change your life.”

  She shakes her head. “That’s okay.”

  “Send it to me,” Stef tells him. “You know the magic of the internet is wasted on your wife.”

  James sighs loudly. “Sadly, I do.”

  Sammy slides a giant bowl of popcorn onto the table in front of Fern, but her attention is fixed on her dad’s face and she doesn’t notice.

  Sammy wiggles his fingers at the screen. “Hey, James.”

  James waves back. “Hey, Sammy.”

  “I’m holding down the fort, don’t worry. Keeping the beers cold for you.”

  “I never worry when you’re in charge, buddy.”

  “Who says I’m in charge?” Sammy wisecracks. “Just get here soon, all right? I need backup.”

  James chuckles. “Will do.”

  “How’s the house coming along?” Ruth asks him. “Is everything unpacked?”

  “Almost,” he says.

  “Give the guy a break. These things take time,” Stef tells Ruth, then asks James, “How’s the game coming along?”

  “Almost done that too,” he says.

  “What game?” says Ruth.

  “Just a bit of homework,” Stef says quickly. “Don’t worry about it. You can’t actually control everything, you know. No matter how hard you try.”

  “I’m not trying to control anything,” Ruth mutters.

  “James knows what I’m talking about.” Stef plucks the phone away from her and smirks at the screen. “Remember her very long list of Forbidden Pregnant-Lady Foods?”

  James nods. “Oh, yes.”

  Ruth frowns. “It wasn’t that long.”

  Fern climbs back onto her lap. “What are they talking about, Mama?”

  “Nothing, sweetie. We’re going to the bonfire soon, so you should eat some popcorn so you’re not too hungry.”

  Fern sees the snack then and attacks it, grabbing two overflowing handfuls and quickly filling both cheeks.

  “She’s giving your daughter popcorn for dinner, did you hear that? The woman’s come a long way.” Stef starts counting on her fingers. “No deli meats, no raw fish, no unpasteurized cheeses . . .”

  Ruth stiffens. “Listeria can cause a miscarriage. Why would I risk that?”

  “Geez,” says Stef. “So serious all of a sudden.”

  “All of a sudden?” James quips.

  Stef grins at him and continues, “No sprouts either, but that’s not a hard one to give up.”

  “Okay,” says Ruth.

  “And no alcohol, of course. I mean, I had a pint here and there with the twins and they turned out fine—more or less, ha. But chacun à son goût, right? The coffee ban, though.” Stef shakes her head. “That was too much.”

  “It wasn’t your baby.” Ruth’s voice is barely audible.

  Stef finally turns away from James’s face on the screen and focuses on her. “I’m still allowed to complain, aren’t I?”

  “Fern!” Isabelle yells from the living room. “Come and play our shooting game!”

  “Okay!” She jumps off Ruth and runs to join the twins, who are huddled over their screens.

  Ruth’s half-eaten burger is leaking grease onto her plate. Fat is oozing out of the bites she took.

  “It’s just a fruit-shooting game,” Stef tells her. “Nothing too dangerous.”

  Ruth drinks more water. “The one with the papaya guards?”

  “Look at you, all technologically savvy.” Stef waits until Ruth’s glass is empty and then fills it with wine. “Yep. That’s my and James’s baby.”

  In the middle of taking a sip, Ruth sputters and chokes. “What did you say?”

  James starts laughing again.

  “Our game baby,” says Stef. “The first one we ever worked on together. Relax.” She pats Ruth’s hand, which is shaking slightly, then lowers her voice. “Wait until you see our newest creation, though. It’s the best one yet. We couldn’t tell you before because Fern was listening.”

  Ruth frowns. “What are you talking about?”

  “That’s how your handsome hubby earned the big raise I gave him. He’s been working very, very hard.” Stef hands her the phone.

  Ruth looks at James, who is grinning at her from his big desk that holds his big computer in the big home office of their big, new house. “It’s for her birthday,” he stage-whispers. “There’s a dragon in it. She’s going to lose her mind.”

  “Oh.” The phone is heavy in her hand and the glass is so smooth. Slippery. She loosens her grip but only a little because she doesn’t want to drop it. James keeps telling her to get a protective case for it but she never remembers. So it’s still very fragile and could break very easily.

  “Have fun at your bonfire,” he says. “I’d better let you go.”

  “Okay,” she says in a monotone. She wonders if he can hear the flatness of her voice, but probably not.

  “I’ll see you soon, Ruthie.”

  “Okay,” she says again, and then he’s gone.

&
nbsp; AFTER DINNER, STEF locks up the cottage, and the six of them troop across the front lawn toward the path that will take them to Marvin and Lesley’s place.

  “So who else is going to this thing?” Ruth asks.

  “Everybody goes,” says Sammy. “Like I said, Marvin’s bonfires are epic.”

  “You said they were legendary,” says Stef.

  Sammy swats a hand at her. “Whatever.”

  The forest closes in on them as soon as they step off the edge of the property.

  “Get off my property!” Ruth used to shout at Stef when they were kids and Stef had overstayed her welcome again. Stef always treated it like a joke, but Ruth usually meant it by then.

  Because it felt like Stef never left. Her parents wouldn’t come to pick her up until after both girls had fallen asleep in Ruth’s room, entwined on Ruth’s twin bed. And then Ruth’s mom would come in, saying, “Hush, it’s okay, they’re here now, it’s time to go home, sweetie.” And Stef would stumble drowsily out of bed, and through half-closed eyes, Ruth would watch her mom steering Stef away. Her friend would ask, “Were they working again?” And Ruth’s mom would answer, “Yes, that’s right. They work very hard, don’t they?” And Stef would say, “I never want to work that hard.”

  Once in a while, they wouldn’t pick Stef up at all, so Ruth would wake up in the morning with her friend’s bad breath in her face, and they’d have to eat breakfast together and go to school together and spend all day there together too, until the bell rang and Ruth hoped and hoped that Stef’s parents would be there, smiling with open arms, so Ruth could finally get a break.

  The sun has just started to set and everything is orange.

  Ruth says, “So I guess we’ll meet Lesley, then?”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” says Stef. “Depends on what mood she’s in. Sometimes she likes to see all the kids and sometimes she doesn’t like to see all the kids.”

  “Oh.” Ruth is holding Fern’s hand tightly.

  The woods claw at them from all sides. The mothers and the father and their daughters follow the path in front of them, swatting at bugs and shoving branches away from their faces. They walk and walk, and after a while, the path narrows and the forest starts to feel different. More alive. Heat and itch and unfamiliar noises all around them, demanding constant vigilance.