Afterlife - Douglas Clegg [7]
She tried not to glance at his arms, to give him that privacy. The nurse from school had done a messy bandaging and gauzing of his elbow and forearm. She saw what looked like the drawing of a spider, a little too deep in his skin—a faint image, the ink of his ballpoint pen washed away, a lightly raised line of skin.
“Does it hurt?”
He gave a brief peripheral glance to his arm, and shook his head. “Not much.”
“You were stung by a hornet.”
“Bitten,” he corrected her. “And I think it was a yellow jacket.”
“Oh. I didn’t know there was a difference.” She smiled. “I’m not too smart about insects.”
“Maybe not,” he said, closing his eyes briefly as if a headache had suddenly come on. When he opened them, seconds later, he got a wicked grin on his face. “It hurt like hell when it bit me.”
She reached forward for her coffee, and lifted the plastic lid up. She mixed in two small cups of creamer, and then a packet of sugar, but couldn’t find the plastic stirrer. She took a sip. Better than she had expected.
“What about what you saw? In your mind? Did it frighten you?”
He nodded. She offered him a McNugget, and he glanced at it, then at her, then reached his thumb and forefinger into the little box and plucked it out.
“Not anymore,” he said.
She touched the edge of his arm. Next to the raised skin.
He looked away, jerking his arm. Glanced out the side window. Sparrows and starlings were over by the round tables outside, and an old man tossed French fries to them.
“Is there anyone else you want to talk to? It’s all right.”
“No.”
“I just want to help.”
“I’m not mad at you,” he said, gently.
“I know.”
“I just got scared.”
“I know you did. But it’s over.”
“No it’s not,” Matt said. “It’s just starting.”
She tried to crack a grin, hoping that somewhere behind his eyes he was teasing her a little. “What is?”
“Julie,” he said, seeming wise beyond his years with a voice that was utterly serious. “It’s a test. She told me. In my dream. Her name is Gina. They gave it to her. That’s all it is. But you only get three days to pass.”
Chapter Three
1
After picking Livy up over at Laura Reynen’s, Julie drove them both home, listening to Livy describe her afternoon with the babysitter and her family. Now and then Julie glanced over at Matt, but he’d already gotten his camcorder out and was taping the blur of woods and strip malls and suburban houses.
As she turned the corner onto their street, which would take them first up and then down a hill to the house, Livy began singing a funny song about “After you gone, and left me cryin’. After you gone there’s no denyin’.”
Matt howled with laughter and told his little sister she was certifiable. “You made that stupid song up.”
“That’s an old song,” Julie said. “Gramma might even be too old for it. Was Laura playing it on the piano?”
Livy shook her head. “I heard it in my brain radio,” she said. Then, she continued singing, “You feel blue, you feel sad, you miss the bestest pal you ever had.”
“It’s called After You’re Gone,” Julie said. “I bet your father taught it to you.”
2
By eleven that night, he still hadn’t called, and she didn’t want to call him because sometimes he went into a tirade when she did it. And she didn’t need that—not tonight.
Sometimes he had to stay in the city late. It wasn’t that unusual, but she expected at least a call or a message.
Julie tried paging him, but got no response. She thought she heard him come in, and went down to the front door, opened it. Just a car turning around in the driveway. It seemed misty outside—not quite rain. She stood on the front porch, feeling the chill and enjoying it a bit.
She heard some noises from downstairs, and went to the finished basement.
Matt, watching television.
“Matt? It’s a school night. Let’s hit the sack.”
He ignored her.
“What are you watching?”
“Some guy,” Matt finally said.
On the TV, it was Jerry Springer. A man with a ponytail who looked a little too old for a ponytail shouted at another man, who was fat, had his shirt off, and was covered with tattoos of naked women. A middle-aged woman