Bird in Hand - Christina Baker Kline [88]
“Four! Four books,” Noah said. “No, five.”
“Right,” Charlie said, thinking, Wouldn’t it be much more efficient to read them both the same book?
“I’ve tried reading them the same book and it never works,” Alison said, divining his thoughts. “But you could try.”
“I want to read Plum Creek,” Annie said, pouting, “not dumb baby books.”
“That’s it, then, we’ll read Plum Creek,” said Charlie. “And six books for you, Mister.”
“Yay!” Noah dashed out of the kitchen and clambered up the stairs in giddy anticipation. Annie slunk out after him.
Charlie finished his beer and put the bottle in the recycling bin under the sink, where it clinked loudly against the others. For a moment he lingered in the doorway. Could he get another beer without Alison noticing? Spying a tub of Country Crock whipped margarine on the counter, he grabbed it as an alibi and opened the fridge. While Alison’s back was turned, he slipped a beer into the front right pocket of his khakis. “Well, I’m heading up,” he said cheerily, ducking out the door.
The two-socket ceiling light in the upstairs hall was bright, too bright; it made him wince. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? The bulbs were probably 100 watt, too strong for the fixture. Charlie turned it off as Noah came tearing out of his bedroom, wearing socks and nothing else.
“I want to take a bath!” he shouted, and against Charlie’s feeble protests he ran into the kids’ bathroom and turned on the spigot.
“I don’t have to take one, do I?” Annie said, coming into the hall in her yellow nightgown with white unicorns frolicking across the bodice and matching yellow slippers. “Anyway, I told Mommy I’m too old to take a bath with a boy.”
Reaching into his pocket and shifting the cold beer so it wouldn’t make a mark like an iron on his now partially frozen upper thigh, Charlie realized he didn’t have a bottle opener. Shit. He couldn’t go downstairs; it would be too obvious. “He’s not a boy, he’s your baby brother,” he said absently, going into Annie’s room and rummaging around on her little white desk. Plastic ruler? No. Stapler? Scissors? Hmm—no. Finally he came across a claw-shaped staple remover, and positioned it, Jaws of Life–like, over the bottle cap. Twisting and prying, he managed to get the cap off at the expense of the staple remover, which appeared irreparably mangled. He tossed it into Annie’s white plastic wastebasket with a thud, and took a long swallow.
“My staple remover!” Annie cried, rushing toward the wastebasket and sifting quickly through the contents. Damn, she must have been watching. Holding the battered item up accusingly, she wailed, “Daddy, you broke it!”
“I know, I know, shhhh,” Charlie said, holding his free hand out in front of him and flapping it as if he were dribbling a basketball. “Hush, sweetie. It’s not a big deal. It was cheaply made, anyway. I’ll get you a better one.”
“I don’t want a better one. I want this one. You ruuuined it!” she sobbed, holding it tightly against her chest.
In the next room, Noah started to howl. “The water’s too hot. It bunned my fingas. MOM-MY!”
With both of his children in tears, and his wife already sprinting up the stairs, Charlie took another gulp of his beer, draining it, and set it strategically behind him on the desk, blocking it from Alison’s view. What was wrong with these children? Why did everything have to be so dramatic?
“What in the world is going on?” Alison said as she came into the room.
“Daddy broke my staple remover!”
“I bunned my fingas!” Noah said, barreling in behind her, holding up his injured digits.
Alison inspected the chubby splayed hand. Apparently satisfied that Noah would live, she turned to Charlie and asked, “What were you doing with a staple remover?”
“Oh—well—I was just—”
“He was opening a bottle, Mommy, and that is not what you’re supposed to use a staple remover for,” Annie said indignantly.
“What kind of bottle?” Alison asked, and Charlie, his ears reddening slightly, reached behind his