We Need to Talk About Kevin_ A Novel - Lionel Shriver [156]
The heating worked well; too well, since once we’d idled for a few minutes the cab got stuffy. It was bigger than the Ford, but your baby-blue had never felt this claustrophobic with just the two of us.
Finally, you knocked your head back on the padded headrest and stared at the ceiling. “I can’t believe you left it out.”
Stunned, I didn’t respond.
“I thought about not saying that,” you proceeded. “But if I swallowed it, I’d be not saying it, and not saying it, for weeks, and that seemed worse.”
I licked my lips. I had begun to tremble. “I didn’t leave it out.”
You dropped your head, then sighed. “Eva. Don’t make me do this. You used that Liquid-Plumr on Saturday. I remember because you went on about how the kids’ drain smelled weird or something, and then later that afternoon you warned us not to run any water in that sink for the next hour because you’d put drain cleaner in it.”
“I put it away,” I said. “Back in that high cabinet with the child-lock on it, which Celia couldn’t even reach with a chair!”
“Then how did it get out?”
“Good question,” I said icily.
“Look, I realize that you’re usually very careful with caustic substances and lock that shit up automatically. But people aren’t machines—”
“I remember putting it away, Franklin.”
“Do you remember putting your shoes on this morning, do you remember closing the door behind you when you left the house? How many times have we been in the car, and we’ve had to go back inside and make sure that the stove isn’t on? When turning it off is presumably second nature?”
“But the stove is never on, is it? It’s almost a rule of life, a, what, some kind of fortune-cookie aphorism: The Stove Is Never On.”
“I’ll tell you when it’s on, Eva: the one time that you don’t bother to double-check. And that is when the fucking house burns down.”
“Why are we having this inane conversation? With our daughter in the hospital?”
“I want you to admit it. I’m not saying I won’t forgive you. I know you must feel terrible. But part of getting through this has to be facing up—”
“Janis came this morning, maybe she left it out.” In truth, I never thought for a moment that Janis had been so sloppy, but I was desperate to keep at bay the picture that began to form in my head when I entertained a more credible suspect.
“Janis had no need for drain cleaner. All the drains were clear.”
“All right,” I said, steeling myself. “Then ask Kevin how that bottle got left out.”
“I knew we’d get around to this. First it’s oh, what a mystery, then it’s the housekeeper’s fault, who’s left? And, what a surprise, that Eva—who never does anything wrong herself—should finger her own son!”
“He was supposed to be taking care of her. You said he was old enough—”
“Yes, it was on his watch. But she was in the bathroom, he says the door was closed, and we’ve hardly encouraged our fourteen-year-old boy to bust in on his sister in the john.”
“Franklin, this story doesn’t add up. Never mind for now why it was out, all right? Forget that. But why would Celia pour drain cleaner in her own eye?”
“I haven’t a clue! Maybe because kids are not only dumb but creative and the combination is death. Why else would we keep that shit locked up? What’s important is Kevin did everything he should have. He says when she started to scream he came running, and when he found out what it was he ran water over her face and rinsed her eye the best he could, and then he called an ambulance, even before he called me on the cell—which was just right,