Fallout

That scares me. Is he saving energy so he can take over and kick Mom and Janet out? And then Dad, Sparky, and me after them? Mrs. Shaw gives her husband a nudge, and he reluctantly gets up. But like Dad, after a few cranks, he seems to grow tired. “Ronnie,” he says.

Ronnie helps his dad crank. Together they manage to go long enough to fill the shelter with fresh air. But I feel bad. How come Dad didn’t ask me to help him?

“We’re like animals in a cage,” Mrs. Shaw mutters. “I can’t stand it.”

“If you think we’re like animals now,” says Mr. McGovern, “just wait.”

Mrs. Shaw pushes herself to her feet. “I have to wash. I want some water.”

“It’s for drinking,” Dad says.

“I have to wash!” Mrs. Shaw yells. Everyone starts and stiffens. “I can’t bear it,” she goes on. “I feel like I’m in a dog kennel covered with filth. I’d rather die.”

I glance at Mr. Shaw, expecting him to say, “Don’t say that,” but he just gazes at the water tank.

Mrs. Shaw’s balled hands rest on her hips. “Well, Richard?”

Dad pours water into a bowl and hands her a bar of Ivory Snow. Mrs. Shaw stands over the drain in the middle of the floor and takes off her robe and nightgown.

“Don’t look,” Dad says. But it’s impossible not to. Ronnie’s mother is naked. She tears some fabric from the bottom of her robe, then dips it in the bowl of water at her feet and starts to scrub her face, neck, arms, breasts, stomach, and legs. Water and lather drip down her body, and she moans with relief as she wipes off the suds, her damp skin glistening in the dim light. Nobody says a word. Of all the eyes watching her, Ronnie’s are the widest, and it makes me wonder if he ever did sneak in on her like he said he did.

By the time she finishes, she’s shivering, her pale skin rubbed pink and covered with goose bumps. She considers the filmy nightgown, then tosses it aside and pulls on what’s left of her robe. “I can’t begin to tell you how good that felt,” she says. “I feel almost human again. Anyone else want to try?”

I’m not surprised when Sparky jumps up. Shedding his blanket, he rubs the soapy rag over his front and lets Janet do his back. Like a dog being scratched, he closes his eyes as she scrubs and rinses him off, before scampering back to the blanket and huddling beside me, teeth chattering.

After that, one by one the rest of us wash. I used to hate being told to bathe; now, even with cold water, it feels like the best thing in the world.

Finally Dad and Janet lead Mom to the toilet bucket, where she seems to know what to do. Janet whispers something in Dad’s ear, and he turns to us. “Don’t watch.”

This time I don’t. Water splashes on the floor. When Janet washes her, Mom lets out a little moan like Mrs. Shaw made.

Maybe she’ll be okay after all.

38

We were playing fungo in the street in front of Ronnie’s house when Puddin’ Belly hit a pop-up. In right field (Ronnie’s front yard), Freak O’ Nature raised his mitt and backed up to catch it. Then he stopped. The ball bounced six feet to his right, but Freak O’ Nature was still staring at the sky. Way, way up, three tiny silver jets were streaking across the blue, leaving white contrails. They were so high, we couldn’t even hear them. I’d never seen planes that high in the sky before.

“Air force jets,” said Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny?

“How do you know?” asked Ronnie.

“Commercial flights don’t fly that high or close together.”

“Think it’s war?” Freak O’ Nature asked nervously.

“Wouldn’t there be sirens?” I asked.

Everyone listened; there were no sirens.

“Should we get in your bomb shelter just in case?” Ronnie said.

Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? turned to Freak O’ Nature. “Try your radio.”

We listened. Stations were playing music or people were talking.

“Sounds pretty normal,” I said.

But we kept listening, as if at any second, the sirens would start or a voice would come on the radio and tell everyone to seek shelter. Finally, Why Can’t You Be Like Johnny? suggested we keep playing and check the radio again in a little while. I went back to first base (the storm drain). Johnny was playing second (chalked on the asphalt). Puddin’ Belly was in left field (Old Lady Lester’s front yard).

Ronnie went to home plate and was about to hit when Paula came by pushing her twin brother, Teddy, in his wheelchair. Teddy had to be strapped in and couldn’t talk. His head would roll around, and he’d make strange faces and stick his fingers in his ears. Sometimes Paula would talk to him, but it was hard to tell if he understood. Sparky was afraid of Teddy, and the rest of us felt uncomfortable when he was around.

On the sidewalk, Paula locked the wheelchair’s brakes and sat down on the edge of Old Lady Lester’s lawn, right in the middle of left field.

“You can’t sit there!” Ronnie called from home plate.

“You don’t own the sidewalk!” Paula yelled back.

“Can’t you find someplace else?”

“No.”