Read Online I Want to Show You More (9780802193742) by Jamie Quatro - Free Book Online

cottage. Neil helped Ben and Effie pull off their wet swimsuits and told them to find their pajamas. Another yard sale purchase: the children’s oak dresser, four stacked drawers with masking-tape name tags— Myra’s Madness, Grady’s Getups —in Jocelyn’s faded block script. The dresser tipped if you opened more than two drawers at a time. For six summers Neil had meant to anchor it to the wall.
    Now the children were fighting over who got to open which drawer first.
    Neil went into the bathroom and locked the door. He sat on the closed toilet lid and tried to concentrate on his breathing, the way they’d taught Jocelyn to focus in Lamaze class.
    Through the thin drywall behind the sink he could hear Effie and Ben arguing over the top bunk.
    â€œMy pillow’s on it,” Ben said.
    â€œBut I put books up there,” Effie said.
    â€œYou’ll fall out.”
    â€œMommy said take turns!”
    Neil heard the sound of books hitting the floor. He heard Myra’s voice, then Grady’s.
    â€œDad?” Myra was outside the bathroom door.
    â€œI heard,” he said. “Give me a minute.”
    â€œDid Mom say they should switch off every night?”
    Neil yanked the door open. Myra jumped back, hand to her chest; Neil walked past her into the twins’ bedroom.
    â€œBen, top bunk. Effie, bottom,” he said.
    â€œNot fair!” Effie was standing beside the dresser, wearing just her panties: the words s ummertime fun !” above a rainbow-colored beach umbrella.
    Grady started picking up books. “Maybe they should rock-paper-scissors for it,” he said. “Or do bubblegum-in-a-dish.”
    â€œMommy does engine-engine-number-nine,” Ben said. He was on the top bunk, looking over the rail, eyes wide.
    â€œMy tummy hurts,” Effie said. She started to cry. “I want juice. I want Mommy to cut me up a banana.”
    Neil picked Effie up. He thought he might shake her; and then he was visualizing it, he was imagining shaking her so hard her eyes would roll, her teeth knock together. He set Effie down on the bottom bunk and held her there, gripping her upper arms. He savored the compression, the stinging sensation of the squeezing—the movement of his anger into someone else.
    â€œMommy isn’t here,” he said to her.
    He let go and stood. “ I’m the one who’s here,” he said, to all of them.
    At midnight, Neil stood alone on the dock. The night was warm with a full yellow moon over the lake.
    Across the bay, someone was lighting fireworks. He saw the flares, the sprays of dwindling white sparks. Every few seconds, there was a faint pop . In each small burst of light he could see boats anchored along the shoreline.
    There were nights when she used to strip, jump off the dock, and swim naked in the dark water. The slick feel of her skin, when she emerged; her narrow hips, the sweep of his fingers up into her wetness; the way she coaxed him out of his clothing and, still standing, drew him inside and held him fast, his fingers tangled up in her wet hair until he exploded and lost hold of her, falling to his knees. He refused to swim, after—he wanted her smell on him till morning. On her thirtieth birthday she’d painted each wall in their tiny bedroom a different color—buttercream, wild strawberry, peach, mellow mint. “We’ll be sleeping inside a smoothie,” he’d said. And he remembered those unhappy evenings, after the last diagnosis, the petty arguments that came of avoiding the topic neither of them could face; the last time here, when she sat in the gazebo after the kids were in bed, thin and silent, drinking gin.
    â€œEffie needs you.” He turned; it was Myra, coming from the cottage, wearing a long white T-shirt. She was holding Effie’s hand. “I took her to the bathroom and she threw up.”
    A corner of Effie’s Barbie nightgown was tucked up into her