Read Online Love and Hydrogen by Jim Shepard - Free Book Online Page B

her.
    â€œI’ve done everything I know to keep him around,” his mother answered. “It doesn’t seem to be working.”
    The Phantom was following Christine around the bedchamber he’d made for her. The intertitle read,
So that which is good within
me, aroused by your purity, might plead for your love. They must’ve missed something.
    When his father called again his mother didn’t say hello, but said “Okay,” before she hung up. “Johnny might die,” she said. “They think he ate something like antifreeze. They said we should go see him.”
    Getting dressed in his room, Anson thought, Could my dog die? He remembered the times the dog had just stood around him, wanting to be with him. The mess on the rug smelled.
    â€œC’mon,” his mother called.
    â€œHe would’ve told me,” she said to herself, during the drive to the animal hospital.
    But when his father came to the lighted front doors, they could see Jeanne behind him in the examining room.
    His mother said something he couldn’t hear. “Don’t start,” his father said.
    He led them both into the examining room. “I’m sorry,” Jeanne said to Anson’s mother. The dog was strapped to the table with two flat elastic straps. He was panting and seemed to recognize them. Nobody said anything.
    â€œHi, Anson,” Jeanne said.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with him?” Anson asked.
    â€œWe think he was poisoned,” Jeanne said. “Poisoned himself.”
    His dad was over by the sink. His mom was close to the table, facing her. “He’s gonna die?” he asked.
    â€œI’m worried he might,” Jeanne said. “I thought you’d want to say good-bye.”
    His father blew out air. He was looking at the dog.
    But the dog didn’t die. They waited, and he panted, and hung on. He didn’t get any worse.
    His mother was getting teary and looking at the table.
    â€œWhy don’t you all go back,” Jeanne finally said. “I’ll call if there’s a change.”
    It smelled like wet dog even though Shitface was dry. There was a syringe filled with something on the counter but it didn’t have a needle screwed onto it. His hands were cold.
    â€œYou lose your gloves again?” Jeanne asked.
    His mother turned to him. She left the table.
    How was he going to explain? How was he going to explain? He followed her past the reception counter and out the main doors. He didn’t have to run, but he had to walk fast. “Mom,” he called.
    She got in her side of the car and he got in his. She backed it out and bumped over the frozen ruts to the main road. How was he going to explain? She looked both ways and pulled out after a fishtailing truck.
    He started crying. “I shoulda told you,” he said. He was whining. His mom was like there was nobody else in the car.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said. He’d seen a picture of himself crying once. Crooked teeth, everything scrunched: the worst thing he’d ever seen.
    â€œPlease,” he said.
    â€œNothing to be sorry about,” his mother said.
    â€œYes there is,” he said.
    She didn’t say anything else until they got home. Then she said, “Take your boots off.” She dropped her coat on the table and went into the TV room. One of the bows was a knot and he wrestled with it before he could get it off and follow her.
    She had the
Phantom
back on. She was reading the intertitle:
If
you turn the Scorpion—you have said “Yes” and spared de Chagny. The Phantom pointed into a wooden chest.
Turn the Grasshopper—and the opera house is blown to a thousand bits!
    â€œI need a drink,” his mother said. She didn’t get up.
    They heard his father’s car in the garage.
    â€œTell her you feel bad,” Anson cried when he heard the back door shut.
    â€œCan I get my coat off here?” his father