refresher course before you leave Lizzie with her for an entire weekend.”
“I used to babysit all the time when I was in high school,” I reply frostily. “And I kept my cousin Beth’s baby for an entire week when she was in the hospital with pneumonia.”
I don’t need to defend myself; Christina isn’t alarmed. “I’d never spent any time around babies, either, before Lizzie came along,” she says. “Everybody told me how hard it would be, but it’s been easy. She’s such a joy.”
William looks up from the ruins of his pasta, laying his fork aside as if he’s given up trying to feed himself this way. “Has she changed yet?” he asks.
“No,” Christina says, her voice ever so slightly defensive.
William gives me that wolfish smile again. “That’ll be a fun time for you,” he says. “Put a baby to bed in the bassinet, walk in a half hour later to find a kitten. Or worse.”
“I guess I’ll deal with that when it happens,” I say.
“
If
it happens,” Christina interjects. “I didn’t change shapes until I was three. Mother thought I might never do it.”
“Would to God that Mother had been right,” Dante growls.
William leans back in his chair and nods over at his brother. “It’s getting longer for you all the time, isn’t it?” he says. “Your stays in animal shape.”
Dante nods curtly, not looking at me. “Twenty or twenty-two days in a row sometimes,” he says.
“You ever think it will be permanent?”
“William!” Christina exclaims.
Dante shrugs. He still won’t look at me. “Hope not. Can’t do anything about it, so I don’t lose much sleep thinking about it.”
William jerks his chin at me. “You go to Maria’s house when you come back?”
“Usually.”
Usually?
I think.
Where else do you go? Is there some precious moment of your human time that you spend with someone else?
But I think I know why he gave that answer. He thinks it makes him look dependent and weak if he admits that he comes straight to my door. He thinks it makes him look as if he loves me more than he wants his siblings to know.
“What if she’s not there?” Now William’s restless eyes flick to Christina then back to Dante. “That’s what happened to me a few weeks ago. Christina was in the hospital having Lizzie. I had to break into the house. I was afraid one of the neighbors would see me, so I hid out by the old cemetery until midnight. Naked as a baby. If somebody would’ve seen me, they’d’ve thought the graveyard was haunted for sure.”
“Or they would have shot you,” Dante says flatly.
“Well, it didn’t happen,” Christina speaks up. “He knows I keep a spare key under the stone rabbit in the garden. He just forgot it was there.” I can supply the observation she’s left out:
William sometimes goesso long without becoming a man that all sorts of human details slip away from him.
I wonder how long William generally goes between bouts of shape-shifting. I wonder how Christina managed to communicate with him and convince him to return here today so that both of her brothers could be present at the same time.
“You should carry a key with you everywhere you go,” Dante says, tugging the leather cord out over the neck of his black T-shirt. “That’s what I do.”
“That’s to Maria’s house?” William asks.
“It’s to a storage locker where I keep clothes and papers and things,” Dante says.
“I’ve
offered
him a key,” I feel compelled to say. It doesn’t bother
me
if his siblings know how much I love him. “Don’t think I haven’t.”
William has leaned forward a little to examine the sturdy strip of leather looped through the dangling brass and triple knotted at the back. “It’s a little long,” he says. “Does it ever catch on anything?”
I’m suddenly beset with a whole new class of worries as I imagine Dante strangling to death because the cord has tangled on a fallen branch and he can’t get free. He knows what images are
“I used to babysit all the time when I was in high school,” I reply frostily. “And I kept my cousin Beth’s baby for an entire week when she was in the hospital with pneumonia.”
I don’t need to defend myself; Christina isn’t alarmed. “I’d never spent any time around babies, either, before Lizzie came along,” she says. “Everybody told me how hard it would be, but it’s been easy. She’s such a joy.”
William looks up from the ruins of his pasta, laying his fork aside as if he’s given up trying to feed himself this way. “Has she changed yet?” he asks.
“No,” Christina says, her voice ever so slightly defensive.
William gives me that wolfish smile again. “That’ll be a fun time for you,” he says. “Put a baby to bed in the bassinet, walk in a half hour later to find a kitten. Or worse.”
“I guess I’ll deal with that when it happens,” I say.
“
If
it happens,” Christina interjects. “I didn’t change shapes until I was three. Mother thought I might never do it.”
“Would to God that Mother had been right,” Dante growls.
William leans back in his chair and nods over at his brother. “It’s getting longer for you all the time, isn’t it?” he says. “Your stays in animal shape.”
Dante nods curtly, not looking at me. “Twenty or twenty-two days in a row sometimes,” he says.
“You ever think it will be permanent?”
“William!” Christina exclaims.
Dante shrugs. He still won’t look at me. “Hope not. Can’t do anything about it, so I don’t lose much sleep thinking about it.”
William jerks his chin at me. “You go to Maria’s house when you come back?”
“Usually.”
Usually?
I think.
Where else do you go? Is there some precious moment of your human time that you spend with someone else?
But I think I know why he gave that answer. He thinks it makes him look dependent and weak if he admits that he comes straight to my door. He thinks it makes him look as if he loves me more than he wants his siblings to know.
“What if she’s not there?” Now William’s restless eyes flick to Christina then back to Dante. “That’s what happened to me a few weeks ago. Christina was in the hospital having Lizzie. I had to break into the house. I was afraid one of the neighbors would see me, so I hid out by the old cemetery until midnight. Naked as a baby. If somebody would’ve seen me, they’d’ve thought the graveyard was haunted for sure.”
“Or they would have shot you,” Dante says flatly.
“Well, it didn’t happen,” Christina speaks up. “He knows I keep a spare key under the stone rabbit in the garden. He just forgot it was there.” I can supply the observation she’s left out:
William sometimes goesso long without becoming a man that all sorts of human details slip away from him.
I wonder how long William generally goes between bouts of shape-shifting. I wonder how Christina managed to communicate with him and convince him to return here today so that both of her brothers could be present at the same time.
“You should carry a key with you everywhere you go,” Dante says, tugging the leather cord out over the neck of his black T-shirt. “That’s what I do.”
“That’s to Maria’s house?” William asks.
“It’s to a storage locker where I keep clothes and papers and things,” Dante says.
“I’ve
offered
him a key,” I feel compelled to say. It doesn’t bother
me
if his siblings know how much I love him. “Don’t think I haven’t.”
William has leaned forward a little to examine the sturdy strip of leather looped through the dangling brass and triple knotted at the back. “It’s a little long,” he says. “Does it ever catch on anything?”
I’m suddenly beset with a whole new class of worries as I imagine Dante strangling to death because the cord has tangled on a fallen branch and he can’t get free. He knows what images are
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