The Children's Crusade Read Online Free Page B

him after all. The water went on, and he got to his feet and entered the room, which was dark and musty and smelled like bed. On his father’s side, the blankets were straight and so was the pillow, but his mother’s side was like a nest, and he got in and covered himself, head and all. The toilet flushed, and he hugged his badger, bringing his knees up to his chest so that he would look like a pillow under the covers. She would be very surprised to see him. She might even want to get back in with him. Sometimes when they were alone, she pulled him onto her lap and said he was supposed to be her baby.
    The bathroom door opened, and he tried not to breathe so the surprise would take a little longer. He heard a drawer open and close. “Look at you,” she said, and he felt himself smile. But nothing happened, and in a moment she said it again, a little differently: “Why, look at you!” He hadn’t heard her steps, so she must still be at her dresser. Then, again: “Look at you! Penny Blair, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Then her voice went very low, and she said something almost like a hum: “Mmmmm.” It went up and down as if she were tasting a pretend cookie he’d offered her.
    “Mom?” This was Robert, from outside the open door. “Who are you talking to?”
    Something clicked onto the dresser top, and it occurred to Ryan that she’d been brushing her hair. He brought Badger to his mouth and let his lips brush Badger’s fur.
    “No one,” his mother said. “Where’s James?” This was the moment when she would say, in a loud happy voice, “And where’sRyan?” Ryan was so sure of this he needed to pee. But she didn’t say anything more, and when someone spoke it was Robert.
    “I took his diaper off. It was soaked.”
    “Well, I don’t want him running around naked, I’ve got way too much to do today. You’ll have to get him dressed.” And then Ryan heard her steps and knew she’d left the room.
    The door creaked a little more. “Good hiding place,” Robert said.
    Ryan pulled the covers from his head and looked at his brother.
    Robert was wearing his fake nice face. “What? It is.” He crossed the room and opened the curtains. The room appeared, the teak bed and dressers, the huge picture of their land as it had been before the house was built. It was a painting that almost looked like a photograph, painted by an artist hired by their father a long time ago. This artist was extremely good at trees. He wasn’t as good at colors—the greens were gray greens and the browns were gray browns, and the sky was a whiter blue than in real life. But the tree trunks, the branches, the leaves—these were perfect. Sometimes, when their father had gone into the bedroom to change, one or another of the children would track him down and find him sitting on the end of the bed, just looking at the painting.
    Robert stared at Ryan, lying there with his dumb badger. It took everything he had to say, “You can come help me with James if you want. You can do his shirt.” He had his hands on his hips, and his cheeks were red.
    “Does your stomach hurt?” Ryan said.
    “Not very much. Does yours?”
    “No.”
    They went to find James, who was, predictably enough, standing on the counter in the children’s bathroom peeing into the sink.
    “James, no!” Robert said.
    James turned to face the older boys and sprayed them both—Robert on the neck and Ryan in the hair.
    “James, no!” they both said.
    Laughing, dribbling pee, James swiveled around and got down on his knees and felt with his feet for the closed toilet cover. He took off running. He had white-blond hair and a pudgy pink behind, and thighs that were as big around as Ryan’s.
    “James,” Robert yelled, and halfway down the hallway James stopped and turned. His face wild with glee, he began to run back, and Robert planted himself so James had no choice but to run into the room he and Ryan shared. “Block the door,” Robert