Nothing to See Here (32)

“This is private,” I said, closing the notebook before he could read anything else, though he’d probably read it all.

“If it’s about those kids, it’s my business,” he said, and when he saw that I did not like people telling me what to do, how to behave, he softened and said, “I’ve actually made my own list.”

“I bet it’s just things like, send kids to boarding school, send kids to military school, send kids to sanitarium in Switzerland, freeze kids in carbonite,” I replied.

“Those are definitely on the list,” he said. “But let’s talk.”

“We can hear you,” Bessie shouted.

“It’s not a secret,” he said, his voice rising just a little.

“Then let me come sit with you guys,” she said.

“No,” Carl replied, so effortless. It was easy for him to do this, to deny any and every little thing that a person wanted. I used to be good at that. I used to refuse people even when it didn’t benefit me, when it actively inconvenienced me. I didn’t know if this was progress or not.

“We have to come up with a plan,” I told him.

“I agree,” he said. “Something that will help the children and allow Senator Roberts and Mrs. Roberts a measure of security.”

“Well, first, what about therapy? Discreetly done, of course, ’cause I know you’re big on keeping it all a big secret.”

“That’s not going to happen,” he said flatly.

“Discreet? Did you hear me say discreet? Carl, their mom died. They’ve been living with crazy people for two months. They need to talk to someone.”

“They can talk to you,” he replied.

“I have no training,” I said.

“Well,” he replied, “it’s nice to hear you admit it.”

I just stared at him, angry.

“Senator Roberts does not believe in therapy,” he continued, “and he will not allow his children to see a psychiatrist. He is uneasy with the entire concept of psychoanalysis.”

“I wonder why that might be, Carl.”

“It’s not going to happen. So move on.”

“So, okay,” I began, starting over. The tone of my voice was unnatural to me, like I was trying to get a bank loan. “The way I figure it, this is being generated inside of them, right? The fire? They combust when they get agitated.”

“That seems to be the case,” he replied, listening to me, hearing me out.

“So we have to find ways to address the problem both within and without . . . is that the right way to say it? Inside of their bodies and outside of their bodies.”

“Just say what you want to do, Lillian,” he said, taking a deep breath.

“So the outside stuff is just, like, putting out the fire when they catch on fire.”

“Fire extinguishers,” Carl said, nodding.

“You ever used a fire extinguisher? They’re a fucking mess. The chemicals can’t be safe to breathe in. I think if we can get attuned to how they behave, how their bodies work, we don’t need fire extinguishers. We just need, like, damp towels.”

“Lillian, dear lord, is this what you’ve been working on for three days? Damp towels?”

“Okay, yes, when you say it like that, it sounds really shitty and stupid. But, yeah, we have these damp towels or cloths. We keep them cold. We can carry them around in a little cooler or something.”

“Oh my god,” Carl said.

“And when the kids start to get weird, catch on fire, we just pat them down, keep them cool. It keeps the fire from breaking out.”

“Do you have any other ideas? Please say you have other ideas.”

“Well, Jesus, Mr. Ph.D. in fire management, I do have other ideas. So, like, when race car drivers are in their cars, you know, like, during races, they wear these clothes that keep them from catching on fire, right? Even if it’s just for a few seconds or a minute. It lets them get help.”

“It’s called Nomex,” Carl said, a know-it-all. “Firefighters use it, too.”

“Okay, then we get that stuff. We make them wear socks and shirts and underwear made out of that stuff.”

“But those fibers are to keep the fire away from people,” Carl said. “The kids are the fire. We’re not keeping the fire away from the kids. We’re trying to keep the fire away from everyone else. From other things that might catch on fire.”

“Wouldn’t it work the same way? If it’s flame . . . what do you call it?”

“Flame resistant,” Carl replied.

“Right, if it’s flame resistant, then it still does the same job. The kids catch on fire, and the material keeps it contained to them.”

“I guess that’s right,” Carl said, like I’d solved a very simple math problem but it was still kind of impressive.

“It buys us time. It protects us. It protects the house. Right?”

“I guess so,” he said. And then, like it had just occurred to him, he continued, “I have a buddy. He’s a stuntman in Hollywood. They have this kind of gel, a water-based gel, that they use for fire stunts. You rub it on your skin and the fire won’t hurt you. It would do the same thing. The kids catch on fire, and this gel would contain it just long enough for us to put them out.”