Hidden Pictures(13)

“No!” Teddy exclaims.

“Sorry, T-Bear, I’m freezing.”

I spread a towel on the concrete deck at the edge of the pool, then lay out to dry in the sun. Temperatures have soared into the low nineties—the sun is strong and quickly bakes away my chills. Teddy keeps splashing nearby. His new game is filling his mouth with water and then spitting it out, like he’s a winged cherub in a fountain.

“You shouldn’t do that,” I tell him. “There’s chlorine.”

“Will it make me sick?”

“If you swallow enough, yes.”

“And would I die?”

Suddenly he is very concerned. I shake my head.

“If you drank the whole swimming pool, yes, you would probably die. But don’t drink even a little, okay?”

Teddy climbs onto the raft and paddles to the edge of the water, so we’re both lying parallel—Teddy on the raft and me on the deck.

“Mallory?”

“Yeah?”

“What happens when people die?”

I look over. He’s staring down into the water.

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, what happens to the person inside the body?”

Now obviously I have strong opinions on this subject. I believe in God’s gift of eternal life. I draw a lot of strength from knowing that my little sister, Beth, is surrounded by angels. And I know that someday, if I’m lucky, we’ll be reunited in heaven. But I don’t share any of this with Teddy. I still remember my job interview and rule number ten: no religion or superstition. Teach science.

“I think you should ask your parents.”

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“I’m not sure I know the answer.”

“Is it possible some people die but stay alive?”

“Like ghosts?”

“No, not scary.” He’s struggling to express himself—the way we all struggle, I guess, when discussing these things. “Does any part of the person stay alive?”

“That is a big, complicated question, Teddy. I really think you should ask your parents.”

He’s frustrated by my nonanswer, but he seems resigned to the fact that I’m not going to help him. “Well then can we play Land of Oz again?”

“We just finished!”

“Only the melting scene,” he says. “Just the ending.”

“Fine. But I’m not getting back in water.”

I stand up and wrap my towel around my shoulders, holding it like a witch’s cloak. I curl my fingers into claws and cackle maniacally. “I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!” Teddy splashes me with water and I scream loud enough to scare the birds from the trees. “Oh, you cursed rat! Oh, look what you’ve done!” With incredible dramatic flair I sink to the patio, waving my arms and writhing in agony. “I’m melting! I’m melting! Oh, what a world, what a world!” Teddy laughs and applauds as I collapse onto my back, close my eyes, and stick out my tongue. I give my legs a few final twitches and then I’m still.

“Uh, miss?”

I open my eyes.

There’s a young man not five feet away, standing on the far side of the pool fence. He’s wiry but well built, dressed in grass-stained khakis, a Rutgers T-shirt, and work gloves. “I’m with Lawn King? The landscapers?”

“Hola, Adrian!” Teddy exclaims.

Adrian winks at him. “Hola, Teddy. ?Cómo estás?”

I try to pull my towel over my body, only I’m already lying on top of it, so I end up thrashing and flailing like a beetle flipped onto its back.

“I’m gonna bring the big mower around, if that’s okay. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. It’s pretty loud.”

“Sure,” I tell him. “We can go inside.”

“No, we have to watch!” Teddy says.

Adrian leaves to get the mower and I look at Teddy. “Why do we have to watch?”

“Because I love the big mower! It’s amazing!”

I hear the mower coming before I see it, the loud gasoline engine ripping through the silence of our backyard sanctuary. And then Adrian comes tearing around the side of the house, riding atop a machine that’s somewhere between a tractor and a go-kart. He’s standing in the back and leaning over the steering wheel, like he’s racing an ATV, leaving stripes of fresh-cut grass in his wake. Teddy climbs out of the pool and runs to the fence so he can see better. The landscaper is showing off, taking turns way too fast, driving in reverse, even pulling his hat down over his eyes so he’s driving blind. It’s not the best example to set for a little kid, but Teddy is riveted; he watches in openmouthed astonishment like it’s a performance of Cirque du Soleil. For his Grand Finale, Adrian speeds up in reverse, slams the gearshift into drive, and then hurtles toward us, popping a wheelie, keeping the mower aloft for three terrifying seconds so we can see its furiously spinning blades. And then with a loud crash the whole machine comes down, stopping inches shy of the pool fence.

Adrian hops off the side and offers the keys to Teddy. “You want to take her for a spin?”

“Really?” Teddy asks.

“No!” I tell them. “That is definitely not happening.”

“Maybe when you turn six,” Adrian says, winking at him. “Are you going to introduce me to your new friend?”