38
Hera
I didn’t want to kill anything. And I wouldn’t have gone shooting at all if Don hadn’t kicked the terrarium, and the baby hadn’t started screaming at the top of her lungs and Teddy hadn’t run in, followed by Mother, bewildered in a flowing black dress embroidered with teeny sequiny chips of mirror. I roared at her, “He’s an animal! LOOK what he’s done!” But she just stood there, refusing to look at the shattered glass case—or who Don really was.
“Obviously, it was an accident,” Don said, rubbing the side of his nose.
Mother said, “Get the dustpan and brush, Hera.” She walked toward the sofa and picked up the screaming baby. Baby Forest had never cried like that before. She looked terrified, all bulging and rigid. “There, there,” Mother said, cuddling her tight. “It’s all right, it’s all right, sweetpea.” But it wasn’t all right. And the baby knew it. She kept on crying, like an alarm going off, arching her back, and I knew, and probably Mother knew, the only person who was able to calm her down was Big Rita. But Big Rita wasn’t there. And we had no idea when she might be back.
“So are we going shooting?” Teddy said, hopping from foot to foot, agitated.
I mouthed, “No.”
“I don’t think . . .” Don drew a hand along his cheek. He suddenly looked exhausted. “Not tonight, Teddy.”
Mother, dancing and jigging in little circles with the baby, trying to soothe her, said sharply, “Go, Don. Really. Then I can get things under control here. Shh, baby.”
Don shook his head. He looked shocked by himself. In a daze.
“Go!” Mother shouted, panicked by the baby’s screams, the red ribbon of noise. “I can’t settle the baby with you here. Just go.” She suddenly sounded like she hated him too. She turned to me. “Would you go too? Please, Hera.” I couldn’t say no. I knew she wanted me to go to keep an eye on Teddy. I think Don knew too.
“Jeannie, I really don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he said with a small laugh.
“I’ll go,” I said. There was no way Teddy was going out with him alone.
A couple of minutes later, like he was trying to prove something, Don pressed a gun into my hand. “Do your worst.”
We soon lost Don, tracking something or other. I held Teddy’s hand so he couldn’t follow him. Once Don was out of sight, no danger to us anymore, I roared and turned in a circle and beat my chest, like the stupid silverback gorilla Don thought he was, and we both started giggling. In the hush, the sound grew around us, coming from all directions, as if there were dozens of madly giggling children hidden in the trees. By then we were in the thick copse of pines, where the ground is dry and crunchy, skiddy with needles, and the air is completely still, like the inside of a wardrobe. When we stopped laughing, Teddy got spooked. I led him away from the pines until we could see the sky again, the lights of a plane arcing across it, like a spaceship. My arm was aching from carrying the gun. And I wanted to curl up in the soft, powdery hollow of a tree and sleep, arms around Teddy, rather than go back to Foxcote. Or see the broken glass on the floor. Thinking about the terrarium made an urgent anger hiss through me. And that’s all I remember, the sudden fume of fury, and my heart, like a big bass drum, then Teddy pointing at a moving far-off shape and hissing, “Deer! Deer! Shoot!”
The bullet rang out before I decided to fire. The gun punched my shoulder. The evening shattered into a zillion fragments.
We stood there a moment, not saying anything, our ears ringing, like church bells. I imagined the deer bleeding out. Suffering. But I wasn’t sure I’d be brave enough to give the animal another shot to save it from further pain. So I threw the gun down and we ran back to Foxcote.
That was almost an hour ago. I clean my teeth with a trembling hand.
A knock on the bathroom door. “Hera? You in there?”
I startle at the sound of Big Rita’s voice and drop my toothbrush into the plastic beaker.
“So how was your evening?” She pushes open the door slightly. Through the gap I can see she’s grinning madly. Her hair is all messed up, like a herd of cows have licked it. She smells of bonfire and happiness. This tells me one thing: she hasn’t seen her precious terrarium. Yet.
I don’t answer. She follows me into my bedroom and bounces on the side of my bed, making it creak. Her smile fades. “Teddy’s in a flump too. Anyone going to tell me what’s the matter?”
It’s like someone’s died. All the happiness drains from Rita’s whitening face. “Smashed?” she repeats, unable to believe it.
“Kicked in.” My voice sounds watery. “By Don.”
“Don?” she repeats blankly. The clock ticks on the wall. Her eyes start to blaze. Like I’ve never seen them. Dagger gold, not brown. And she seems to grow bigger, more powerful, as if she could crush Don’s skull in her hand, like a ripe peach. “I’ll stand up to him this time, Hera.” A new Big Rita is talking. She strides to the door. “I’ll make the bugger leave. Right.” She frowns. She hesitates. “Hang on a minute, where is he?”