Precious And Fragile Things. Megan Hart

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      Gilly didn’t even bother to answer, knowing the moment she said “what?” that Arwen would fall into stunned silence, nothing to say.

      Fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops. You’ll be home and can put them in front of cartoons. Just hold it together until then, Gilly. Don’t lose it.

      From the other seat came Gandy’s endless, wordless groan of complaint and then the steady thump-kick of his feet to the back of Gilly’s seat. Bang, bang, bang, the metronome of irritation.

      “Gandy. Stop kicking Mama’s seat.”

      For half a second as her pen wavered, Gilly thought about abandoning this venture altogether. What had she been thinking, making “just one more” stop? But damn it, she needed to cash this check and withdraw some money from the ATM to last her through the week, and since she’d already had to stop to pick up her prescription at the pharmacy…

      “I wanna drink now!”

      What do you want me to do, spit in a cup?

      The words hurtled to her lips and Gilly bit them back before they could vomit out of her, sick at the thought of how close she’d come to actually saying them aloud. Those weren’t her words.

      “Fifteen minutes, baby. We’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”

      Thump, thump, thump.

      Her fingers tightened on the pen. She breathed. She counted to ten. Then another five.

      It wasn’t helping.

      Last night: she fumbles with her house key because Seth locked the door leading from the garage to the laundry room when he went to bed. She stumbles into a dark house in which nobody’s left on any lights, carrying handfuls of plastic bags full of soap and socks and everything for other people, nothing for herself. She’d spent hours shopping, wandering the aisles of Wal-Mart, comparing dish towels and bathroom mugs just so she had an excuse to be by herself for another hour. She took the long way home with the radio turned up high, singing along with songs with raunchy lyrics she can’t listen to in front of the kids because they repeat everything. Scattered toys that had been in their bins when she left now stub her toes, and she mutters a curse. In the bedroom, lit only by the light from the hall so she doesn’t wake her sleeping husband, the baskets of clean, waiting-to-be-put-away laundry have been torn apart by what, a tornado? Clothes all over the floor, dumped as though she hadn’t spent an hour folding them all.

      Even now as she remembered, Gilly’s fingers twitched on the ATM envelope and rage, burning like bile, rose in her throat. Seth’s excuse had been “I needed clean pajamas for the kids.” She’d gone to bed beside him, stiff with fury, the taste of blood on her hard-bitten tongue.

      She’d woken, still just as angry, to the sound of Seth slamming dresser drawers and his plea to help him find a pair of clean socks, though of course they were all in the very basket he’d trashed the night before. In the shower Gilly had bent her head beneath lukewarm water that too quickly ran to chill. She’d been glad when he didn’t kiss her goodbye.

      At breakfast the children each wanted something different than what she’d put on the plate in front of them. Shoes wouldn’t fit on feet, coats had gone AWOL, and every pair of Arwen’s tights had managed to get a hole. The cat got loose, and the children cried, no matter how much she tried to reassure them Sandy would be just fine.

      They’d been late to Gilly’s doctor appointment. On any other day being on time would’ve meant a fifteen-minute wait. Today, the sour, scowling nurse informed them they’d almost forfeited their appointment. Arwen pinched her finger in a drawer, and Gandy fell off the rolling stool and cracked his head. Both children left the office in tears, and Gilly thought she might just start to cry, too.

      The day didn’t get better. There was whining, there was fussing, there were tantrums and yelling and threats of timeouts. And of course, though she’d spent hours in Wal-Mart the night before, she’d still forgotten to buy milk. That meant a trip to Foodland. That meant children begging for sugary cereals she refused to buy. More tears. Pitying looks from women in coordinated outfits without stains on the front and well-behaved children who didn’t act like starving beggars. By the time they’d finished their grocery shopping, Gilly was ready to take them both home and toss them into bed. She’d made one last stop at the ATM.

      One last stop.

      “Mamaaaaaa!”

      The whining rose in intensity and persistence. The kicking continued, ceaseless. Like all of this. Like her life.

      Count to ten. Bite your tongue. Keep yourself together, Gilly. Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it.

      Gilly made herself the Joker. She wouldn’t have been surprised to feel scars rip open on her cheeks from the smile she forced again. “Ten more minutes, baby. Just ten. Let Mama do this, okay? Now listen. I’ll be right back.”

      She turned in her seat to look at both of them, her angel-monsters. Arwen’s eyes had gone squinty, mouth twisted into a frown. Gandy had snot dribbling from his nose and crusted goo at the corners of his lips. He’d spilled a juice box all over his pale blue shirt. They looked like the best of her and Seth combined. This was what she had made.

      “I’ll be right back,” Gilly said, though frankly she wanted to start running down the highway and never look back. “You both stay here and keep your seat belts on. You hear me? Seat belts on. Do not get out of your seats.”

      Good mothers didn’t leave their children in the car, but the ATM was only a few feet away. The weather was cold enough that the kids wouldn’t broil inside a locked vehicle, and she locked them in so nobody could steal them in the five minutes it would take her to finish her task. Besides, she thought as she slid her ATM card into the machine and punched in her PIN, dragging them both out into the freezing, early evening air would surely be worse than leaving them warm and safe in the Suburban.

      Frigid wind blew, whipping at her hair and sending stinging pellets of winter rain that would’ve been less insulting as snow against her face. She blinked against it, concentrating on punching in her PIN number with fingers suddenly numb. She messed up. Had to cancel, do it again.

      Slow down. Do it right. One number at a time, Gilly. It’ll be okay.

      She deposited the check, withdrew some cash, shoved her receipt and her card into her wallet and got back in the car. The kids had been silent when she opened the door, but within thirty seconds the whining began again. The steady kicking. The constant muttering of “Mama?” Gilly swallowed anger and tried desperately to scribble the amount of her withdrawal from the ATM in her checkbook, because if she didn’t do it now, this minute, she would forget and there’d be another overdraft for Seth to complain about, but her hands shook and the numbers were illegible. She took a deep breath. Then one more. Willing herself to stay calm. It wasn’t worth losing her temper over any of this. Not worth screaming about.

      Five minutes. Please just shut up for five minutes, or I swear I’ll…

      Not go crazy. Not that. She wouldn’t even think about it.

      Gilly put the truck in Drive and pulled slowly out of the parking spot. The strip mall bustled with activity, with Foodland getting its share of evening foragers and the office supply store just as busy. Gilly eased past some foron in a minivan who’d parked askew, brake lights on, and mentally threatened them with violence if they dared back out in front of her.

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