I stood outside the bathroom while they took turns hopping in the shower. They were ten. I didn’t know what the boundaries were at ten, but they seemed too old for me to be dealing with their naked bodies, unless, of course, it was fire related. That was my plan, to let them control themselves until they couldn’t control themselves. It’s how I would have wanted to be treated if I were a demon child.
I sat on the floor in between the kids’ two beds, Bessie and Roland all fresh in their pajamas, their hair, what a horror show, wet and slicked down into something tame.
Bessie handed me the book, Penny Nichols and the Black Imp. “What is this?” I asked. The cover was red and faded, just a hardback book with the silhouette of a girl’s profile. I looked at the title again. What in the hell was a black imp? I checked the copyright, which was from the thirties. Was it racist?
“Maybe a different book, guys? There’s, like, a million down there. Maybe, like, Superfudge or something?”
“This is kind of like Nancy Drew, but weirder,” Bessie informed me.
“Have you read this already?” I asked.
Bessie nodded, but Roland said, “I haven’t.”
“What’s the black imp?” I asked.
“It’s part of the mystery,” she told me.
I scanned the opening page and the first line had a “slightly decrepit roadster” pulling up to a house. One of the characters used the word shan’t.
“It’s just this statue,” she finally said, seeing my hesitation. “It’s this clay statue. It’s not about Satan or anything.”
“Fine,” I said. “Whatever you want.” So I read to them about a girl detective named Penelope Nichols, who was weird enough that it was interesting. It was fun. I liked reading out loud, I realized. I did voices even, though the kids didn’t make any sign of appreciation. I read and read, and my voice got soft, and the kids got sleepy, and after a while it was time for bed.
“Good night, kiddos,” I said, talking like Penny Nichols.
“Where are you going?” Roland asked.
“To my room,” I said, confused. “To my private room. For privacy.”
“Can you sleep with us tonight?” Roland asked.
“No,” I said. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Bessie asked, suddenly invested.
“There’s no room,” I said.
“We can push the beds together,” Bessie said, but I told her that the beds didn’t really work like that. I thought of sleeping in the crack between the beds, sinking down, and it frightened me, honestly.
“We’ll all sleep in your room,” Bessie said. “We looked in there. It’s a huge bed.”
“No,” I said.
“Just for tonight?” Roland said.
I thought of them being shoved into this Bozo house with me, their kind-of nanny, their mom dead, their dad in that linen suit, Madison like the good witch in every fairy tale. I thought of them catching on fire in this room, all alone.
“Fine,” I said. “Until we get settled. Come on.”
The kids shouted and then ran into my bedroom, where they dove under the covers. I turned on the fan. It was nine o’clock. I usually stayed up well past midnight, reading magazines and eating whatever Mary had left over in the fridge. But this, I guess, was what Madison was paying me to do.
“C’mon,” I said, like Moses parting the sea, “move aside so I can get in there.” They did, and I crawled into bed. They didn’t cuddle against me, but they kind of bunched up so they were almost touching me.
“Good night,” I said, thinking maybe I could slide out of bed after they had fallen asleep, and then I could do whatever I wanted downstairs.
And then I thought of the entire day, Bessie biting my hand, falling into the pool, watching them catch on fire, watching them catch on fire again, waiting for them to maybe catch on fire again. I was tired, I realized. I touched the places on my face where Bessie had scratched me. I felt like I couldn’t breathe; the children were so close, burning up all the available air. I kind of gasped a little, and Bessie asked, “Are you okay?” and I said, “Go to sleep,” and then I just closed my eyes and tried to imagine a world where everything worked out.
And then I really was asleep, dead asleep, for maybe ten minutes, and then I heard them talking.
“Is she asleep?” Roland asked.
“I think so,” Bessie said. I kept my breathing steady, my eyes closed.