“And me, too,” Feral said, capping the marker he’d been using to cross out the words on one of the books so he could replace them with his own scribbles.
“This one,” Howling said, pressing it into Vern’s face. “Bear and the Princess Potluck,” said Howling. It sounded like cheerier fare than the shivering girls just across the room.
Tense, Vern licked her lips. “I can try,” she said, and opened the cover. Howling hopped into her lap, and she grunted at the impact. The fungus’s domain was expanding, and her rib joints hurt. “My vision’s not like yours, though. You know that.”
“Feral can see the letters just fine,” said Howling.
“It’s not hard, Mam,” Feral agreed, though Vern suspected he was lying to save face in front of his sibling.
Vern flipped to the first page of Bear and the Princess Potluck.
“Here, Mam, use my magic jewel,” said Feral, handing her his magnifying glass. “Bridget says it’s a secret decoder made of a special kind of glass. It’s got powers. See? It makes the letters all big.” He laid it gently in Vern’s palm. “That better, Mam?”
She could see the letters more clearly, but that didn’t help her remember the phonics. “Why don’t you read it to me?” Vern asked Howling.
“But I like it when someone else reads it, so they can do voices,” said Howling, whining. He groaned at the tragedy of it all.
In the corner, the little girls’ teeth chattered, and Vern’s started to, too. A mean cold dug its way into her bones, and she couldn’t stop shaking.
“I can read it,” said Gogo, stepping into the living room.
Vern, flushing, forced herself to look away.
“Can you do voices?” Howling asked. “Bridget does voices.”
Still in Vern’s lap, Howling leaned backward into her abdomen. Her stomach lurched and her ribs clicked painfully, making it difficult to breathe.
“My voices beat the shit out of Bridget’s voices,” said Gogo.
“Good, cuz Mam can’t read,” Howling said with a sigh.
“Yes, I can,” Vern said.
“Don’t lie, Mam,” Howling reprimanded.
“Leave her alone,” said Gogo, and took a seat next to Vern. The two hadn’t spoken since their morning together a few days ago. Not a couple hours after the tryst, Gogo had had to leave to look after one of her patients. She hadn’t come back that night or the next morning.
Howling slipped out of Vern’s lap and squatted in front of Gogo. “Here,” he said, handing her the book.
Gogo nodded and opened it. She placed her free hand on top of Vern’s and squeezed. Vern exhaled at the relief of Gogo’s touch. Her grip was an anchor.
“Bear and the Princess Potluck,” Gogo began.
The children listened, entranced, and Vern, too, tried to get lost in it as Gogo flipped page after page. With concentration, Vern could lessen the impact of the haunting.
“And what a feast it was, all laid out on the ground, Bear’s spot of woods filled with joyous sound. The princess, it seemed, was delighted to attend, and from here on out, would consider Bear her friend,” Gogo finished. She closed the picture book and handed it back to Howling. “What’d you think?” she asked the children, but Vern spoke before they could respond.
“I don’t know why Bear would want the princess to consider him her friend,” she said. “She’s an agent of the state. Besides, she looks down on Bear. How reformed could she be after one little potluck?”
In the first few pages of the story, the princess had been snooty and judgmental. Bear had no reason to want her at his potluck, but that was how these stories went. Few books for children taught meanness, or how to sit with being forlorn. “It’s propaganda.” Vern looked at Howling and Feral seriously. “Princesses aren’t friends,” she said. “They hoard wealth.”
Feral volunteered to write a sequel in which the forest animals ate the princess.
“All right, Vern, why don’t you choose the next book?” asked Gogo.
“How am I supposed to know what books you got?” Vern complained.
“Name me something. Maybe a book you liked as a child? I can at least check to see if we have it. Or find it online.” Gogo stood to walk to the shelf, her flannel shirt riding up and showing her belly before she pulled it down. “Maybe a little Das Kapital to counter Bear and the Princess Potluck’s anti-revolutionary message?”