A Field Guide to Deception by Jill Malone Page B

her brown camisole with cognac. “What? You finished? When?”
    â€œTwo days ago.”
    â€œWhy aren’t we celebrating? We should be out somewhere, having champagne or something, shouldn’t we? Why don’t we go out tomorrow night? The bunk-bed lady can watch Simon, and you and Liv and I can celebrate. What do you think?”
    â€œI’m so exhausted now I can’t even think about celebrating.”
    â€œDon’t worry, I’ll handle everything. Where’s Liv? I’ll chat with her about it and we’ll arrange the whole thing. We can even schedule the sitter if you want. You won’t have to do anything.”
    Bailey stood up as though she meant to organize this very moment.
    â€œLiv’s sleeping, remember?”
    â€œOh right. I’ll just phone her tomorrow. Just leave this to me. It’s so exciting. I had no idea you’d finished. After all this time, aren’t you pleased? How do you feel?”
    Claire considered. “I feel like spoiling myself.”
    â€œThat’s the spirit. Spoiling how?”
    â€œA trip. Maybe to the Oregon coast. Dee and I used to go every few years. We’d talked about going this summer.”
    She crushed a mosquito. Claire wanted to curl against Liv. She wanted to hibernate. If she took them both—Simon and Liv—they’d walk the beach and Simon could throw stones while Liv recuperated. They’d visit the aquarium and the Sylvia Beech Hotel; Simon could
play in the Dr. Seuss room. And she and Liv . . . Claire looked up at her bedroom window and wished Bailey gone.
    â€œI should go,” Bailey said, not moving.
    â€œYes,” Claire said, and stood. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Thanks for watching Simon.”
    â€œThanks for dinner. Tell Liv, well anyway, I’ll phone her tomorrow.” Bailey handed Claire her drink, hesitated, walked slowly away.
    Claire left the drinks on the table, moved barefoot through the house, her clothes peeled away. An ache deep in her, a kind of tether, between herself and Liv, drew her without thought, or consideration, to Liv’s body. In a foreign place, Claire knew she could track Liv by smell and impulse alone. They were like bats, some sonar reckoning in the dark.
    â€œAre you sleeping?” she asked Liv.
    â€œNo.” Muffled.
    â€œCan you?”
    Liv rolled into Claire, her skin clammy, her muscles trembling down her back and legs. Tucked against Claire’s chest, Liv seemed to shiver harder, and then Claire understood, she was sobbing. Both of them children, orphaned, seeking succor from each other. That word, “orphaned”, rang through Claire like memory. I will be your mother too, she thought. Your mother and your child. Twining her legs through Liv’s, she bound them both to this place.

Fourteen
    Simon sees
    Simon ran Murdoch along the wall beside his bed; the engine’s wheels made a satisfying rumble. He had dreamed of the Great Pumpkin. Liv was in trouble with his mom. He knew this, although Claire had said nothing. And the snake. Simon had wanted to touch it. He had been afraid, and thrilled by it as well. Fast on the ground, slithering. Slithering, he said aloud. He thought of his body with no arms or legs, gliding through the pine needles like a ghost.
    He did not see Liv until he stood by his mother’s bed, both of them asleep. Liv’s face moon-pale and almost bruised. Simon reached his hand out slowly as though to a large dog, and touched the marks beneath her eyes. Her eyes opened, in a moment she smiled.
    â€œHello, you.”
    â€œHello,” he said in a whisper.
    â€œCome on, then.”
    And he nestled in between them, Murdoch clutched in his fists. It was alright, he knew, whatever had happened.
    â€œO Great Pumpkin, where are you?” he said to the ceiling.
    â€œI love Linus,” Liv said. “The only one who believes.”
    He turned on his side to face her, and ran