The House On The Creek by Sarah Remy Page B

counter. “I forgot to make lunch last night. Now it’s too late and I’ll have to go without.”
     
    “That’s no excuse for a filthy mouth.” Abby dried soapy hands on the front of a dish rag, and tried her very best to look stern.
     
    ‘Stern’ was something she’d only had to learn in the last few weeks, as Chris’s tantrums grew more frequent, and she hadn’t quite got the hang of it. ‘Stern’ made her feel like she was sucking on a lemon.
     
    “Grandma Juliet used to say you had the filthiest mouth of them all, when you were a kid.”
     
    “Grandma Juliet was right. I did have a dirty mouth. Until she got tired of my sassing and rinsed my tongue with detergent. You know better. Elven year old boys don’t use cuss words.”
     
    “I’m almost twelve,” Chris pointed out. He scraped a thumbnail across the kitchen counter, tracing pits and tracks in the worn tile.
     
    “Twelve year old boys shouldn’t cuss, either.”
     
    “Roddy Green does. He says ‘hell’ and ‘shit’, all the time. Just last week he called Mrs. Johnson a b-”
     
    “Chris!” Abby barked, and found that when push came to shove she could do ‘stern’ just fine.
     
    Her son stuck his hands in his back pockets, and rolled his eyes. Abby took a firm grip on her temper, and silently reminded herself that although she’d never win Mother of the Year, she’d done a tolerable job so far and could learn to handle this new stage.
     
    “If Roddy uses nasty words like that his mother ought to tan his sorry hide. And if I hear another cuss coming from your direction, Christopher, I’m going for the detergent.”
     
    Chris didn’t look impressed. “You wouldn’t, not really.”
     
    Abby smothered a sigh, and rubbed at the back of her neck. She could feel the prickling of sensitive flesh that meant a headache coming on, and the day was barely begun.
     
    It had started out badly.
     
    After dallying too long in the shower, Chris had complained loudly when the hot water ran out and he’d been forced to finish rinsing his hair beneath an ice cold stream. He’d sulked through breakfast because they were out of blueberry syrup, and then he’d moved so slowly to clear away dishes that Abby had twice had to suppress the urge to nag.
     
    As usual, they were running late. She had an important client already waiting at the office on her arrival, and her newly delinquent son appeared rooted to the kitchen floor.
     
    Pressing fingers again along the nape of her neck, she silently studied her blue eyed boy, and wondered how exactly he’d turned from a sweet heart into a tyrant between one month and the next.
     
    “You’re right,” she said at last, when the silence stretched into uncomfortable. Chris lifted his gaze from the linoleum to her face. “I wouldn’t really wash your mouth out. I’d probably just ground you until Christmas. And I’d hate to do that, because then you’d miss debate finals.”
     
    The threat must have hit a mark because Chris winced and opened his mouth. Abby held onto her courage with both hands, and plunged ahead before he could interrupt.
     
    “And then you’d be miserable. But you’re already making
me
miserable, Chris, and that’s not fair either.”
     
    She expected one of the sarcastic replies he’d become so adept at throwing her way, or even another curse word. She steeled herself against exasperation or hurt.
     
    Instead, Chris’s mouth began to tremble and the glitter of tears wet his lashes.
     
    Abby felt as though she’d been punched in the gut. She wrapped her arm around bony, rigid shoulders, and tried to ignore pangs of guilt that made her own eyes sting.
     
    “What is it, hon? Can you tell me?”
     
    “I did tell you!” Chris wiped his nose with one fist, and shrugged off her arm. “I forgot to make lunch and now I’ll starve all day!”
     
    Abby didn’t know whether to laugh or shout. Several of Roddy Green’s filthy words came to mind. She regarded her