Thirst by Benjamin Warner Page A

,” Eddie said to him. Wemmick held out his hand and Eddie took it.
    “I thought you were dead,” Wemmick said.
    When he opened his eyes, he saw that Laura had fallenasleep, too. She was spread out on the couch with the magazine on her chest.
    “Maybe I should check on the cars,” he said.
    “No,” she said without opening her eyes. “What good would that do?”
    “Maybe mine’s cleared out.”
    “Maybe.”
    “I should go.”
    “Do you have the energy for that?”
    “It’s my car , Laur.”
    She rocked her head back and looked up, as if she were exasperated with the ceiling. “I understand that. But getting home was hell. I can’t imagine doing it two more times. There and back if it’s still stuck.”
    “I thought you said you didn’t see anything. What do you mean it was hell?”
    “The only thing bad I saw was you throwing someone down the steps. That’s all I saw.”
    “What are you talking about? I didn’t throw him down the steps. I was trying to get him out of our house. If you force someone down the steps, it looks like throwing.”
    “Fine,” Laura said. “What would you take with you on this journey to get your car? We’d need to bring supplies.”
    “You just gave our supplies away.”
    She flipped her legs around and sat up on the couch. “It’ll be easier once they fix the power.”
    They ate uncooked hot dogs with mustard for lunch. Laura didn’t think you could eat them raw, but Eddie said you could. They each drank a juice. Through the kitchen window, they could see Mike Jr. with the golf club. He was hacking at thegrass in the manner of someone splitting wood. Eddie knocked on the glass.
    “Now you’ve done it,” Laura said.
    Mike Jr. spun around, looking for the source of the knocking.
    Eddie opened the window. “Over here, bonehead,” he said.
    Mike Jr. squinted at them. “Eddie!” he said. In a moment, they could hear him coming up the steps, and Eddie opened the back door.
    “What do you want?” Eddie said.
    “Ah,” said Mike Jr., catching on to the ribbing. He was smiling with his mouth wide-open. There was brown sauce on his face.
    “I bet I can guess what you had for lunch,” Laura said.
    “Barbecue,” Mike Jr. said.
    “Why are you beating up the ground with that golf club?” Eddie said.
    “I dunno.”
    “C’mere. Let me show you how.”
    He led him back outside and picked the club up off the grass. “First, you’ve got to hold it right,” he said. He took Mike Jr.’s hand and put it around the club with his index finger pointing down the shaft. He put his other hand so that it gripped the finger.
    “Now, you’ve gotta swing through,” Eddie instructed, standing beside him and making the gesture. “Wait!” he said, anticipating Mike Jr.’s backswing. “Let me get out of the way.”
    He stepped back and a fatigue enveloped him. Something cinched down hard on his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. He had to bend and put his hands on his knees.
    Mike Jr. swung and hit the ground. The club shivered out of his hands, end over end.
    Eddie looked up. The air was coming in again.
    Mike Jr. ran to retrieve the club.
    “Good,” Eddie said, standing up straight, regaining himself. “Let’s do it again.” He helped him with the grip. He was breathing fine. The air was close, but he was okay. He found the Wiffle ball lying at the base of some ornamental grasses. “Now try it with this.” The grasses were brown, but maybe they were supposed to be. Eddie couldn’t remember what they’d looked like before. He set up the ball and backed off beneath a mulberry tree at the edge of the yard. The branches drooped low, and Eddie grabbed one between his fingers. The leaves were as loose as dead skin. The light green undersides had curled up and around, making them look inside out. The same thing was happening to the leaves on the oak. Mike Jr. swung and clicked the Wiffle ball in a miraculous arc that landed in the street. He put a hand to his forehead, gazing