Thirst by Benjamin Warner Page B

into the distance the way Mike Sr. must have taught him.
    “Yeah, yeah,” Eddie said. “Beginner’s luck.”
    Across the street, a group of teenagers was walking through the front yards of his neighbors as if the sidewalk went straight through their lawns. They stepped on flower beds and broke through bushes. They held on to one another. Two girls laughed and doubled over in the way Eddie had seen girls laugh and double over when leaving bars in college. Something flashed in the sun. One of the boys held a knife—a long silver triangle.
    “Get over here,” Eddie said. He walked Mike Jr. up theDavises’ front porch and knocked on the door. Patty answered and cradled Mike Jr. to her side by palming his head. “He making trouble?”
    “No. Just playing golf.”
    “Hotter than hell out here,” she said.
    “Everything’s wilting,” Eddie said.
    She looked down at Mike Jr. “You gotta stay inside where it’s cool, little man.”
    “Is it cool in there?”
    “Cooler than out here. Not really, though. I’m sweating like a hog.”
    “Did you give those guys anything when they came with the wheelbarrow?”
    “We’ve got Mike Jr. to think about,” she said, and when he heard his name, Mike Jr. maneuvered his head from under her hand and smiled up at his mother. “They’ll be okay. Can’t be much longer now. The power company must have gotten a thousand complaints.”
    Eddie went back inside his house and took the knife block off the kitchen counter, placing it on the floor beside the bookcase. It was inconspicuous there. Laura was in the bedroom.
    “Let’s go to the stream,” she said. She stood with one arm up the doorjamb and canted her hips in a saucy way.
    “Why?” Eddie said.
    “We’ll take a dip. It’s roasting.”
    “You know how dirty that water is?”
    “How?”
    “That trail follows sewage pipes. Whenever they leak, guess where it goes. Not to mention the runoff from all of this.” Hetwirled a finger at the ceiling to indicate the network of suburban streets.
    “We can go down and see what’s there, at least.”
    “If you can’t swim in it, you don’t want to drink it. I think that’s a rule.”
    “Just for the walk, then.”
    “You can go. I was just out there. It’s a million degrees.”
    “Fine,” she said. “I can’t sit around here all day.”
    She went into the bedroom, and when she came back she was wearing shorts and a brown bikini top. Eddie thought of the burnt streak in the sand at the bottom of the stream and how the ash had piled in the spillway.
    “Don’t,” he said. He held her and could feel the delicate bones interlocking in her shoulder. Her skin was smooth and warm. “Please. It feels like we should just sit tight.”
    “What makes it feel like that?”
    “There were kids outside. Just now.”
    “So what?”
    “High school kids or something. I think they were drunk. They go down to the stream to drink. I’ve seen their empties there. One of them had a knife.”
    “You think they’re going to mess with me? Don’t worry, Eddie. I’ll defend the family honor.”
    “Why look for trouble?”
    “Eddie, this is ridiculous.”
    “It’s ridiculous? Really? You want to go take a dip in our local cesspool.”
    “People fish in it.”
    “They don’t eat what they catch.”
    There was a scuff of footsteps on the front walk, and Eddiewaited for a knock to follow. The air in the room seemed to suspend them where they were. When the knock came, Eddie let his breath go out.
    Paul was standing on their doorstep. His face was dour and he’d clasped his hands behind his back. The second man with the wheelbarrow wasn’t with him. Bill Peters was with him. He stood down on the sidewalk, looking up at Eddie. He wore a head bandage like a Civil War casualty—gauze wrapped around his ears.
    Paul said, “Did you assault this man?” His eye contact was severe.
    Eddie let a short laugh escape him. “No,” he said. “I didn’t assault him.”
    “He says you