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Show Motherlunge a novel j 179 I wanted to talk to Eli. I wanted to ask him if he thought it was okay to put sunscreen on Xavier when the bottle said Not For Infants Under 6 Months Of Age. Also, I wanted to know if dog food might be toxic to babies. If an emery board could safely be chewed. If Xavier was crying for a reason, and if so, what. If he thought Pavia was all right, most likely. If she would forgive me. If he (Eli) would forgive me. Where my sister was; why I pictured her in a hotel room sitting on the bed; why this image moved inside me like a small ball thrown hard. If Pavia wasn't all right, what next? I wanted to ask Eli all of these things, and everything. Toast sliding around on the surface of our plates, Eli and I had left Cassandra and gone up the stairs to his room. As usual, it was neat and strangely wholesome-seeming. He had photos-his own, friends', photos from magazines-pinned to one wall; his mattress was on the floor opposite. He had clothes folded and stacked in milk crates, a bucket of All detergent next to the door. "What's up with Cassie and Steig?" I asked, wiping my crumby hand off on my leg and lowering myself to his bed like an eager analysand. |