Shut Them Up

Marcus set the bleach sprayer down by the patio door and looked at the grass.

The hornet nest was gone. In its place were white patches where the foam had hit, and a scatter of broken paper and stingers that glittered in the sun. The yard smelled like chemicals and crushed leaves. The kids were inside, all except Caleb.

He was on the living room floor with his back against the glass, knees pulled up tight, one hand pressed flat to the sliding door. Five pale smudges marked the pane where his fingers had been.

Marcus rinsed the sprayer at the hose bib and came in through the kitchen. His face still stung along the jaw. One welt had started near his ear and another sat at the base of his neck. He kept his voice even.

“Any breathing trouble?”

Caleb shook his head without looking up.

Mia’s mother had already taken her home. The neighbor boy had gone with his aunt. The house had emptied fast after the ambulance left, like everybody was trying not to touch the same air.

Marcus crouched by the coffee table. “How bad?”

Caleb held up his forearm. Red bumps dotted the skin there and along his neck.

“Itches.”

“Yeah.”

Caleb stared at the glass. “She said that.”

Marcus waited.

“‘That’ll shut them up.’” Caleb’s mouth went small after he said it.

Marcus leaned his elbows on his knees. He could still hear the line in his head from the phone playback, flat and mean. He looked at his son’s hand on the door, the little spread of fingers on the pane, like Caleb was testing whether the world would push back.

“Some people think noise means they own the place,” he said. “They get mean when they don’t.”

Caleb swallowed. “Did she want them to bite us?”

Marcus stood and crossed to the sink. He ran cold water over a washcloth, wrung it out, and came back. “She wanted silence.”

He pressed the cloth to Caleb’s wrist. The boy flinched, then let it stay.

“That’s all?”

“That’s enough for some folks.”

Caleb looked up then. “Can paper stop that?”

Marcus thought about the order forms, the police report, the camera files on the drive. All the words stacked in their neat little boxes. None of it had stopped the first sting.

“No,” he said. “Not by itself.”

Caleb’s hand tightened on the glass.

Marcus set the cloth aside and held out his hand. “Come on. I want to show you something outside.”