Moose and Goose

Chapter Eighty

Judith cranes her neck to her bedroom door, donning an off-white nylon and silk peignoir when she hears her younger brother knocking. She knows it's him from the somewhat heavy strength in each tap and how the floorboard creaks when he walks.

"Come in, Stevie." He pushes the door open and shuts it behind him, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

The same grimace soils his small, oval-shaped face and a nagging feeling spreads throughout her stomach. Her mind fills with questions her mouth won't budge to ask.

"I need to tell you something, and you can't tell Mom," he struggles to sound stern, but his unease overpowers his usual act of machismo. When Judith nods, he shuts his eyes to draw a breath, and when he reopens them, they're bearing tears. "I got smallpox from Zoë, and gave it to Vera."

"What?" Is the only thing that can come out of her mouth. For as long as she could remember, she was the emotional support for everyone and felt she held all the answers and knew all the ways to calm them down. That moment changed that narrative in an instant.

"I gave Vera smallpox," he repeats, his regret flooding down his already puffy cheeks. She watches his nails on both hands pick at each other in front of him, his body jittery. "Zoë and I've been sneaking out for a while, and she just got back from her trip to Haiti with her family, and I kissed her, and the next day my face was itching, and now Vera has it, and I'm scared, Judy."

"Okay." She tosses her legs over the side of her bed, then slouches her back against the support of her hands gripping the mattress. "Try to relax."

"Relax," he raises his voice, and her heart skips a beat. His beady eyes are locked on her, and they refuse to blink. "How can I relax when she might die?"

Jesus Christ.

"Oh mon Deu," she mutters while shaking her head, and he begins taking uneven breaths, running his hands across his head from scalp to nape.

"It was an accident." He chokes over a sob, and Judith stands up, then walks toward him. Stevie's shoulders jerk back and forth, and tears stream down his face, trickling off his chin. "Is Vera gonna die?"

"No," she tells him, but he shakes his head in denial. He strains his neck and forehead to force a straight face.

"You're lying, I can tell. Tell me the truth, Judy, please," his voice cracks again. "Dad died because I stressed him out. Now she's gonna die because I was so stupid!"

"Stevie, she's not gonna die," she struggles to overpower his heavy breathing. "Stop before you pass out."

"I can't breathe." His eyes widen further, and he clutches his chest in both hands. Fear courses through her veins like adrenaline, racing her heart and making her hands twitch. His face grows red, and veins appear on his temples with sweat. "My chest – my chest is on fire!"

"Stevie, you'll be okay!" She takes his upper arms in her hands, and he lets out a blood-curdling scream, so she shoves the bottom of her palms against her ears. He stops wailing to hyperventilate with his mouth open, but she refuses to drop her arms. "Stevie, it'll be –"

He screams again before she can assure him, and her ears fill with a flat, ringing, and buzzing sound. Through his panting and her ambient noise trapped in her head, she hears rapid footsteps approaching like a swat team getting ready to knock her door down. She backs away from him to prepare for the inevitable.

She sits on the edge of her bed as her mother bursts through the door, knocking him to his hands and knees.

Judith watches everything through a fishbowl effect, numb to the sight of her mother's anger shifting to worry when she sees his disposition. He's dry heaving like a cat retching over a hairball, his back arching similarly.