Big Bad

by Chandler Baker

“I think Daddy might be a bad guy,” says Odette Strauss, her breath as minty fresh as a toothpaste commercial. Her head rests lightly on the pillow on the bed of her older sister, June, which she likes much better than her own because the sheets aren’t littered with crumbs of granola bars and Goldfish crackers and other things she’s not supposed to eat in her room.

The men around the table take a long time getting to their feet. They’re old, some born that way, some having grown into it properly. Rachel imagines moths chewing up their crotches.

Rachel gives the jogger a disapproving side-eye. “Seems like a delight.” She’s never had a dog, but it seems that everyone thinks their dog is the sweetest until it bites someone’s face off.

He plugs the vacuum cord into the wall, considering, only briefly, whether to hang himself with it. Progress.

Sam cocks his head like a dog. On some level, he realizes that his mannerisms have gotten stranger the longer he’s been left to his own devices. No one to bear witness out here in the middle of nowhere. No one to track his lonely devolution into something feral.

Am I the Asshole? Sam thinks. As the subreddit goes.

Sam stands at the door. The electronic keypad is the cottage’s only technological amenity. No Wi-Fi, not even a TV. It’s one of the selling points. No one will find you out here! Sam had written in the Airbnb listing.

June rolls her eyes, already feeling a little better about the Tater Tot situation.

Rachel’s forehead and cheeks are red. She might have a fever. June longs to take care of her, to bring her a glass of water and a wet rag, to hear her mom tell her what a good girl she is. She doesn’t understand why more credit isn’t given in this family for being good. Odie gets all the attention, and everyone knows she’s not good at all.

Sam looks at the ceiling, and June knows that if he looks at Odie, he’ll get even madder. “You want a reputation for being a . . . a troublemaker?”

Her ears ring, and her legs feel boneless and jiggly, washed out in the aftermath of another epic tantrum. She kind of likes the way she feels brand new after one—wobbly, like a newborn baby. But with it comes the icky feeling that everyone hates her, worst of all Mommy.

Something shatters on the kitchen floor. The noise startles Odie, and she has to stop herself from screaming because she’s supposed to be upstairs thinking about what she’s done. She zips up the luggage as quickly as she can, nervous about what might have broken and whether their father will be even madder. She imagines glass on the floor, Mommy hurt. But then she hears a laugh. A normal, ha-ha sort of laugh, like when Odie tells a funny knock-knock joke, so maybe everything is fine, after all.

The little girl chews the inside of her cheek. “Mommy, are you going to die?”

Sam presses his hand to the small of her back. He has control of her. He is bigger, stronger. He has been chopping wood. Rachel may have the brains, but how long would it take his calloused hands to strangle her until the life drained from her eyes? He can’t believe the thought. God. See what this does to him?

The bowed curves of the mirror remind Sam of a woman’s waist. Not his wife’s, mind you.

That was two universities ago. Before New Hampshire and the unpleasantness with Rachel’s graduate assistant Ella.

“A vagrant, probably,” their father answers. “Somebody looking for a handout.” June doesn’t know what that means.

“What if Daddy killed Mommy?” says Odie. June groans. “Stop, Odie.” “What if he chopped her up into little bits?” “I’m not listening,” June says in her singsong voice.

Sam thinks for a beat. “I don’t have it. Her graduate assistant books her travel.” Not Ella. A new graduate assistant. Ella is dead.

She wants to scream “Mommy” and have her come running. And what if Mommy is sick or tired or scared and she wants June and Odie, too?

Her ears twitch. Nostrils flare. Her stomach feels needy, and she wants either to hump or to piss all over everything. She has a deliciously toothy mouth, and her gums smell of rancid meat. Each thought a hard consonant.

She’ll stay with her sister, no matter what. Even if it means they die.