“Oh, you know . . .” An uncomfortable little laugh. “Boys and girls together . . .”
Ivy waits for the rest of the explanation, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, the boys’ stepmother turns to me and says, “Oh, you’re a good person to ask—?I’m always trying to take advantage of people with experience . . .”
“Experience?”
She waves her hand toward Ivy. “You know . . . Have your parents ever said anything about your sister’s vaccination experience? Do they feel this”—?another hand wave—?“was connected to that? I’m terrified of getting Caleb vaccinated. With my husband’s family history and all . . . I just don’t want to take any unnecessary risks. I assume Ivy was vaccinated?”
“Yeah, of course. We both were.”
She considers this. Then dismisses it. “Well, back then they didn’t know as much about the connection . . .”
“There isn’t a connection,” David says impatiently. “How many times do I have to tell you? The original study used falsified data.”
“Maybe,” she says stiffly. “Maybe not. A lot of very smart people say the medical industry is part of the deception.”
“He’s right,” I say. “Vaccinations don’t cause autism, and it’s dangerous not to vaccinate kids. They’ll end up getting the measles or something like that.”
“Better measles than autism,” Mrs. Fields says darkly.
“But measles is a disease,” Ivy says. “People get really sick if they get the measles. Why is that better than autism?”
“It’s not,” David and I say at the exact same time.
“Oh, gosh!” Mrs. Fields says. “I didn’t mean it like that at all! I just want to make the right decision here. Caleb is my first child, and there’s just so much to think about?. . .” She brushes the back of her hand against his cheek and gazes brightly around the room. “You all understand.”
There’s an awkward pause.
“Can we watch TV?” Ivy asks. Her hands are fluttering anxiously at her sides. “Chloe said we were coming over to watch TV.”
“Yeah,” Ethan says. “Come on.” He steers her out of the room.
David and I start to follow them. Mrs. Fields says from behind us, “We’ll be upstairs. Please keep the noise down. I’m putting Caleb to bed soon.”
“We’ll be quiet,” David says.
“But not too quiet,” she says with a little nervous laugh. “I don’t want anything going on that Chloe and Ivy’s mother might not approve of.”
“You really don’t have to worry about that,” David says, and we leave the kitchen.
Twenty-Two
“I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE’S an antivaxxer,” I say as David and I linger in their formal, white-on-white living room. There are double doors at the other end of it that open onto a wood-paneled family room, and I can see Ethan and Ivy settling down on the sofa in there, TV remote already in Ethan’s hand. “I thought all rational people had given that one up.”
“Emphasis on rational. Margot was always nervous and a little nuts, and I wasn’t thrilled that my dad married her, but we got along okay at first. Then she got pregnant and went off the deep end. We so much as cough, and we’re banished for the rest of the week so we don’t infect the baby.”
“Oh, yeah, I saw a bit of that.”
“Mostly, though, she’s terrified that Caleb will be autistic—?anytime he, like, gazes off into the distance or something, she freaks out, even though it usually just means he’s pissing his diaper. She asks everyone we meet about the vaccination stuff.” He glances around. “Hey, want to just sit in here? I don’t really feel like watching TV.”
“Yeah, me neither.” I sit on a super-hard armchair and have to squirm my butt around to find a position that’s comfortable. David sits on the end of the sofa closest to my chair. “I hate when people talk about how awful autism is when Ethan and Ivy are right there.”
“I know. When she says stuff like that, I wish Ethan would blow up at her, but he’s too nice—?he just shuts down. Sometimes it drives me crazy that he doesn’t get mad or fight back ever. I’ve even yelled at him for being too nice.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Charming of me, right? To tear into him because he’s a better human being than I am? Meanwhile, I have no trouble losing my temper with anyone and everyone—?including him.”
“Me too with Ivy,” I say. “So many times. Once, in middle school, she got worked up about something in front of one of my friends, and I told her that if she didn’t learn to control herself, I wouldn’t let her hang out with me anymore.” I stare down at my fingers, spreading them out wide on the arm of the upholstered chair. “I was so mean.” I’ve never told anyone about this before. It’s kind of a relief to confess.
“Siblings say stuff like that to each other all the time.”
It’s sort of amazing—?David Fields is trying to comfort me. Who knew he had it in him?
“And let’s be honest,” he says. “Ivy and Ethan can both be incredibly annoying.”
“True.” Our eyes meet, and I see . . . understanding. I’ve always felt like I had to make other people see the good in Ivy because they’re so quick to judge her, but since I know David already gets it, I can be honest with him. “But they don’t mean to be. I hate how annoyed and impatient I can get with her.”
“You shouldn’t hate yourself for that,” he says.
“Yeah? What should I hate myself for?”
“I’ll make a list,” he says with a smile that makes it a joke, not an insult.
“There isn’t enough ink in the world . . .”
“I’ll use a spreadsheet.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“They’re pretty quiet in there.” I nod toward the family room.
“They’re both champion watchers,” David says. “It’s their superpower.”
“Too bad they can’t make a career out of that.”
He leans toward me and whispers, “Ethan’s planning to make a move tonight.”
“What kind of move?”