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00:22
FRIDAY
SANTA CARLA
WHERE YA GOIN', BLONDIE?
"I'm sorry, Mom." I hear Sam's apologies through the milky bathroom walls, "I was reading a scary comic and I thought I saw someone outside my window, I over-reacted."
"You got carried away by a comic book?" His mother's voice sounds sweet, although as if she is about to lose her temper with him; I try not to listen in, though it's difficult when this house is built like paper mache.
"It was a scary comic, mom. I'm sorry."
A moment of silence veils over the house and with my hands under the tap running water, I furrow my brows; I have no memory of a comic book, though yet again, the entire event was almost oblivious to me for a while up until I burst through his bedroom door. When Lucy came running through the front door, I had heard her worry-filled voice before her frantic footsteps slipping up the stairs. I turn the faucet off and rub my hands with a white towel that has seen far better days, and exit the bathroom with my eyes already fixated on the back of Lucy's head.
"You know, I've just about had it with the two of you!" Her voice is laced with unpleasantness and it's then that I notice that Max is standing in the middle of the staircase; Lucy turns and charges her way down to the kitchen, "And what is this mess? You spill milk all over the floor and don't even bother to clean it up? What, are you trying to freeze the whole neighborhood?"
She shoves the refrigerator door and slams down the leaking carton of milk onto the worktop, though I feel partial to blame as I had failed to close it when I first noticed its position. For a moment, I feel uncomfortable about being around, listening to their brawl but before I can turn to make an exit, my eyes land on a grey print on the front of the milk carton. The statement reads that there is a missing child and as my eyes narrow down at the mug shot, a ball forms in the pit of my stomach as I realize that somewhere, I have seen that face.
"You know, it's not fair, I would like to have a personal life too." She continues to speak, slowly easing out of her delicate rampage, "And where is Michael?"
Again I feel a prick of guilt before I snap my head around and look for a mop. My eyes land on one shoved around the corner, by the end of the kitchen worktop, and I reach out to grab it.
"Ah, Michaels in bed, mom," Sam responds and my eyes momentarily glance up towards him as I press the mop down into the milk splatter on the ground.
"Oh, oh, Sarah darling, that's not your job." She places her purse down on the kitchen island, "The boys need to learn to do these things."
I notice Sam's head lower to the ground when she announces this, though I continue cleaning and once the milk is all gone, I place the mop back into the bucket, "It's no big deal. I noticed it before. I could have cleaned it up then but I didn't."
