April Exclusive - "Hidden" - Part 1

My eyes itch. My nose twitches. When I’m not coughing, I’m clearing my throat. Truly, I shouldn’t be outside. But I said yes to Susan, and now I’m stuck finding places to hide pieces of plastic around her property. Under the rose bush beside the garage doors, nestled between the rocks by the lake front. I’ve hidden plastic in tree branches, on top of car tires. I’ve even hidden some in the mailbox by the road.

All of this for a little boy who doesn’t have much time for me. All of this for my nephew, Danny.

When I’m done hiding the eggs around the yard, I go back into the house.

“Forty-nine?” asks Susan, the second I enter the kitchen.

“Something like that.” I pull a sheet of kitchen towel from the roll and blow my nose.

Susan gives me an irritated look; I don’t know if it’s because of my non-committal reply or the nose-blowing.

Actually, it’s probably neither of those things. Today, my sister-in-law got the news from Claire.

“I just like to know when they’ve all been found,” says Susan.

I blow my nose again. “

Right,” I say.

“So we know when all the eggs have been found.” She smiles when her son charges into the kitchen. Her tone changes, her body language goes from pent-up anger to over-flowing delight. “Don’t we,” she says, bending down and scooping Danny into her arms. “We gotta know when all the eggs are found, so we’re not running around for no good reason!”

Danny squirms out of his mother’s grip, smiling indulgently. “Can we start hunting now?” He’s got candy on his mind, and I don’t blame him.

“Well,” Susan says with theatrical thoughtfulness, “that depends.”

Danny frowns. “’Pends on what?” The boy looks at her with suspicion, while I get a glass of water. (A high in the mid-eighties today, and I already have a cough.) He’s used to his mother changing the running order, he’s used to her putting a wrecking ball to his best-laid plans.

But much as I don’t care for Susan, I can’t blame her for wanting to keep Danny under control. Most of the time, he’s a whirlwind.

“Depends on whether Uncle Steven is ready to help you hunt.”

The boy turns his attention to me. Did he even notice I was here before now? We’re not exactly buddies. Not because I’m a monster, but because…oh, because I’m not great with kids. I’m not interested in kids. Not that interested in family, for that matter.

He looks me up and down with far more confidence than I remember having at that age. “I don’t need a helper,” he says dismissively. “I can do it on my own.”

I want to shrug. I want to tell him that I could care less. And that’s true for the most part. I’m not a fan of childish games, I don’t see why parents like Susan are so keen on keeping their kids wrapped up in fantasy. Instead of stuffing his head with Easter bunnies and tooth fairies, teach him something useful, like loading the damn dishwasher or vacuuming.

Susan shakes her head. “You know you’re not allowed in the front yard without an adult.” One of Susan’s rules to keep her son safe, as if they live in a dangerous neighborhood, as if they’re next door to the interstate.

But whatever. Not my problem. Especially after today.

Danny gives me another stare and then looks to his mother to ask, “Where’s Auntie Claire?” he asks. The boy doesn’t even want to ask me about my own wife.

I reach with a finger to rub my eyes, and then I remember. Start rubbing them now and I’ll be at it all day, and then I’ll look bloodshot for my Zoom meetings tomorrow. As my boss says, for someone who doesn’t drink, I can do a great impression of someone with a hangover.

“Auntie Claire is busy,” says his mother. Busy packing. “She’ll be here in time for dinner.” And the glance she gives me is poisonous. She’s ready to tell Danny that we’re moving away, that he won’t see his delightful, perfect, super-auntie again for such a long time.

But she won’t tell him. She won’t want to spoil Easter. Instead, she brings her face close to Danny’s and says sweetly, “Uncle Steven happens to be very good at finding eggs.” She winks at him and says, “I think maybe he knows the Easter Bunny!”

Danny giggles, but looks up at me with fresh interest. “Do you?” He seems willing to believe such a ridiculous idea. I can’t even remember how old he is. At least five, he goes to school. How old is too old for believing in the Easter bunny?

I decide to hedge my bets. “Maybe I know him.” I nod, milking the moment. “Yeah, maybe I do.” I smile. “And I am good at finding eggs.” Especially since I’m the one who hid them, of course. Because come on, I can do this one thing, right? Since we’re leaving anyway, and maybe Susan will take a picture or fifty and it’ll be me on Facebook, being the best uncle ever, and then, whoosh, we’re gone, and I don’t have to be guilted into doing crap like this.

And then I sneeze, a rip-roaring bellow that guys in their late twenties aren’t supposed to be capable of, what Claire calls my old man sneeze, and I remember why I didn’t want to be outside in the first place.

“How about we just look from the window?” I give an encouraging smile. “I mean, he’s not a baby, he’s not going to run out into the road or something.” And come on, Susan, you live at the end of a goddam cul-de-sac.

Susan shakes her head. “That street…the folks across from us, they never look out for kids. Besides, I don’t want Danny playing near the lake by himself.”

I nod. Of course. Absolutely. As if I know, as if I know all about caring for children. And then I shrug. “But my allergies…yikes…” I turn to Susan; wave the wad of kitchen towel I’ve been clutching.

“Your allergies,” Susan replies. She sighs. “I don’t know why you won’t see a doctor.”

“I looked into it,” I tell her. “Too many side-effects.” But really, it’s because it doesn’t matter anymore. Because we’re moving far away from North Carolina, where there won’t be weed, grass, and tree pollens to make my sneeze and cough, give me a throat I’m constantly clearing, eyes so itchy I want to rub them out of their sockets.

Everything comes to back to the fact that Claire and I are leaving in a week. The house is already sold, we have new jobs. And Claire waited until the last minute to tell her sister. And I’m the one who looks like a prize jerk.

“Have you tried the sprays?” Susan asks, and she actually looks like she’s interested.

“I’m not sure…what kind of- “

She grins, as if she’s caught me in something. “Oh, you must try it,” she exclaims brightly, and she reaches up into the cupboard above the kitchen sink and pulls down a double-lock bag. “This belongs to a friend of mine, Deb, she was visiting, and she left it here.” Susan offers me the small blue bottle.

Offers? She thrusts it at me. “You have to try it,” she says. “Deb swears by it, and she normally suffers from all the same things as you.”

I sniff. “I don’t really…it’s just, I’m quite sensitive to medications, and- “

“It’s homeopathic,” Susan says, cutting me off again. She holds out her hand until I take the bottle, turning the glass over in my palm. “Is that the right word?” she asks blandly.

Homeopathic, meaning it won’t do a damn thing. But I look down at the kid, who is looking me with an expression that suggests, Hey, maybe Uncle Steven isn’t a complete waste of space.

I’m not a monster. I won’t make uncle of the year, but I’m not the worst. I unscrew the bottle, expecting an eyedropper, but it’s a kind of aerosol. I nod, walk from the kitchen, and make my way towards the downstairs bathroom, the little boy following closely.

Susan calls after me, “One pump up each nostril.”

This is pointless. I look at myself in the bathroom mirror.

“Go on,” says the boy impatiently. He’s hungry for candy, desperate to hunt. Or perhaps he just likes watching grown-ups do weird things, like spraying watered down drugs up their nose. Claire often tells me, how intense Danny can be, how present. Right now, it’s me he’s staring at.

I sigh. “Go get your shoes on if you want to go outside.” That sends him scurrying away.

“Mommy! I can’t find my sneakers!”

I hear Susan’s softer reply, and then the sound of Velcro as she helps Danny into his shoes.

I look back at my reflection. Red-eyed, sniffling. I look like hell. I hold the blue bottle up to the light; imagine if the stuff actually works?

Yeah, right. This little outing is going to leave me a snotty, sneezing, itchy mess. Claire should be here, doing the kid stuff, but she’s at home, she’s packing, and that’s because of me. So I guess I’ll take this turn. Hell, maybe I’ll get a reward. She always gets that look on her face when I tell her I’m no good with kids. She gives me that soft smile and says I just need practice.

But why practice something you don’t want to get good at?

“Uncle Steven!” Danny calls, and I hear him charging back towards the bathroom. “I’m ready to go hunting!”

I roll my eyes. And then I use the spray.