The Well

10

Finally, the house came into view, its dust-smeared slats appearing a brown-speckled white.

I burst into a run, taking the porch steps in one bound without pausing to check if Jackie followed.

"Austin! Austin! Austin!" I shouted his name in a constant stream as I moved through the rooms, finding nothing, as I peered behind the couch, finding nothing, as I tore open doors, finding nothing, as I stomped my way up and down the hallways, finding nothing. Austin Austin Austin Austin. I didn't even notice Mother until she grabbed my arm.

She had wheeled herself behind me. When my eyes met hers, she let me go. "Austin's hiding in the house foundation." She started to creak away back toward her room.

Jackie had already come to that conclusion herself, or perhaps Austin had tired of hiding and given himself away, because before I even had the chance to bound outside in search of him, the front door was swinging open and there they both were.

Austin's face simmered with laughter. "I win! You couldn't find me. That means I win—"

I crushed him against my chest, rubbing at his hair with my pinky fingers, basking in his sticky warmth.

He was laughing. I was laughing, too, a high-pitched, hysterical giggle that slowed into a disbelieving chuckle, that ended in a slow inhale, that became an exhale, that became silence.

"He wiggled his way into a crack," said Jackie. "Helps that he's so tiny."

"Thank you," I answered. 

She nodded stiffly. "Remember what I said."

I pursed my lips and released Austin. "I'm taking him, next time." I looked down, met Austin's expectant eyes. "I'm taking you to the well."

"Really?" A smile splintered his face. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you! Thank you, Jackie."

"I'm taking you," I repeated, "but I need to tell you something first."

Jackie couldn't get out of there soon enough. 

I chose to do it in the kitchen. Mother said nothing throughout but placed her wheelchair beside my chair in silent support. Austin listened intently, his excitement peaking as I began to speak then steadily dwindling to a low ember of confusion. When I finished explaining, his gaze flickered to the water bucket for a long moment. We waited.

Mother's hand moved to my knee, the contact so light I wondered if I was imagining it there. I stiffened, but didn't shift away from her touch. 

Finally, Austin turned to look at us; Mother's contact ceased in tandem. He was smiling. "You're kidding!" He stood up, punctuated his statement with arm movements. "You're kidding! But it's okay. I'll find out tomorrow."

I stood up as well, blocking his path, willing him to see, to understand. Surely he could tell by my face, by my voice. Surely he could tell. But his smile remained in place even as he met my gaze-- an impervious limb, an essential part of his essence.

He had to understand.

"No, Auz. I'm not kidding. You don't understand—"

"Let him go," Mother murmured, and I fell silent. "You can go to your room, Auz. Cam will take you to see the well for yourself tomorrow."

And he was gone.

"No harm in giving him one more night." Mother's hand met my knee once more. "And no wasting water."