and they know, they must know, they must have seen heard, felt, running through the tension now, like a net, like honey, but too sweet, too sticky, it gets in their eyes, their noses, their feet trip them up but they scamper, yell, laugh, scream through the house, unstoppable, unknowable. they know and he can’t bear to look at them, wants to only hear their laughter, convince himself they don’t know when they must surely do. it’s in her voice, they listen to it, to her, because it’s off, it’s tired, it’s broken and where other children would take the upper hand these two stop and listen, to listen, the net having caught them and she says, she says, “be quiet, your father’s working”
no. he strains, he doesn’t want to hear it. close up, eyes squeezed tight. he’s listening to them listening, about to know, she says, “come here, there’s something we need to tell you”
silence. silence. don’t break it.
but she does.