CHAPTER EIGHT

Timmy's mother opened the front door. Her look of surprise doubled when she saw the rage on Wayne Marshall's face.

She stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. "What on earth is going on?" she said, crossing her arms. The gesture meant to convey that she was prepared to dispense blame wherever it was due.

On the porch, Pete's father still had a firm grip on the collar of Timmy's T-shirt, but he held Kim by the hand. Timmy felt strangely jealous.

"Sandra, I found these two snooping around back at Myers Pond," Mr. Marshall said firmly, as if this should be reason enough for punishment. Timmy's mother stared at him for a moment as if she didn't think so. Her gaze shifted briefly to Kim, then settled on her son.

"Didn't your father tell you not to go back there?"

Timmy nodded.

"Then why did you? And I suppose you dragged poor Kimmie back with you, back into all that mud and sludge? Look at your sandals. I only bought them last week and you've wrecked them already." She shook her head and sighed. After a moment in which no one said anything, she looked at Mr. Marshall. "You can let them go now, Wayne. I don't think they're going to run away."

But he didn't release them and Timmy thought he could feel the man's arms trembling with anger. In a voice little better than a growl, he said, "Sandra, it's not safe for kids back there. I don't think I have to remind you what happened a few years ago. I know I certainly don't want Pete back there and it's becoming blindingly obvious that your son has taken the role of the neighborhood Piper, leading everyone else's kids back there to get into all sorts of trouble."

A hard look entered Mrs. Quinn's eyes. "Now wait just a second – "

"If you had any sense you'd send this little pup away for the summer like I sent Pete. It's the only way to keep them out of trouble. I mean, what was your son doing back there on the other side of the trees? With a girl? Is this the kind of thing you're letting him do behind your back?"

Timmy's mother straightened, her eyes blazing. "Just what the hell are you saying, Wayne? That because we don't shelter our boy and scream and roar commands at him around the clock that we're doing a bad job? Is that what you're saying? How about you mind your own business and let me raise my child how I see fit? Or would that be asking too much of you? He's eleven years old for God's sake, not a teenager."

"Just what I expected," Mr. Marshall said with a humorless smile. "All the time strolling around like you're Queen of the Neighborhood, better than everyone else. Well, I'm afraid your superior attitude seems to be lost on your kid."

"That's rich coming from you. At least Timmy doesn't live in fear of me."

"Maybe he damn well should live in fear of you."

"Watch your language in front of the children."

"Fuck the children!" He wrenched Timmy's collar hard enough to make the boy gasp. "You don't keep a watch on them. You don't care what happens to them. You let them wander and that's how they get hurt. It's bitches like you that make the world the way it is."

The trembling in his arms intensified, spreading through Timmy and making him queasy. He tried to pull away but the man held firm. When he looked up he saw that Mr. Marshall's face was swollen with rage.

"Let them go."

He didn't.

Timmy's mother took a step forward, teeth clenched. "I said, let them go, Wayne. Let them go and get the hell off my property or we're going to have a serious problem."

Mr. Marshall dropped Kim's wrist. Timmy felt the grip on his T-shirt loosen. They went to his mother's side. Mrs. Quinn tousled their hair and told them to go into the kitchen. As they did, Timmy heard Mr. Marshall mutter darkly, "We already have a problem. But I'll fix that. You'll see."