(The first and last lines of this story were the givens in an assignment by Grace).

They had their best talks in bed. Tonight it was about getting another dog. “Hapotato, hapotato, hapotato,” said Jasper.

“Potato’s in heaven. We’re getting a new one.” Caitlin talked slowly, penetrating, she imagined, his little skull. “Not Hot Potato. That was not his name.” She had named the puppy last summer and resented that Jasper renamed him in May, in the very week he spoke his first words. Mommy loved it and the name stuck.

“Hapotato. He can.”

“Can what? Spur, you’re being an asshole.”

Jasper tried out the word, “Asshole.” He laughed when he felt his sister laugh. But suddenly her body stopped moving and she fell silent. Jasper had more to say about asshole, but she shushed him. Car lights threw venetian-blind bands of light slowly up the wall. She held her breath as the bands sped quickly across the ceiling, then slowly down the other wall and across their mother’s framed, glassed-in Green Day poster. For an instant the reflections grew so sparkling and complex that Caitlin thought of Tinker Bell. Jasper often said, “Tinker Bell,” but he had no real understanding of the beautiful cartoon character who looked so much like their mother. He thought she was their mother when he saw the video with Caitlin last weekend.

“Ass — ”

“– be quiet!”

If the lights hit the wall and came to a stop, it meant Roland was coming by to check on them. He made Caitlin nervous with his colorful shirts, low, baggy pants, and graying, pointed beard. He told the children he loved their mother, but Caitlin kept her eyes to the floor when he tried to get her to meet his gaze, never wishing to encourage the man.

After awhile, the strips of light hit the wall again, crawled up, and came to a stop at the far end of the ceiling. Now her job was to keep Jasper silent. Maybe Roland would just look in, turn and go. That worked sometimes.

“Asshole asshole asshole,” Jasper sang it roughly to the tune of Johnny’s Got a Girlfriend.

“Don’t sing, Spur.”

The boy turned away and continued singing. He was in danger of falling out of his mother’s bed and it was a long trip to the hard floor. Caitlin tugged at his flannel sleepsuit until she managed to get him to a safe place.

“Hapotatoe died.” He said it like he was trying to comfort his sister.

“Sssshhhhhhh!”

The door opened and Roland stood in silhouette. Caitlin was reminded of a man in The Incredibles standing in the doorway. He stepped to the bedside and sat down. He smelled like french fries. He pushed Caitlin to the middle of the bed and lied next to her. Then he lit a cigarette, the lighter ringing open like a little bell. In the flash of light he didn’t look mean, just old. He lied there for about four times the length of time she could hold her breath. Then he shifted a couple times and reached under the bedcovers. His hand brushed her leg. He pulled out a pair of man’s undershorts.

He muttered something angrily, and was up and out the door and gone in a minute. The light patterns reversed as he backed out the drive.

“Spur. Hey Spur. What are you doing?”

“My pants are broke.”

She smelled what he meant. She reached inside his sleepsuit. The sticky diaper strap had come unloose and poo stunk up the whole place. She looked at the big hand and knew mother would not be calling for a long time. She got out of bed and went into a kitchen drawer and returned with a heavy scotch tape holder. She turned on the lamp and placed it on the nightstand. Then she fought Spur out of his sleepsuit, ordered him to lay still, and pulled the tape into long, unmanageable strips. Three or four stretched out arm-lengths. It twisted up and stuck to itself, but she managed to make a belt around Spur’s diaper top. She could see it hurt him where it stuck to his skin, but he didn’t complain. “Go ahead, Spur,” she said, “You can sing now.” But he wasn’t in a singing mood.

Caitlin went into the toilet and came back with a spray bottle filled with blue liquid. She spritzed it, pushing up and down on the white plastic top. The spray bubbled on the wooden parts of the bed. In a little while, the bubbles turned to dribble and the poo smell kind of went away.

She was tired, but she wanted to keep the lamp on. If she did, though, she knew she wouldn’t be able to see the car lights on the wall if Roland came back. She didn’t think he would return, but he acted like an asshole when he went out with the undershorts and who could tell? Not her, for sure. She turned the lamp off.

She woke to the phone ringing. She fell getting out of bed, it was so high, and she hurt her arm. “Fuck,” she said. The sodium lights at the entrance to the trailer park bled enough light that she was able to get to the phone. She knew it was her mother and she knew the route across the room and out into the kitchen. She picked up on the fourth ring. “Darling, are you two all rie? Ima be home… Honey?”

“When, mommy?”

Caitlin heard a man talking in the background. Not Roland. That was good.

“When?”

“You want Sun Chips? I gotchur favorites. Cheddar.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, Caitlin honey, maybe you don’t care, but I do care.” Caitlin listened to her mother’s heavy breathing. Then she became aware of Jasper’s stink.

“Mommy. Jasper’s made a big mess and I tried to clean it up.”

“Is he sleeping? Is he okay?”

“Uh huh.”

Okay, mommy’s going to come back in just a half hour. Try to go back to sleep.”

“Bye.”

“Night, night, darling… Oh honey, don’t worry about Spur, I’ll clean it up. Okay?”

“Yeah, good night, mommy.”

She pulled Jasper out of bed. He remained asleep in her bear-hug. She half-carried, half dragged him into the kitchen and laid him out at the foot of the sink. He was still asleep. She opened the cabinet below the sink and found a sponge. Then she found her way back to the bathroom and got the blue liquid. She pulled his sleeper and his diaper off, then laid her brother on a dish towel. In the dark, because she feared the light might attract Roland, she spritzed him all over, then cleaned him off, using a whole roll of paper towels.

The kitchen did not catch the car light, so when Roland returned, he just popped in the door and switched on the light. Caitlin heard her mother drive up seconds later, slam the car door, and run up the three wide wooden steps. “Why are you here, goddammit?”

Roland came into the trailer. He was crying. Caitlin’s mother followed him in and told him he had to leave, but he begged and begged. She gave Caitlin a crooked smile and, with a nod of the head, sent Roland into the bedroom. “It smells like shit in here,” he moaned. She went to the bedroom door. “Look, asshole, a baby lives here. You don’t like it, go home.” She picked Jasper off the floor and snuggled him. “You smell like Windex, yes you doooo…”

Then she caught Caitlin’s eye and pointed to the sleep chest in the living area. “Get your mats, honey.”

Caitlin didn’t know exactly what asshole referred to — she pictured only a gaping hole like the musket ball caused in one of Captain Hook’s sailors. A hole somewhere in Roland’s butt. She pulled out the mats and laid them on the kitchen floor, just as Jasper was waking up. He seemed happy enough, so she went back for his blankie and a quilt for herself. She looked back to the kitchen and panicked for a second. Jasper had the low cabinet beneath the sink open and was reaching in. There was Mr Clean inside and she knew he shouldn’t touch it. Then he was singing “Hapotato, Hapotato, Hapotato,” and banging around. He’d left the Mr Clean alone.

Roland complained from the other room, “Can you please quiet those children, Carla?” Jasper was standing naked, balanced with his arm on the cabinet doorframe. His leg was cocked and ready to kick a stack of pots. Carla said “Asshole. Fuck. Shit.” Then she recalled a little melody from Monsters, Inc. and sang as loud as she could, “Kick a stack of pots, lots of pots.”