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Jenny looks out her window at the scorched grass. Rains came last night and battered the blades down. Fall is almost here, you can see it because the azalea bush is stirring in the breeze. You can see it because the kids are out on the asphalt, kicking a milk carton around. Last week would have been too hot for playing in the street. Brandy, the littlest but not the youngest, kicks the carton against Mr. Collin's gun metal SUV. Brandy's sister Tonya runs after, skids, skins her knee. Jenny is outside with band aids and mercurochrome in under five minutes.
They sit on the stoop with her, watching the blood drip. Brandy pats Tonya's knee. Her hands are sticky with blue ice pop juice.
Tonya looks at Jenny's flat belly. What happened? she asks, did your baby die?
Shut up Tonya, Brandy says. You aren't supposed to say.
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