day before, then I carried the bin outside and sprayed it out with the
garden hose. I knew I should clean it more thoroughly, maybe with
dish soap, but looking at Luke, the way he was writhing on the grass, I
didn’t feel I had time. With the last bit of slop blasted away, I righted
the bin and filled it with water.
Luke was scrambling toward me to put his leg in when I heard an
echo of my mother’s voice. She was telling someone that the real worry
with a burn isn’t the damaged tissue, but infection.
“Luke!” I shouted. “Don’t! Don’t put your leg in!”
He ignored me and continued crawling toward the bin. He had a
cold look in his eye that said nothing mattered except the fire burning
from his leg into his brain. I moved quickly. I shoved the bin, and a
great wave of water heaved over the grass. Luke made a gargled noise,
as if he were choking.
I ran back into the kitchen and found the bags that fit the can, then
held one open for Luke and told him to put his leg in. He didn’t move,
but he allowed me to pull the bag over the raw flesh. I righted the can
and stuffed the garden hose inside. While the bin filled, I helped Luke
balance on one foot and lower his burned leg, now wrapped in black
plastic, into the garbage can. The afternoon air was sweltering; the
water would warm quickly; I tossed in the pack of ice.
It didn’t take long—twenty minutes, maybe thirty—before Luke
seemed in his right mind, calm and able to prop himself up. Then
Richard wandered up from the basement. The garbage can was smack
in the middle of the lawn, ten feet from any shade, and the afternoon
sun was strong. Full of water, the can was too heavy for us to move,
and Luke refused to take out his leg, even for a minute. I fetched a
straw sombrero Grandma had given us in Arizona. Luke’s teeth were
still chattering so I also brought a wool blanket. And there he stood, a
sombrero on his head, a wool blanket around his shoulders, and his leg
in a garbage can. He looked something between homeless and on
vacation.
The sun warmed the water; Luke began to shift uncomfortably. I
returned to the chest freezer but there was no more ice, just a dozen
bags of frozen vegetables, so I dumped them in. The result was a
muddy soup with bits of peas and carrots.
Dad wandered home sometime after this, I couldn’t say how long, a