IT WAS LATE IN THE AFTERNOON. Becky was in her room, taking books from cardboard boxes and stacking them on a bookcase by her bed. She tried arranging the books by height, and then by the color of the spines. She had tried alphabetical order, but gave up on that after just a few minutes. Now she was simply trying to get the books out of the boxes and stack them so they would all fit on the shelves. Becky had finally found a radio station she liked, and the music blared from her boom box. Jill stuck her head around the bedroom door. "Can you turn that down a little, honey?" she asked. "Your brother's still sleeping. He's running a temperature. And keep your distance, okay? If all of you kids get sick, I'm doomed."
Becky turned down the volume as her mother disappeared down the stairs. Then she got up to shut her door. But just across the hall she saw Matt, standing awkwardly in his doorway. "Pssssst," he whispered, gesturing to her. "Come over here for a minute."
Becky looked at her brother and hesitated. "Come on, Becky," he pleaded. "I've got to show you my foot!"
Matt retreated into the safety of his room, hobbled to his bed, and lifted up his foot for Becky to see. "Oh, Matt!" she cried, reeling back. "You've got to tell Mom right now, Matt, you've got to tell her! It's disgusting!"
For the thousandth time that afternoon Matt turned up the heel of his left foot and peered into the puncture wound that darkened his skin, and the ooze that pooled at its edges. "It smells bad, I know. I've been putting antibiotic cream on it, but unless I lie down and hold my leg up in the air, it just keeps throbbing."
"I'm going to tell Mom," Becky warned, turning away.
"No, wait," Matt pleaded, "you've got to promise not to tell. I'll — I'll give you something if you promise."
Becky narrowed her eyes at her brother. "I'll tell her," Matt lied. "I will, tonight. But you've got to keep your mouth shut. I want to find just the right way of saying it so that … well, I don't know just what to say, yet. I don't want to get in trouble, and I hate it when Mom treats me like a baby."
Matt got up and limped to his dresser. He opened the drawer and took out the doll shoe. "Here," he said, "I want to give you something. I — found it. It's an antique! It's really old, and look, it's beautiful, isn't it? Look at the way it shines in the light! Come here, I'll show you."
Matt led Becky to the window and let the afternoon light play across the little jewels. He turned the shoe this way and that, so that flashes of white and gold danced on his hand.
"Oooh," said Becky, her eyes wide. "It's beautiful! Where's the other one?"
"I don't know," Matt said. "But if I give this to you, will you promise to keep quiet and let me tell Mom about my foot?"
"What am I going to do with one shoe?" asked Becky.
Matt pressed the doll shoe into her hand. "I wouldn't even offer it to you if I didn't think you were responsible enough to take care of it. The heel is really sharp, so be careful. And it'll be our secret."
"Oh!" Becky exclaimed, holding the shoe up for a closer view. She nodded slowly. "But why is it a secret?"
Matt furrowed his brow. "Little kids have little secrets. You're nine. This is a bigger secret, just between you and me."
Becky studied the shoe. Finally, she looked up at her brother with a grin. "It's a deal!" she said, clutching the shoe, and she skipped across the hall to her room.
Matt lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was embarrassed that he had stepped on a doll shoe and hurt himself so badly. If he'd stepped on a piece of broken glass, it wouldn't have seemed so stupid. And he knew he'd been warned again and again about walking around a construction site in his bare feet. Mom and Dad would be mad that he ignored them. Now that he had let it go so long, they would be even more upset that he had kept the injury a secret. But it was his foot, after all. Wasn't he old enough to take care of a little puncture wound? And there was something else. Something about the shoe that made him feel unsettled, uneasy. Maybe he shouldn't have given the shoe to Becky. After she went to sleep, maybe he would go to her room and get it back. The thing was, he had found it, he had paid for it with his own blood and pain. And maybe it was too much responsibility to share. He didn't want Becky accidentally getting cut on it. Stupid toy, he thought.
At suppertime the smell of food wafted up the stairs and Matt got out of bed and crept down to join his family. He wasn't hungry, and he knew that soon he would have to tell the truth about his foot. It wasn't going to get better by itself. So much for his right to privacy. He didn't want to die for a secret. The light on the ceiling was harsh, and the noisy clatter of silverware and Emily's happy shrieks jangled Matt's nerves. "Honey, I thought you were going to stay in bed!" said his mother, looking up from the table. With a little pink spoon she shoveled mashed peas into Emily's mouth.
"Mom," Matt mumbled, "I don't feel so good. I think maybe I should go to the doctor. I—"
Emily screamed and flung her sippy cup in the air. It hit the floor with a sharp crack and milk spread across the tiles. "Oh, Matt," Jill said, leaping up and grabbing a fistful of paper towels. "You know, it sounds like the flu to me. I've got some medicine I can give you tonight. Let's see how you feel tomorrow. We haven't even got a new doctor out here yet. We'd have to drive all the way into Pittsburgh."
Jill knelt to mop up the spilled milk as Emily, reaching over her high chair, giggled and plucked at her mother's hair. "Stop that," Jill sighed. "It isn't funny."
The rest of the dinner conversation revolved around the delays in Charlie's construction schedule. Matt picked at a plate of noodles and broccoli. Suddenly it didn't seem like a good time to talk about his foot. If he could hold out until the morning, his mom would take him to the doctor in Pittsburgh anyway, so maybe it would be better to wait and see. His foot could get better by then. Just maybe. And maybe he did have the flu, after all, with the chills, and headache, and fever. A little hole in his foot wouldn't cause symptoms like that, he thought … would it?