Mary washed her ceramic mug until the sponge squeaked as she ran it around the rim. She set it aside in the strainer and gazed out of the kitchen window that was over the sink.
The yard was overgrown. Giant pink, purple, red, and orange blooms dominated the landscape. They stretched away from her house, across the street, and over her neighbors’ properties. She could not see their houses any longer.
“Boys!” she called. “Snack time.”
She heard Jack and Jody banging around in their rooms. A door slammed. Feet pounded down the stairs and over the hardwood floor in the living room.
They burst through the swinging door just as Mary finished putting the last glass of chocolate milk and homemade chocolate chip cookies on the table.
“Hey Mom, where’s Dad?” Jody asked as he gestured to the place setting for his father.
She smiled. “He’s gone to the store.”
“But the plants,” Jack said.
“I know. Eat your milk and cookies.”
Both boys took big swigs from their cups and grimaced.
“Why’s it bitter?” asked Jack.
“I added some medicine,” she said. “Because of the plants. Drink up and go play.” She turned her back and went to the window.
She watched their reflections in the window. They drained their glasses as quickly as possible, spilling some out of the corner of their mouths. Each boy stopped occasionally to take a breath and wash away the bitter taste of the milk. Once the glasses were empty, they jumped up from the table, took what was left of their cookies, and headed back up to their room.
Mary heard them collapse on the stairs. They had been such good boys.
She took their plates and glasses to the sink, washed them, dried them, and put them away. She removed their father’s snack, dumped the cookies in the trash, poured the milk into the sink, washed, dried, and put the plate and glass away. She dried her ceramic mug, rubbed away the water spots the air drying had caused, and put it into the cupboard.
As she worked, she watched plants creep over the window’s glass. Cracks had begun to appear. Colorful blooms blocked out the yard and the sky and the neighborhood. Mary stepped back from the sink when she noticed the small tendrils of vines, like green wisps of smoke, creeping into the house through the cracks in the window.
As Mary stepped further away from the window, she took a small revolver out of her apron’s pocket. This is going to make such a mess, she thought as she pressed the barrel against her left temple.
