Building Blocks by Cynthia Voigt Page B

Suzanne.Then, he said, he knew of Thomas Connell, and Thomas Connell would think this was important, his children trespassing on private property.
    Brann put his shirt on in the kitchen. Suzanne sat at the table, shivering. The caretaker dialed the number written by the telephone. “They come home right away,” he announced to the children, and sat down to wait.
    Kevin padded into the room. His hair was still wet although his overalls were dry. “You are the other one?” the caretaker asked.
    Kevin nodded, dumb and pale.
    â€œYou should have stayed getawayed,” the caretaker remarked. “If you run away you can stay away just as easy.”
    â€œI shouldn’ve been the one to stay, Brann,” Kevin said. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œThat’s OK,” Brann said. He hadn’t expected Kevin to come back so soon. He hadn’t expected Kevin to come back at all. You had to respect the kid.
    After a while, Mr. and Mrs. Connell came in the door. Thomas Connell’s face was dark with anger, his footsteps heavy. He shook the caretaker’s hand and they went out onto the porch to talk.
    In the kitchen, nobody spoke. Suzanne was crying and sniveling. Kevin’s mouth was tight at the corners. When Mr. Connell came back inside alone, Mrs. Connell looked at him. Her face was simply tired.
    â€œTake the boys to the living room, Polly. I’ll begin with Suzanne.”
    He took the belt off of his pants. It was a wide, black leather belt, with a heavy brass buckle on one end. When he had it off, he slapped it once on the table.
    Suzanne began to cry out loud.
    Brann and Kevin went into the dim living room to wait their turns.

Six
    Evening light washed over the living room. Long golden bars of sunlight slipped under the lowered shades.
    Kevin stood by the dining room door, listening anxiously to the wails and carryings-on from the kitchen. Brann went to look out a window. He snapped up the shade, then remembered that he should have asked Mrs. Connell first. When he turned to ask permission, he saw that she was sitting in a polished wooden rocker. Her belly ballooned out before her. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
    Suzanne shrieked so loudly he could hear every word, every cry, even though the dining room was between them. Her father told her to take down her pants, and she shrieked that she was a girl so he better be careful with her, and that it was all Kevin’s idea. She yelled for her mother. “I don’t want to be whipped!” she cried. Then she sobbed it over and over. “I don’t want to! It’s not fair—theymade me! I don’t want to be whipped.”
    â€œLean over the chair, let’s get this over with.”
    â€œNo! No!” shrieked Suzanne, but she must have obeyed, because then Brann heard the slap of the belt against bare flesh. “OWWWW! That hurts! That’s enough! Owww! No more, please, Daddy!” The belt fell again. Three strokes in all.
    If he went out he front door, Brann thought, he would never be able to come back in, and he would never be able to return to his own house, to his own parents. He heard Kevin make a little whimpering sound.
    Mrs. Connell spoke without opening her eyes. “I don’t know why you did something like that. You get no sympathy from me.”
    Kevin gulped and was silent.
    Suzanne came out of the kitchen. Her face was wet with tears, but she was smiling. “You’re next,” she told Kevin. She looked over at Brann and the smiled stayed on her face. When Kevin went into the kitchen, she stood listening at the door.
    Kevin didn’t talk to his father. He apparently lowered his pants right away. Brann heard the belt crack against Kevin’s skin. Once, twice, threetimes—then again and again. At the sixth stroke, Kevin howled, and at the seventh.
    Kevin stood in the dining room doorway, his chest heaving, his eyes watering. His fathomless gray eyes met