Modern Family

Westchester County, New York

The father had spent Sunday in the gazebo with his daughter painting. Jill loved to paint, but her brother Jack had tried and soon gave up. Jack preferred video games. The father and daughter painted together every Sunday. They would sit in the shade discussing what they would like to paint on a clean canvas, making a few sketches. Cleaning brushes, mixing paints. They had been making plans all week. A conversation here, a text message there. Suggestions and counter suggestions. Fall was the best time to paint, surrounded by a confetti of colors in the New England afternoons.

They decided that the subject would be lobsters. She had found an old dusty book about crustaceans with faded pictures. There was a rare blue lobster or a bright red lobster. Or a black lobster. On what background would they paint the lobster? Their discussions would often be a segue into larger matters about their world, and the outside world she could not visit. Not yet. She had never seen a real lobster before, so he showed her pictures. He answered her questions about where lobsters came from and what people did with lobsters.

They had agreed with mommy that they would eat lobster that night and discussed the lobster she had in the kitchen and made sketches. It was to be a red/black lobster on orange background with teal blocks of color. After a few hours of painting and chatting, they declared the pictures successful. He had noticed she was only capable of two hours of concentration; after that, her energy got too much, and she needed to burn it off.

When she ran off, the father went to the patio and read the news in the shade. He watched his children, Jack and Jill, play in the warm New England sun. He had pulled out the inflatable swimming pool and turned on the sprinklers, and they were laughing and running around squirting water from their water pistols at each other. They played a new game in which the rules were only understandable to a set of eight-year-old twins.

His wife brought out some lemonade, so the game paused until Jill sprayed Jack, and they were off again, laughing and running around the expansive lawn. He noticed some paint peeling on one of the walls of his large Dutch colonial house and made a mental note to do some repairs the following weekend. Fall was approaching, so he would have to get the leaf blower out and do the yearly maintenance to get that working again. He decided to inspect the rest of the large house, checking to see what else had to be done before the winter arrived.

Father left the kids playing and walked down to the bottom of the garden, where a small group of trees marked the house's grounds. There was still some property after that, a few unkempt acres of tall grass and a large barn at the end. He walked through the grass to the barn and inspected the outside. It was well maintained and had survived the previous winter very well. The walls were a bright white, and the windows shuttered. The roof did not require any repairs, although the guttering looked like it needed cleaning out.

'What's in there?' asked a young voice, full of curiosity. He did not turn around as he sensed the children had followed him.

'Nothing for children,' he said patiently. 'There's some agricultural machinery a local farmer owns, like plows and harvesting tools with sharp knives. It's a dangerous place for nosy eight-year-olds,' he said and smiled. 'The farmer rents the barn from me as we don't need it for anything.'

The girl nodded. 'Can we see?' she asked.

'I don't have the key; the farmer has that. And it's his property inside, so it's better we don't disturb it,' the father patiently explained. 'I want you to promise that you will never go in there. It's dangerous, and it's not our business to disturb.' They nodded. 'Come, let's go back to the house. I'm sure mummy will have lobster for dinner soon.'

The girl looked disappointed but did not want to let her brother beat her back to the house, so she ran after him. Her father smiled; she was so competitive. He waited until they entered the house before walking over to the other side of the field. He had not been here for a while and wanted to check it out. He had let the grass and the brambles grow high. What he was looking for was hidden behind thorny bushes and among trees in a small clearing. A green tarp was on the ground, held down by a few stones. He pushed the rocks to the side and pulled back the tarp.

Nothing had changed much. It was still a primitive grave with a simple cross. On the cross were written the words Jill Bedford – 2120 – 2128. The letters were now fading, almost illegible, but he remembered what they were. On the grave, lying face down, was an adult human skeleton; he assumed it was probably a male from the rotting clothes and shoes. He could not see any trauma to the bones or skull. The corpse was still wearing glasses. It even wore a watch, and a rusted smartphone lay next to it. He assumed the person had died lying on the grave and nobody had taken care of his body. There was nobody left to do so.

When he first found the body, it was already in a bad state of decomposition. He thought it might Samuel Bedford, the house's previous owner. He had called the authorities, hiding his discovery from the children. The police had said they would come and check on it, but they never had, and he had eventually stopped calling them. He felt compelled to bury the skeleton, but he thought it would disturb a crime scene, so he left it as it was. He pulled the tarp back over the grave and secured it with the rocks.

That evening they sat down for dinner, and Mother brought out the 3D-printed lobster with carrots and potatoes. They discussed the lobster and what they had learned, and then they voted Jill's painting the better of the artworks. After the meal, the mother replaced the food in the refrigerator and put the plates back into the cupboards.

The family played games in front of the fire while classical music played in the background. Their favorite game was Trivial Pursuit. They knew the answer to all the questions; they had played it so often that they played variations on the rules. Sometimes they would state an answer, and you had to remember the question.

After cookies and warm milk and watching the fire's embers die down, the children listened to a story told by the father, then obediently went to bed. The parents tucked them in, and as always, Jill asked when she could have her own bedroom, and as always, the answer was on her ninth birthday, which was only a month away.

As the children settled down, the adults stood outside their bedroom. They stood there, silent, unmoving, waiting. When they were sure the children were asleep, they went downstairs. They sat silently in front of the fire for a while. Then together, silently, they stood up and went to the utility room at the back of the house. She closed the door behind him and locked it. This was something the children should not see.

She pulled off the tips of her two fingers, revealing two metal pins that she then put into the electrical outlet. The lighting in the utility room spluttered and faded for a few seconds. She looked at the father, and her eyes reddened, then turned completely white. The irises turned into a spinning loading icon. The father's eyes did the same, silently exchanging data about the day they had spent together educating and caring for the children. She silently expressed concern about the grave but had no suggestions other than to let it be. After she had finished charging, the father did the same, inserting his metal fingertips into the outlet.

Father was worried about Jill. He remembered the accident Mother had in the kitchen a few months ago. He had seen a change in Jill after that. A distance, especially towards her mother. And she had more questions about the wider world. Lots of awkward questions.

Standing too close to the range, the mother's clothes, made of synthetic material, had caught fire. Mother calmly called father, walked out through the living room, and stood in the drive as the flames engulfed her. Jill watched, horrified from the window, as her mother stood calmly away from the house as her burning clothes dripped off her. She was a torch. Father soon ran over with a fire extinguisher, but most of the clothing had burnt away, so he brushed off the remnants with his hand. Mother stood naked, then calmly walked back into the house and put on some new clothes.

'Well, that was weird,' said Jack to Jill, who had come over to see what she was looking at. Jill nodded but said nothing; she was deep in thought. They had no reference to what was normal. They never went anywhere because of the pandemic, which had started before their birth and was still raging. Her parents were the only people she knew and could learn from. It was all they knew. Everything they did was expected, but this did not seem normal. Fire hurt. She had burnt herself before; she had felt the pain.

On the eve of her birthday, Jill went over to Jack and pushed him awake.
'I'll be so glad when we have separate rooms,' he grumbled.
'Aren't you curious about the barn at the bottom of the garden?' she asked.
'It is weird,' he admitted.
'Let's go check it out!' she said, hardly stopping giggling at her audacity at even suggesting it.
'Are you mad – father will be furious!'
Jill smiled. 'Oh, come on, when do we ever do anything wrong? We are such do-gooders! Maybe Mom and Dad would secretly like to occasionally see a little grit from us. A little drama!'
Jack was not so sure, but Jill jumped up and went...