“The prince was very sad because he’d lost the battle and so the princess was sad too. But she found she couldn’t do anything for the prince. He even stopped talking to her after a while, and they had always talked a lot. So it got very lonely in the castle. Because the princess didn’t have anyone to talk to.” When I think about this I feel quite ashamed of myself. There I was, a grown woman, disguising my own story as a fairy tale and telling it to a small child, confessing, confiding in him. But that wasn’t the worst of it. “She didn’t have anyone to talk to, or to be happy with and so she got very lonely. Every so often she’d think about running away, about going back to her father’s castle, but she really didn’t want to do that because she loved the prince charming very much and she didn’t want to leave him. But she began to think more and more about running away. She even, one time, told the prince what she was thinking, but he didn’t seem to care. He said to her: ‘Cam—’ ” I almost said my own name. I blushed and got warm, in the dark. I stopped then because I knew I was doing wrong. I had thought I was talking to myself, but when I looked up, I could see Tucker’s tiny glasses sparkling. He was still sitting bolt straight in bed. I could feel myself beginning to cry way down deep somewhere. “Well, Tucker, it’s about time you went to sleep, dear.”

“Ain’t you finishing, Missus Willson?”

“That isn’t a very good story. No excitement or fireworks in it. You don’t want to hear the end.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do. I like that story.”

“You do? Why?”

“It’s about really living people. Like I know.”

“Wouldn’t a story about dragons and war be better?”

“No, ma’am. I can’t believe in them kind.”

“Well, dear, the story doesn’t have an ending. You end it. How would you do it?”

“Me?”

“Yes, go on. What do you think the princess should do?” I thought I was playing. I couldn’t really be asking him. He was only nine years old.

I looked across at him. I could see him thinking, there in the moonlight, his covers around his waist like he was standing in waist-deep, white water. He was looking toward the window, and then at me. “I think the princess should wait. She shouldn’t run away.”

“Why?” I wasn’t playing.

He looked straight at me, like an old friend who knew about David and me and was telling me what to do. “Because the prince, he’ll wake up one of these days and he’ll make it all right.”