Lucas knew that his parents did not want to spoil him, that this was the meaning of that look, and, since the prospect of receiving a painting set didn’t stir him in any way, he didn’t wonder about the time. There was, though, an idea too, albeit an inchoate, elusive one, more like an impression, that the concern of his parents mysteriously combined their reluctance to spoil him with the disappearance, one by one, of various things belonging to the family—the piano, the old gilt mirror that used to hang over the mantelpiece, and the porcelain figurines that had been kept with great care on a shelf high on the wall. He had started to believe that, as children grow, their houses become more empty. Growing was an invisible process that converted time into accumulated physical size. There was something plausible, or at least symmetrical, about the idea that there was a balance involved, that nothing came from nothing, and something, like the piano or the mirror, had to be lost in order for him to grow. Everyone, his parents, his teachers, his many relatives, all referred often to his promising future. From time to time, he thought about it, but he really couldn’t imagine it; the future, for him, could never be anything but scenes from a story book, rewritten with himself at the center. Lucas was happy as he was. He had no strong desire to change, and very little curiosity about himself. For him, growing was something that was happening to him, not something he was doing. It would happen in any case, nothing would stop it, there was nothing he could do about it, and no reason to care about it. As he outgrew his clothes, they would be replaced with similar, larger versions. Smokey was old; he would die some day, but there would be another dog then, of the same size, who would fill his place in the household. Maybe they would bury him on the beach, under the sand.

Lucas padded up the thickly-carpeted stairs to his room after a few more words with his Aunt, who told him that his cousins would be coming by later for dinner. He received this news ambivalently. What he really wanted to do was to play with imaginary friends, children who weren’t there, so that he could enjoy himself without having to be seen or to respond. His mother and his Aunt began whispering together as he went upstairs, which was not strange, and his mind was crossed by the pleasant suspicion that they might be planning some kind of surprise for him.