First, Chuy wrapped the injured ankle in a washcloth, then put cold packs around it and secured them with an elastic bandage. He gave Joe a bottle of water, some ibuprofen, and a hug. Then he handed a pair of his own shorts and a T-shirt to Diederik. “For tomorrow,” he said.

“I don’t think I can grow any more,” Diederik said. “I am almost as big as you gentlemen!” He smiled. “But I’m grateful for the clothes.”

If anything could distract Joe from the pain in his ankle, this was it. “He looked about eleven the day after he got here,” he whispered. “Now he could be fifteen.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Chuy said, his voice low. “Diederik, where is the Rev?” he said, in a louder tone.

“He is digging a grave,” the boy said. “I offered to do it for him, but he said I could take a walk, that it was his sacred duty. And Miss Fiji, she didn’t have anything for me to do this morning, and no more muffins or cookies.” He looked at Chuy hopefully.

“Oh,” Chuy said. “Hmmm. I’ve got some English muffins. You could have them with butter and jelly.”

“I’m always hungry,” Diederik said simply.

“Then you watch Joe while I go fix them.” Chuy went out the front door to mount the stairs again.

Joe’s ankle was subsiding to a dull throb now. He figured nothing was broken.

“Is everyone in Midnight like me?” Diederik said suddenly.

“No, only the Rev,” Joe said. He would have enjoyed some quiet, but the boy was too restless for that. “We’ve never seen anyone like you, either,” he added, his eyes closed while he shifted the chairs around in an attempt to be more comfortable. “You’re growing so fast. I’ve seen you look at Grady. Most kids grow like him, not like you.”

“Am I very—peculiar?” Diederik had to grope for a word that would fit. His accent was not as pronounced as it had been when he’d first gotten to Midnight. In the few days he’d been in residence, his speech had grown, right along with everything else about him.

“Peculiar?” Joe thought about it. “No. Not in the sense of weird or bizarre. But I don’t think there are many like you around.”

Diederik fidgeted and finally went to seek out the broom and dustpan. He swept the already-clean area around Chuy’s workstation, and then the English muffins came downstairs borne by Chuy, along with a thermos of juice. Diederik fell on the muffins like he was starving, and he drank all the juice. He sat in one of the antique chairs very neatly and promptly fell asleep.

“Where’s Rasta?” Joe asked abruptly. The men exchanged startled glances.