Renee opened the door and went in. Anne followed. The room held the musky gym shoes smell of ten-year-old boys—a combination of sweat and dirt and less-than-meticulous hygiene. The room was dark, the shade pulled down on the single window. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Slowly she began to make out a small lump in the twin bed that was pushed up against the wall in one corner of the tiny room.

Cody’s mother sat down on the edge of the bed, turned on the lamp, and peeled the blankets back, exposing the boy’s head. He played dead, squeezing his eyes shut a little too hard.

“Cody, why didn’t you tell me what happened yesterday?” his mother asked.

“Nothing happened,” he said.

One eye cracked open. His mother handed him his glasses, newly taped together with adhesive tape. He sat up and put them on, blinking at the light.

“Hi, Cody,” Anne said softly. “I was worried about you today. How are you feeling?”

He rubbed his nose and scrunched his shoulders up around his ears, then pulled his knees up to his chest and bound them there tightly with his arms.

“Your mom tells me you’ve been really sick.”

She could see the little wheels spinning in his head, wondering just what she knew, what he should reveal, what he should admit to.

“I know what happened in the park yesterday,” Anne said. “I talked to Wendy and Tommy.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Cody?” his mother asked again, her tone edged with hurt.

Cody looked at her, looked at Anne, looked down and scratched his shin through his red pajamas.

“Mrs. Roache,” Anne said. “Would it be all right if Cody and I spoke alone for a few minutes?”

Renee Roache looked uncertain, but she got up and left the room just the same. Anne sat down on the edge of the bed, near the foot, not wanting to crowd the boy.

“That must have been pretty scary finding that body like that. What a terrible thing to see. I think I would have run away if I had come across that like you did. I would have run straight home.”

She could see him relax the slightest bit. If she said she would have run away, then maybe it wasn’t so bad or embarrassing that he had run away.

“I ran away,” he confessed in a small voice.

“I don’t blame you. I think I would have gotten sick. I think a lot of people would have.”

“Did Tommy get sick?”

“He was pretty upset.”

He thought about that for a minute. “I bet Dennis didn’t get sick.”