“Remember how she’d cut our sandwiches into triangles because we complained about the crusts?” Leo asked.

“And how she’d yell at us for trying to feed them to the squirrels?”

“And how she always forgot the napkins, so she’d make us wipe our hands on her shirt because ours were already too dirty?”

Leo smiled and bowed his head, eyes shut, picturing it. Mostly he could remember sitting next to her on that blanket, their eyes fixed on the mountains, jagged faces marking the passing of entire civilizations. Just look at it, she’d say, nodding toward the distant range. Isn’t it beautiful? If his father were there he would have launched into a lecture about how the mountains were formed and the ages of the rocks, but his mother could just sit and take it in. She could probably tell Leo how old it was too, if he asked her. But he never asked her. It was enough to sit beside her and see. It was always enough.

All of a sudden Gareth’s body started to shake beside him, his shoulders heaving. The sobs were mostly silent, only accompanied by hitched breaths with few tears, almost like he was laughing instead. Leo didn’t know what to do, so he just shifted to be closer to him so that their arms touched, and waited for the sobbing to slow.

Finally Gareth sniffed, wiped his nose across his sleeve. Leo didn’t need to ask why or what his brother was thinking. He knew. He understood.

They stayed that way for a while—shoulder to shoulder—long enough for the drills in the distance to start back up again. Long enough for half the kids on the playground to be called home. At last Gareth wiped his cheek and nodded toward the sun just starting to touch the mountaintops. “What time is it?” he asked, his voice like a frown.

Leo checked his watch. “Six o’clock.”

Gareth sighed. “I guess we should get back. Get it over with.”

“Maybe if you talked to him. Explained why you did it. Maybe he won’t get mad.”

Gareth shook his head. “Trust me. He won’t understand. He just doesn’t get it. Not like you do.” He stood up then reached down and pulled Leo up after him. “Race you down the hill . . .”

“You’ll win,” Leo said.

“Not if I give you a head start.”

“Five seconds?”

“Three.”

It was the best he was going to get. “Okay. Three.”

Gareth started counting. Leo took flight, knowing his brother was right behind.

Leo checked his watch for the time, but it was still glitching. He was sure they’d been walking for at least an hour, though admittedly, Leo’s sense of time was warped. While he was on the Beagle, his father had tried to keep him and Gareth on a schedule. Since that ship was attacked, however, Leo had lost any semblance of a regular cycle. From that moment, it had been one long, run-on day, interrupted by dashes of fitful rest and half-remembered nightmares.