“If you’re smarter than me, then spell lyceum. It’s one of the winning words from the national spelling bee.”

“How do you know that?” Joe asked. He tried to envision the word in his head. It was a little fuzzy. What was a lyceum anyway? A bug? Yes, he decided. Some kind of beetle.

“I know about lyceum because I met the winner who spelled it,” Charlie said proudly. “Amanda Goad. She’s from Richmond, Virginia, which isn’t very far from here. My mom introduced me to her last year at the library.” Charlie got a funny expression on his face, as if he was recalling the encounter with Amanda Goad, or maybe something humorous that had happened between them, or something odd she had said.

Joe was still turning the word over in his mind. “I’m not spelling nothing, kid,” he finally said.

“I’m not spelling anything,” Charlie corrected.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

There was a knock at the door. Joe and Charlie looked at each other.

“Expecting anyone?” Joe asked.

“Nope.”

“Like a repair guy or something?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Well, yes or no?”

“I said I don’t know. I’m eight.”

“But you’re a really smart eight-year-old,” Joe said, hoping the flattery would help him remember. “So maybe you overheard your mom or grandma talking about someone coming over?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe yes? Or maybe no?”

“Maybe I don’t remember.”

Joe was about to shoot himself. The kid probably understood nuclear physics, but he couldn’t remember anything actually useful.

Another knock.

“Don’t move,” Joe said to Charlie. Staying low, he maneuvered toward a window to the left of the door and peeked underneath the curtain. Although the light was dim, he could see a man in a dark blue jumpsuit standing on the front stoop. He was about six feet tall, Joe guessed, and wore round, gold-framed glasses. His curly brown hair and pudgy, pockmarked cheeks gave Joe the impression that he was pretty harmless. Plus, he was holding a weathered leather bag in one hand and a Jamba Juice cup in the other. Repairman for sure. But better to be safe than sorry.

“Charlie, I need you to open the door and tell this guy that your grandma is sick and he’ll have to come back another time.” Joe made sure that his tone left no room for disagreement.

“But what if he sees Grandma Rose?” Charlie asked.

“If you only open the door a crack, he won’t see her,” Joe said. “Just don’t let him in, understand?”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“I won’t let him in. I promise.” Charlie walked over to the door.

There was another pound on the door. Loud. Impatient.

Charlie put his hand on the doorknob.

“Wait!” Joe barked. “Put the chain back first.”

“Gotcha,” Charlie said, reaching up and hooking the chain in place. And then, without another hesitation, he opened the door.