Ralf took a bite of his grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich. Usually, his mother would have something to say if he didn’t eat what she considered a “normal” breakfast, but today she sat with a mug of tea in her hands and stared into the yard through the glass panel in the kitchen door. There wasn’t much to see there. The shed, the paving slabs, a few planters. The backyard bordered the neighbors’ on all three sides. His father had planted linden trees along the fence to give more privacy, and it had worked: nobody could see you sitting outside. But the trees also kept the sun out. Ralf recalled the yard at Sara’s house. They could always find a sunny spot there. And they had that swimming pool, an outdoor kitchen, and a lawn big enough to play soccer on.

Tonight, he would finally see the inside of that house. He hoped the father would be there too.

“There was somebody at the door looking for you last night. A slightly older boy,” said his mother.

“Who?”

“He did tell me his name, but I can’t remember it.”

“What did he look like?”

“Smartly dressed.” She gestured to her upper body. “He was wearing slacks and a shirt. And a red cap.”

Ralf looked steadily at his mother. He had suddenly lost his appetite. “His face, Mom.”

“Pale—a little unhealthy looking. Dark-blond hair. He didn’t seem quite with it, but he was very friendly. Very polite.”

“What did he say?” He put his sandwich back on his plate.

“He’d lost your phone number and wanted to remind you that you’d arranged to meet up.” She frowned. “Sunday, he said.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I gave him your number. Didn’t he call?”

He clenched his jaw and turned his face away.

She paused briefly, and then asked softly, “Ralf? That boy isn’t a friend of yours, is he?”

He didn’t respond.

“Are you in trouble?”

Ralf avoided her eyes. He felt tears welling up, and his body began to tremble. He took a deep breath and sniffed hard, like he had a cold.

“Ralf, if you tell me what’s wrong, then I can help you.” Then, more gently, “You don’t have to figure this out on your own. You know you can always turn to me and your father for help.”

“Not for everything.”

“You can for this, Son. For exactly this sort of thing.” She stood up and walked over, crouched down next to him, and regarded him inquiringly.