“You were half-asleep under a comic book, remember?” she laughed and swatted his nose. “I walked right past you, honey.” She turned to Del, expecting him to start needling his brother as he did incessantly, but the boy was not laughing or barely paying attention. He was standing amid the guts of the Monopoly game and staring at the back door. “Del, is that where you found that game? Now, start picking that up, young man, before I . . . Del? Are you listening to me?”

He looked at her, wide-eyed, his face drained of color.

She knelt beside him to feel his forehead, but then she heard Bruiser barking and her eyes strayed to where his had been and she saw through the little window that the screen door was standing open. “Is somebody out there? Who is that?” She started for the door.

“No!” the boys shrieked in unison. “Don’t open it!”

She looked at them suspiciously. “And why not?”

Del stammered. “Well . . . because. Just because.”

There was a knock.

Del and Bart exchanged glances full of dread. Billie took another step toward the door but the boys’ hesitancy had infected her and she stopped her hand just short of the knob. She rose onto her toes and peered through the porthole. “Can’t see . . . Who is that out there?” She called out louder. “Who is it?” There was a pause, then, “It’s me, Billie.” The tone was familiar. “Mrs. Schloesser, from down the street? Our phone’s out. Could I use yours?”

The boys whispered to her urgently. “Say no, Mom. Say no.” This was ridiculous she thought, it was just that kind lady from a few doors down who was always bringing cookies over for the boys and who canned her own preserves and brought some for her neighbors every Sunday when she sat in the front row at services and sang hymns the loudest and the most off-key. So why couldn’t she invite her in?

She reached for the knob but stopped. Why can’t I invite her in?

The knock came again, insistently. “Billie? Can I come in?”

Billie reached again for the knob. And pushed the button in to lock it. “I’m sorry. Our phone’s out too.”

The knock came even harder. “Let me in,” the voice said, only now Mrs. Schloesser’s voice was much deeper, angrier. Billie stepped back with the boys. The knob was turning, back and forth, jiggling.

“Who are you!” Billie yelled.

Then the whoop of a siren erupted out front like a sudden storm. It drowned out the creak of hinges as the screen door swung shut. Flashing lights stabbed through the living room drapes and painted the walls red. The boys took their mother by the arms and pulled her along with them, away from the back door.