She waited till the morning of the session before saying anything to him. She could have broached the subject earlier—or Fitz could have, but Fitz was so wrapped up in his books and papers he was barely present half the time, and she hadn’t wanted to burden Corey unnecessarily or build up his expectations or even to make the session sound like anything out of the ordinary. He had school to worry about. And sports (he’d gone out for the soccer team at the urging of Tommy Eggers, who was the center forward, and to his own surprise—and hers—he’d made it). Better, she thought, just to mention it casually, as in By the way, we’re having a session tonight, like every Saturday, only tonight’s going to be a little different. So she stayed in the room, reading, until Fitz had gone off to get his coffee and a couple slices of the homemade bread he liked to dunk idly in it (“You want coffee?” he’d asked and she’d shaken her head no), then got up and rapped lightly at the door that connected their room and Corey’s.

“Can I come in?” she asked, projecting her voice through the door.

“Who is it?”

“Me—who do you think?”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing, it’s just”—and here she pushed open the door to see him sitting up bare-chested on the edge of the bed, though the room was like an icebox—“I wanted to say good morning. Pancakes for breakfast today. With those sausages you like—the links?”

“It’s Saturday,” he moaned. “I just want to sleep, okay?”

She noticed that the window was open and so she crossed the room to pull it shut. “God, it’s freezing in here,” she said, turning round on him and shaking her head, but fondly, and with a smile. “I guess you’re just like your father, because he likes it cold enough at night to freeze Nanook himself. And all the sled dogs too.”

His clothes, including his soccer things—jersey, sweat socks, jockstrap—were piled up in the corner, which gave the place a feral smell. The sheets could have been cleaner and she made a note to herself to ball everything up and stick it in the washing machine, though she’d been trying not to interfere. What he did in his own room was his business (as long as Nancy wasn’t involved). On the dresser stood the twenty-gallon aquarium her mother had bought for him, and it was lit now and burbling and as clean and well maintained as the ones at the pet shop. Fish in every color imaginable rose and fell and darted in and out of brilliant green clumps of plants that rocked gently in the current generated by the filter. It struck her as intensely beautiful, a beautiful thing—a world—he’d created all on his own.