He could see the face was fading. And yet, for one moment, he had an indescribable sense of freezing dread, as if a cold wind had blown across him from years and years ago. There was a feeling of someplace else… someplace known and familiar and yet frighteningly strange. The feeling was there and it was gone, so quickly that he couldn’t grasp what it was.

He banged his hands against the wardrobe door and said, “Who’s Allen? Who’s Allen?”

He was more and more alarmed, and he screeched at the top of his high-pitched voice, “Who’s Allen? Who’s Allen? Who’s Allen?”

The bedroom door burst open and his daddy said, “Toby? Toby—what in hell’s the matter?”

*

Over breakfast at the pine kitchen table, bacon and eggs and pancakes, his daddy sat munching and drinking coffee and watching him fixedly. The San Francisco Examiner lay folded and unread next to his elbow. Toby, already dressed for school in a pale-blue summer shirt and jeans, concentrated his attention on his pancakes. Today, they were treasure islands on a sea of syrup, gradually being excavated by a giant fork.

At the kitchen stove, his mommy was cleaning up. She was wearing her pink gingham print apron, and her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail. She was slim and young and she cooked bacon just the way Toby liked it. His daddy was darker and quieter, and spoke slower, but there was deep affection between them which didn’t have much need of words. They could fly kites all Sunday afternoon on the shoreline, or go fishing in one of the boats from his daddy’s boatyard, and say no more than five words between lunch and dusk.

Through the kitchen window, the sky was a pattern of white clouds and blue. It was September on the north California shore, warm and windy, a time when the sand blew between the rough grass, and the laundry snapped on the line.

Susan Fenner said, “More coffee? It’s all fresh.”

Neil Fenner raised his cup without taking his eyes off Toby. “Sure. I’d love some.”

Susan glanced at Toby as she filled her husband’s cup. “Are you going to eat those pancakes or what?” she asked him, a little sharply.

Toby looked up. His daddy said, “Eat your pancakes.”

Toby obeyed. The treasure islands were dug up by the giant fork, and shoveled into a monster grinder.

Susan said, “Anything in the paper this morning?”

Neil glanced at it, and shook his head.