“Kind of like your leaving,” he says. “Who knew you’d end up being a runner? Not after what happened with Bear and Otter.”

“We’re not Bear and Otter.”

“Clearly.”

“You’re not even….”

He watched you like you were the only thing that existed in the world. For him, I’m pretty sure you were. For at least those moments.

“What?”

“Never mind,” I say instead. The coward’s way out.

The doorbell rings. “Shit,” he says, glancing down at his watch. “She’s early.”

“Who?” I ask, like it’s my business to know.

“Stay here with Ben,” he says without looking at me. He stands and disappears toward the front door. I hear it open, followed by low voices. Eavesdropping is bad, I decide, but only after I realize I can’t hear anything.

“This has been a weird day,” I mutter.

“You gonna stay here with my dad?” Ben asks me. He’s got peanut butter on his face. How he managed to get it on his forehead, I’ll never know.

“I have my own house,” I say. I get up and wet a paper towel in the sink.

“With Bear?”

“With Bear.”

“And Anna? I know Anna.”

“You do, huh?”

“She picks me up from school sometimes.” He watches every step I take toward him.

“You’re wearing your food,” I tell him.

He cocks his head at me.

“Peanut butter,” I say. “On your face.”

He doesn’t say anything. Children are so weird.

“I’m going to clean you, okay?”

He doesn’t react as I gently grip his chin and dab the peanut butter away. His gaze never leaves me, and his eyes are blue, the same shade as his father’s. In fact, this close, there would be no mistaking who he belonged to. I wonder briefly if he’ll be just as big. I don’t know much about autism, but it’s not a death sentence. He might grow out of a lot of it. And even if he doesn’t, from what I’ve seen, he’s remarkable. Kids like him usually are, deserving far more credit then they’re given. He’ll probably prove himself to be more resilient than I ever was.

I half expect him to pull away while I clean his face. “Ursidae and Mustelidae,” he says to me.

“You sure know a lot about animals,” I tell him.

“I like them.”

“Me too.”

“There’s bugs,” he says. “Outside.”

“That’s how I met your daddy. Because of bugs.”

He nods as if that makes perfect sense.

His face is clean and I let him go. “All finished.”

“Told you,” I hear from the entrance to the kitchen. I jump, feeling guilty, but over what, I don’t know. I turn and Dominic is there, leaning against the doorway, arms across his chest. Standing next to him is Ben’s mother.

Stacey.

She looks at me with something akin to awe. I look at her as one would look at another if unsure they’re friend or foe. She was always so nice. So upbeat. So friendly.

And for the longest time, I would not have been sad had she been eaten by a walrus. Awful, that. Of course, had she defended herself and killed said walrus, I would have probably labeled her an animal-killer and would have expressed my moral outrage by bashing her character on the PETA message boards.