“I can do that,” Ben said.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll sit, I’m done.”

“Nina, he’s been working since he got here.”

“And, Ma, I know how much it tickles you to watch a man do the cleaning.”

Mrs. Nickelsen laughed. “You know, I hadn’t even thought about that. I do kind of appreciate it, now that you mention it.” She reached for the stool with her foot. “I think I’m going to get dressed and walk around my house now that maybe I can stand to look at it.”

Ben took her arm. “Let me help.”

“Don’t help too much, now. I need to do some things on my own. The doctor told me to try to get out of bed when I could.”

Nina showed no signs of upset now; she was like her brother, practical and crisp, as though this were an ordinary visit home, and it was normal to have a hospital bed in the middle of the den. “Do you have a wig, Ma?”

“Yes, but I can’t stand to wear it. The day of a treatment my skin hurts too much. And when I feel better I don’t want it on my head. So you all will just have to look at my bird feathers.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant.” Nina frowned. “You look all right.”

“Come with me in the bedroom and I’ll try it on for you,” she said. “I have two, I have one so blonde I look like Marilyn Monroe. I got that to scare your daddy with.” She sniffed. “The house sure smells better.”

Nina went with her mother in the bedroom. Ben came to Ronny, who was opening the sliding glass doors. They were quiet together, side by side.

Nina made a shopping list and sent them off with it, while she stayed to talk with her mom. She gave instructions with an emphasis toward Ben, as though she had to make things clear to him, and he scratched his ears and nodded. When they were leaving the house, Nina was trimming her mother’s ragged hair. “I like your hair this color,” said Mrs. Nickelsen.

“You never let me keep it as short as I wanted to.”

“Well, you were so skinny, I didn’t want you to look like a boy.”

“You never liked my hair, you were always after me to curl it.”

A sharpness to their talk, as if they were at the edge of a quarrel, as if they always were. “Let’s get out of here,” Ben said, “before they piss each other off.”

People knew Ben in town and spoke to him as if he was still the star of the Turtletrack Trojans, as if time had stopped then. A couple of women made the same joke, looking Ronny up and down and saying, “Well, I don’t think you’re on the football team, are you?” then bursting into laughter and grabbing Ben’s arm. The men mostly ignored Ronny altogether, preferring to talk a little Carolina football with Ben. Ronny shopped in the background.