“Sure.”

“Sorry I’m running my mouth so much. I’m not usually like this. It’s easy to talk to you.”

The two of them were upstairs for a very long time. Mrs. Nickelsen woke and Ronny warmed some of the soup for her. She asked where her children were and Ronny told her they were upstairs. She remained quiet after that, lying on her side looking out the window. He helped her to eat the soup and she closed her eyes again. She appeared to be in pain so he simply sat in the room with her, left her to herself. At times it was hard to tell whether she was awake or dozing. After a while she said, “You know, I wish Ben could find a girl who makes him calm down like you do.”

“Well. Maybe he will.”

“But maybe that’s not what he needs,” she said. Ended with a fit of coughing, waving away the soup, closing her eyes, the pain rising and then subsiding. She went easily into sleep, a miracle maybe linked to the painkillers, and he watched, wondering where his own mother was, wishing he could call.

He took the dishes into the kitchen and met Nina coming down the stairs. She refused to look at Ronny at first and appeared shaken. Her eyes were red. She leaned over the kitchen sink and looked out the window. “Man,” she said. “That hasn’t happened in forever.”

“What?”

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and took the dishes from his hands. “Just talking.” She looked toward the stairs and stood there for a moment. “About how to take care of Mom.” She wiped her eyes again. She stood at the sink shaking, making no sound at all. He started toward her but she shook her head and sniffed. “I’m okay. But listen, go up there, all right? Look after my brother.”

She said it so naturally, as though Ben were Ronny’s charge. It made him wonder.

Upstairs he found Ben sprawled on the bed on his stomach. His eyes were red and swollen and he was breathing hard. Ronny stood in the doorway, watching. Ben shifted his face toward the pillow. “Don’t look at me like this,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I mean it.”

“Mean it, then. I’m not going anywhere.” He closed the door and lay along Ben’s back. He put his face near Ben’s. Far from resisting, he reached for Ronny’s arm and pulled it around him.

“Nina can still get me to cry,” he said. “She always could. I hate it.” He said the words between little gasps. His eyes were completely red, bloodshot, the lids swollen from tears. His face was flushed and his nose was running. Ronny went to get him a tissue and he wiped his nose and threw it on the floor. He turned over on his back and pulled Ronny onto him. “She sitting with Mom?”

“Yes. She woke up and ate some soup.”

“Good.” He pressed his hand onto Ronny’s back, closed his eyes. “I’m fucking scared of this, Ronny. My mom’s so sick.”