So in between moments with the family—with Ben mowing the lawn, with Mrs. Nickelsen watching the squares of the world visible through the window and the sliding doors, her husband next to her, asleep; with Nina reading in the kitchen making more broth, to freeze for later—Ronny tried to process it all, to understand his part in it. Nina knew their secret, and yet acted as though it did not signify, and kidded her brother when he took off his shirt to mow, showing off again, she said; and winked at Ronny, and licked out her tongue, and giggled, walking quickly back to the kitchen, enjoying her secret far too much. Mr. Nickelsen talking about the stupid Democrats and why it was he would never vote for them again, with the integration, and the way they did the Watergate, trying to impeach that poor Nixon fellow, and they were all crooked, and his wife telling him to hush, that he didn’t know anything about that mess and he ought to just let it all alone. She lay in bed and stared dreamily into the room; whether she was content or in pain, peaceful or queasy, impossible to tell, because she rested so completely within her moment. As though to say she was ready for whatever might follow. Only now and then, when Ben was in the backyard and walked the mower where she could see him, a spark of worry; Ronny felt in those moments that he saw the whole history of the family, the mother fretting over the son, maybe not sure why, exactly, but understanding that he was where she needed to place her concern. While on the surface he was the star, the athlete, the boy doing what so many boys dreamed of doing, starring on the football field, going to college on a scholarship. Ben with his roughness, his frantic energy, his anger, and now his hurt.

But he was made for something bigger, maybe? At least a little bigger than a fertilizer salesman who had the raising of children as all he could do. No matter whether he was gay or straight, no matter whether he found a woman, no matter what.

Nina added a contrast, a finished person even at her age, already seeing beyond her present to the life she believed she should have. Aloof beyond her sarcasm, watching everyone else.

The evening passed well, notable only for the fact that Nina pulled her father aside and told him sometimes he was looking at Mrs. Nickelsen like she was already dead, like he was completely terrified—this had been more and more true as the evening wore on. She told him he had to stop doing it right now, and he nodded his head and ran his hand through what remained of his hair. Nina had something more of a hold on her father than Ben. He said it was easier now that the children were around to help.

The next day was chemotherapy day. The whole family went, Ben and Nina wanting to talk to their mother’s doctor. Ronny stayed in the house, reading, freezing the broth Nina had made, making dinner for the family. He tormented himself with the fear of his own ultimate iniquity, that he might be doing good for all the wrong reasons, merely to ingratiate himself, and was certain to be punished. He was focused on the thing he wanted.