Ben gazed at the cloth. He took a breath and nodded, lay back, closed his eyes. Ronny wiped his face slowly and carefully with the cool cloth until it was clean. He kissed Ben’s forehead and his mouth.

Ben’s hand came up to his neck. “Lie down with me.”

Ronny climbed beside him. They lay there into the night, sometimes talking. Once, when Ben appeared to be drowsing, Ronny went downstairs to see Mr. Nickelsen passed out on the couch, Nina in the chair. He touched her arm. “Don’t you want to go to bed?”

She looked at him, bleak. “I’m all right. I’m with Dad.”

“You want a blanket?”

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

He brought one from the bedroom, got another for Mr. Nickelsen. Nina put it over him. “How’s Ben?”

“Quiet now. After he busted up that chest he cried for a while. I need to get back up there.”

“Did he hurt himself?”

“I didn’t even think to look at his hands.”

“I was scared shitless, I thought he was freaking.”

“How are you?”

“Holding up. I cried and cried and now I’m too tired to think.”

“He wore himself out pretty much the same way.”

“Go back,” she said, “before he gets like that again.” She yawned and closed her eyes. “I told people to stay away from here but they’ll all be at the funeral home tomorrow.”

Upstairs, Ben was standing by the window, his jeans shoved partly down his legs. He’d started to undress and gotten caught by his own thoughts. His face looked better, but still like a wasteland. Ronny took off his own clothes by the bed, assuming they were going to try to sleep, or at least to lie still. Ben did the same and they crawled into the sheets and lay quietly. “How’s everything down there?” he asked.

“Your dad’s on the couch in the den. Your sister’s on the recliner. She says she wants to sit with your dad.”

“He won’t go to bed without Mom,” Ben said.

“He’s asleep, though.”

“Drunk?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Me neither. I never drank a drop.” He was looking up at the ceiling, speaking to someone there.

Ronny ran a hand through Ben’s dark hair. “Show me your hands.”

The fingers and knuckles were cracked and swollen, bruised, partly clotted though still bleeding a little, from the chest. “Do you want me to clean these?”

“No.” His mouth was set, his jaw grinding. “They’re fine.”

Ronny kissed the fingers gently and settled against Ben again. Ben lay his arms against Ronny’s back. “It’s a miracle you don’t argue.”

Ronny had no answer, just lay still, touched the hands gingerly, waited.

“My ma wouldn’t be too happy I busted a piece of furniture.”

“She’d probably be glad you didn’t try to hold your feelings in.”

He snorted, pulling Ronny tight. “There goes that fucking Pollyanna gene again.”

“I don’t mean to be stupid.”

“You sound just like her,” Ben said. “Just as calm. And always coming up with something I don’t expect. And always finding a way to make something out of my mess.”