Tim felt a rise of affection and forgiveness for his friend. “Are you sure, though? I mean, I remember you playing the semis against Addison Garner”—they both laughed about Addison’s long bangs—“and just seeing you playing a whole different game from him. It would be too bad if you didn’t…” Tim could see Ben was flattered but put off, and he didn’t know which part of what he was saying was having which effect.

They pretended to be adults and kept sitting in the front window of the coffee shop, watching people walking from their cars to the other stores in the strip. Tim wasn’t bringing up going to HMV, and Ben let it go; he didn’t want to worry about spending money on CDs. They should have gone sledding. Ben didn’t think he was good enough at piano anymore to jam with Tim, and squash was off the table, so what else did they have? What was their friendship other than methods of passing time in the same place? Along with everything else, they both felt relief when it was time to go.

Christmas Eve approached. They bought a tree and hung ornaments on it, but no presents went underneath. On Christmas morning Ben got two Tintin books and a travel backgammon set. His parents said they had already exchanged presents.

The night before Ben was going back, he and his dad went to the movies, but Helen didn’t want to see Dumb and Dumber and so she let them go and started reading her book.

When she was sure they were well gone she went up to Ben’s room and saw his closed-up duffel. She held a packet of lemon squares wrapped in two layers of Saran wrap and a layer of tinfoil, and she paused there for a few moments in the darkness of the room. The duffel was somehow like his face when she had dropped him off to meet Tim, busy with not-knowing her, and she felt the anticipation of missing him and wanting him to come home again. She went to one knee over the duffel and unzipped it partway, starting to slip the lemon squares inside, and then she saw a gleam. She looked closer: their three-quarters-full bottle of Old Grand-Dad.

She smiled in the darkness, absorbing this lie. He was smart. She would bet they’d had that bottle for a dozen years. How could she let him go up there again without any assets? She pulled the zipper closed, stood up, and turned her back on the duffel, and when they got home that night she handed Ben the lemon squares packet directly and said she hoped he liked them and hugged him around his uncushioned rib cage and went upstairs to bed with her throat tight.

11. The Light of Setting Suns

11. The Light of Setting Suns