Joe decided to join in and Nora followed, both of them uncertain at first but gathering in strength because Danny’s laughter had always been so infectious and neither could remember the last time they’d seen Connor laugh so freely or helplessly and then Connor sneezed and everyone stopped laughing.

A fine spray of red dots peppered the inside of his mask and bled through to the outside.

Their mother said, “Holy Mary Mother of Jesus,” and blessed herself.

“What?” Connor said. “It was a sneeze.”

“Connor,” Nora said. “Oh God, dear Connor.”

“What?”

“Con’,” Danny said and came out of his chair, “take off your mask.”

“Oh no oh no oh no,” their mother whispered.

Connor took off the mask, and when he got a good look at it, he gave it a small nod and took a breath.

Danny said, “Let’s me and you have a look in the bathroom.”

No one else moved at first, and Danny got Connor into the bathroom and locked the door as they heard the whole family find their legs and assemble out in the hall.

“Tilt your head,” Danny said.

Connor tilted his head. “Dan.”

“Shut up. Let me look.”

Someone turned the knob from the outside and his father said, “Open up.”

“Give us a second, will ya?”

“Dan,” Connor said, and his voice was still tremulous with laughter.

“Will you keep your head back? It’s not funny.”

“Well, you’re looking up my nose.”

“I know I am. Shut up.”

“You see any boogers?”

“A few.” Danny felt a smile trying to push through the muscles in his face. Leave it to Connor—serious as the grave on a normal day and now, possibly facing that grave, he couldn’t keep serious.

Someone rattled the door again and knocked.

“I picked it,” Connor said.

“What?”

“Just before Ma brought out the tea. I was in here. Had half my hand up there, Dan. Had one of those sharp rocks in there, you know the ones?”

Danny stopped looking in his brother’s nose. “You what?”

“Picked it,” Connor said. “I guess I need to cut my nails.”

Danny stared at him and Connor laughed. Danny slapped the side of his head and Connor rabbit-punched him. By the time they opened the door to the rest of the family, standing pale and angry in the hall, they were laughing again like bad altar boys.

“He’s fine.”

“I’m fine. Just a nosebleed. Look, Ma, it stopped.”

“Get a fresh mask from the kitchen,” their father said and walked back into the parlor with a wave of disgust.

Danny caught Joe looking at them with something akin to wonder.

“A nosebleed,” he said to Joe, drawing the word out.

“It’s not funny,” their mother said, and her voice was brittle.

“I know, Ma,” Connor said, “I know.”

“I do, too,” Danny said, catching a look from Nora now that nearly matched their mother’s, and then remembering her calling his brother “dear” Connor.

When did that start?

“No, you don’t,” their mother said. “You don’t at all. The two of you never did.” And she went into her bedroom and closed the door.