Alex said, “I can’t believe we didn’t get caught, especially since my mom and dad are still awake watching TV.”

“Would they have been mad if they caught us?” Kimmy said.

Alex thought. “Maybe a little.”

Kimmy said, “I don’t think my mom and dad would be too mad either. But it’s still better that we didn’t get caught.”

It was quiet for a bit, then Alex said, “Maybe we should sneak outside tomorrow night. Not just out of our room, but like outside outside.”

“Whoa . . . We would have to be really quiet and careful then,” Kimmy said. “Because I think my parents would be really mad if they caught us sneaking outside.”

“We could go out the rec room door down here,” Alex said. “They wouldn’t probably hear us then.”

“You are so brave,” Kimmy said. She lay on her stomach, facing Alex, the canopy sheet pulled back just enough for her to see across the room. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could make out Alex’s round head, wet teeth that gleamed.

“I think we should,” Kimmy said. “Let’s do it tomorrow night.”

Alex said, “My dad keeps a flashlight in his tackle box. I’ll try and steal it tomorrow morning when we go fishing, so you and me can have it for tomorrow night.”

Kimmy said, “And my sister has that pair of really nice binoculars. I’ll try to sneak into her room tomorrow sometime and get those for us too.” Kimmy paused. “I’m not sure what we’d use them for, but it would be cool to have them with us when we sneak out.”

“Good idea.”

“It’s a plan,” Kimmy said, shifting her face to the very edge of her pillow, which was overly fluffed and practically suffocating her.

“It’s a plan,” Alex agreed, turning onto her left side, pulling her canopy flap down for the night, readying for sleep. Kimmy did the same.

After a bit, Kimmy said, “My dad’s usually not so rude as he was tonight. He’s actually a really nice dad. Even when my mom’s pretty nasty to him, he’s never mean back to her.”

Alex said, “OK.”

It was as quiet as a tomb for several minutes.

Eventually, Kimmy said, “I would shave my head like yours if my face was prettier,” but there was no response.

7

KEATS WAS LATE getting in that night, and Roxie had fallen asleep on the couch, next to Leo. She wore a large Cleveland Browns T-shirt and nothing else. The TV was on but very quiet, one of those local channels that played around-the-clock community theater and talent show productions out of Beaufort. All the windows in their small apartment were open—they were trying to save on utilities—so the air was hot, heavy, strangely harder to breathe now than during the day, when the sun seemed to cut through it and open up the lungs. Roxie was perspiring in sleep and dreaming of thirst.

Keats entered the home quietly, expecting that Roxie would be asleep and hoping not to disturb her, but Leo startled to attention at Roxie’s feet, the collar tinkled, the jaw muscles went tight. Leo emitted a cautionary rumble until he recognized that it was Keats.