“See you at Sook’s service?”

“And if you compare the number of bears—”

“Don’t screw it up,” Hannah called back as she ran toward the old woman, who was now trying to hop on her unsullied foot while using the back of the bench for balance.

“Animals are better than people,” Tean shouted after Hannah.

“You’re a wildlife vet,” Hannah shouted back. “You know that’s not true!”

“At least animals don’t—”

“Talk about movies,” Hannah shouted over him. “Rand loves movies.” She turned to the old woman, apologizing. When she reached for Divorcee, the Yorkie sprinted away from her.

“The whale story is better,” Tean informed Divorcee as she pranced up to him. He glanced over to check on Scipio, who was playing tag with Bear now, both dogs sprinting the length of the park. The late afternoon sunlight drew long shadows: the fence, the dogs, the guy with the tank top and tattoo.

Out of the corner of his eye, too late, Tean registered what was happening. Sniffing his shoe, Divorcee got into position and gave him the rest of the tank.

“Damn it,” Tean shouted. “Your dog, Hannah!”

“What were you saying about animals?” she called.

3

“People suck,” Jem said, carrying the TV tray with a Stouffer’s single-serve lasagna into the living room. He had to kick aside some of the bagged newspapers, and his foot came down on something that was soft and still possibly alive. On his next step, he connected with a loose can of store-brand cola, and it shot out, ricocheted off the entertainment center, and hit a pyramid of root beer bottles. The bottles came tumbling down, brown glass tinkling, but at least none of them broke. “God damn it, Benny, you’ve got to clean this place up. You’re supposed to be an adult, for Christ’s sake. This place is a sty.”

Benny swiped at the stringy hair hanging in front of his face, glanced up from the mess of papers in front of him as Jem set down the lasagna, and mumbled, “They’re gonna kill me.”

“Nobody’s going to kill you. People suck, sure. But nobody’s going to kill you.”

“Yes, they are. They are.”

“Who’s they?”

Benny just mumbled to himself and bent closer to examine pages filled with his scrawl.

“Hey, dummy,” Jem said, rapping Benny on the head. “I’m talking to you.”

“Cut it out,” Benny said, swiping at Jem.

Jem was faster, though, and he rapped on Benny’s head again. “Meds?” he asked.

“Doctor took me off them.”

“No joke? That’s great.”

Benny scratched out a line on the topmost page and scribbled something in the margin.

“Don’t lie to me, Benny. Where’s your medicine?”

“I don’t like how it makes me feel. I’m not taking it anymore.”

“Not your choice.”

“I flushed all the pills.”

Jem had to walk into the kitchen. The apartment was a shithole in West Valley, built in the 1970s by guys who had never cared about the place looking nice or lasting long. Now, almost fifty years later, the whole complex was a shrine to greedy landlords. Ancient paint bubbled and peeled, evidence of water damage and, probably, mold. The carpet was brownish gray and matted—Jem had been shocked, when he had moved Benny’s bed, to discover a patch of robin’s egg blue that must have been the original coloring. The linoleum in the kitchen was peeling, and half of the time when Jem came over, he ended up using crazy glue to stick it back to the floor. In the bathroom, the ceiling bulged and sagged ominously, and once, Jem could have sworn he’d seen a drop of water.