I looked at him for a moment, remembering what he had been like when they wheeled him in. As soon as they had opened the door to the ambulance, he had covered his face with both hands, like a vampire afraid of the light of day, all the while calling to me in a panic.

“Why are you so scared to be alone?” I asked him.

Crawley ignored the question so I tried another.

“Why am I here instead of Lexie?”

Crawley took a long moment to weigh his answer, then sighed. This was a good thing, because when people sigh, it usually means they’re about to tell the truth. A sigh means it’s not worth the energy to lie.

“The more Lexie knows, the more she’ll tell her father—my sson,” Crawley said. (He spat it out, like it was a four-letter word instead of three.) “I don’t want my sson to know anything. He’s already convinced that I need to be in an ‘assisted-living facility.’ An old folks’ home.”

“Well, you’re an old folk.”

“I’m venerable, not elderly.” And at my puzzled expression he said, “Look it up.”

“I don’t need to. I’m sure it’s just a word that’s supposed to make ‘old’ sound good, like they say ‘restroom’ when they really mean ‘bathroom,’ and they say ‘bathroom’ when they really mean ‘toilet.’” Then I added, “It’s called a euphemism. Look it up.”

He waved his hand at me. “I don’t know why I waste my breath. You couldn’t possibly understand what I mean.”

“I think I do.”

I thought he’d just wave his hand at me again, but to my surprise he was actually listening—which meant I had to find a way to put into words what I was thinking. I began slow, just in case I flew into some speed bumps that sunk my train of thought.

“Right now everybody knows you as kooky Old Man Crawley, with fourteen dogs in his window and enough power to shut down the egg supply to half of Brooklyn.”

He grinned. “They still remember the eggs, do they?”

“Who could forget? But once you get put in a rest home, you’ll just be some old fart playing checkers and waiting for the aquacize instructor. You won’t be a mysterious force to be reckoned with anymore. And that’s scary.”

He looked at me for a long time. I figured he was generating a really good insult, but instead he said, “You’re slightly brighter than I gave you credit for.”

“You know, your son will find out about this. Lexie will tell him—she probably already has.”

“Just as long as I’m out of here and back in my apartment when I face him.” Then he added, “I just hope Lexie’s all right with that lackluster friend of yours.”