Matty sat forward and looked at Ava. Then at Jack. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing.”

Jack said this too quickly.

Matty pushed the blanket from his shoulders and looked at the duffel sitting on the table. He didn’t say anything. Jack stood and went to the window. Howl of wind. Snow blowing. Ava’s eyes were on him, and after a minute, he said, “There won’t be many people out tonight.”

“Because of the cold,” Matty said.

“Yeah. Because of the cold.”

“It’s so cold, I just farted snowflakes.”

“You farted snowflakes?”

“A kid at school said that once.”

Ava laughed. It was a soft sound, warm. Like the sun in winter. “You’re funny.”

Matty started laughing, and then Jack did too. Something deep in him churned. If he could capture this moment. Grab on to it.

Matty said, “We should probably stay here. Because of the storm.”

Jack looked at Matty’s face.

“So why are you packing the duffel?” Matty asked.

“Just so we’re ready. When we need it.”

“How long can we stay here?”

“I don’t know.”

“That means not very long.”

“No. Not very long.”

He could hear the weirdness in his voice. Matty twined the bedspread in his fingers and looked away.

Ava stood up. “I’m going to the bathroom.” She looked at Jack, her expression like a weight. “Tell him.”

She went into the bathroom and shut the door.

Jack sat on the bed by Matty. For a minute they watched the snow swirling beyond the windowpane.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said.

“You don’t tell me a lot of things, but I still know.”

“I know.”

“You think you’re protecting me. But I’m the one who has to be brave.”

“You’re right.”

“Are you going to leave?”

“Yes. But it won’t be for long.”

“In the dark?”

“Yes. In the dark.”

“Ava too?”

“I think so.”

“How soon will you be back?”

“We’ll be back before morning. Before you even wake up.”

“I’m awake now.”

“I know.”

“I want to go with you.”

“I know. But you have to stay here.”

Matty bent over and scrubbed at his eyes. He wouldn’t look at Jack. “When we were walking on the road, you were acting really scary.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you getting better?”

“Yes.”

“Are you just saying that?”

“No.”

At last, Matty looked up at him. His hair curled and messy, gilded in lamplight. “Okay.”

“You’ll be all right.”

“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

Jack got up and brought Matty a carton of grape juice. They sat on the bed, side by side, with their backs against the headboard. Jack looped his arm around Matty. His chest an open wound. You have to do this, Jack. You have to. There is no other way.

“Can we watch TV for a while?” Matty asked.

“Yeah. We can.”