A quilt from the sleeper sofa was lumped up against the wall under the kitchen table. Jack squatted and pulled the blanket back and saw a golden crown of hair. Then Matty looked up at him, his eyes big. Jack pulled him close. He held him and wrapped the quilt around him. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here.”

Matty clung to him. He spoke not at all. After a while, he stopped shivering.

In the living room, he carried Matty to the stove and crouched on the cold floor, holding him. “I’m going to start a fire. I’ll be right here, where you can see me.” Matty wouldn’t let go at first, but then he did. Jack rose and scrunched newspaper and put it in the stove’s belly and formed a hut of good birch kindling over the paper. He lit a match. When the dry wood caught flame, he settled a big log on top and blew the fire bright. Flames lit up the walls and ceiling in flickering orange. He kept looking at Matty. Matty never took his eyes off Jack.

Jack went to the door and locked it.

With his teeth chattering, he dragged the sleeper sofa mattress in front of the stove and piled up blankets and pillows on top, making a cocoon to catch the fire’s heat. He came around and picked Matty up and nestled him in the blankets. “I’m gonna get some food,” he said. “Okay?”

Matty nodded.

He carried the flashlight to the cupboards and found three candles and lit them and placed them here and there on the counter. In the pantry, he got a can of beans and a can of peaches. From the high cupboard above the fridge came Mom’s two best china bowls, the ones with the little flowers around the rim. Special-occasion stuff, passed down to her by Grandma Jensen. From the drawer he gathered two spoons and a can opener. He sat across from Matty, who studied his every move from within the den of blankets. With the can opener he nipped the peaches lid and turned the knob and poured the peaches into the bowls. He opened the peaches before the beans because Matty liked them best. The can of beans he put in the fire.