They ate the sweet fruit one slow bite at a time, light playing over the walls. The fire crackling. The house creaking as stiff places stretched and warmed. After the peaches, Jack fished the beans from the fire. They were nice and hot. When the bowls were empty he rose and tended the fire, and when he glanced back he saw Matty slumped in the blankets with his eyes closed and one foot free of the quilt. His pale skin glowed in the firelight. He had the look of an angel. Jack crouched and pulled the quilt over his foot and then just sat there, looking at him. You do not need to tell him tonight. Let him have this night. Tomorrow you will tell him. Tomorrow you will have a plan. You will know what to do.

He said this fiction to himself.

Outside the darkened glass of the living-room window, snow fell and fell in great flurries of white. Jack was tired and his hands were sore and his throat raw and his mind kept slipping, and somewhere out there in the dark he thought he heard singing. “Silent Night, Holy Night” and the song held many voices. Gleam of candle. A beacon. Hushed words and amen. Hallelujah. Maybe they see us, he thought. Maybe they are looking.

Snow fell and collected in heaps and there was no wind.

VII

The song that Jack heard was sung by many from afar. I wasn’t there the first time, but later I went back and stood with them. I came closer. The house was cold. Jack slept in the blankets, his arm around Matty. His skin and hair lit up like a lantern in the fire’s light. His face peaceful. I saw him so peaceful only that once. I knelt by him. I didn’t touch him, but I watched him sleep. I see now why they don’t permit such things.

I have never been nearer to anyone, and I have never been farther away.

Mom worked at the grocery store until after dark and then rode the bus to the stop and walked the rest of the way home. As she always did. She came into the house carrying a brown-paper sack. She looked at Jack. “I’m late again,” she said.

“I saved you dinner.”

She walked slowly. She smiled at him and at Matty on the couch, her face worn. “What did you make this time?”

“Mac ’n’ cheese.”

“My favorite.”

She went into the kitchen and started pulling groceries from the sack. A loaf of bread. Ramen noodles. A package of M&M’S. Matty slid from the couch and toddled to the table. She opened the M&M’S and dropped one in his little hand. Carefully, she bent and kissed his head.

“What are my boys up to?” she asked.

Jack closed the book. “Just reading.”

“Which one?”

“From the library.”