The front door squeaked open and Matty clattered inside, stomping snow, bright cheeks, damp wool hat pulled down to his eyes and coat zipped up to cover his chin. The coat had once been Jack’s and, before that, somebody else’s. A rip in the front exposed stuffing, but inside was flannel and warm. Matty slammed the door shut and pulled off his coat and hat and smiled.

“Jack, you’ll never guess. I got every times table right. All the way to the twelves. I didn’t miss even one.”

The potatoes sizzled, and Jack turned them over to brown both sides. Salt and pepper. For a second things felt normal. Except his eyes. The hot sting at the edges. In his head a pulse began to beat. “Nice work, short stuff. Now hang your coat and wash up.”

“You think we can have peaches tonight?”

Jack nodded. “To celebrate your times tables.”

Matty hung his coat and bag on the wall hook by the stove and placed his boots carefully by Jack’s, lining up the heels. He looked at the rocker and stood there a moment. Thoughtful. An expression of concentration on his face. He turned and went upstairs, and Jack heard the bathroom faucet turn on. There was a tang in his mouth. It tasted like gunpowder.

The door is locked.

The door is locked.

After a minute Matty came back down. He watched Jack cooking. Then he dragged a kitchen chair to the cupboard by the sink and got out plates.

Together they laid out everything and sat at the Formica table. Fried potatoes and peaches and cups of hot instant coffee. Jack knew what was coming and readied himself.

“Where’s Mom?” Matty asked.

“She went on a trip.”

“I checked the bathroom and she ain’t in there.”

“I told you. She went on a trip.”

“Well, who’d she go with?”

“A friend. Somebody you don’t know.”

“Like who?”

“Eat your potatoes,” Jack said.

Matty didn’t eat. He looked at her rocker. He looked at Jack. “She didn’t take her rainbow blanket.”

Jack glanced at the blanket. Rows of crocheted yarn. The edges pulled loose and faded to orange where the red used to be. A gift from Grandma Jensen when Mom was just eight. Stupid, to forget that blanket. “No. I guess not.”

“I don’t think she’d go nowhere without her blanket.”

“Maybe she forgot it.”

“You think she’s okay in the snow?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“When will she be back?”

Jack drank a little coffee and burned his mouth. He ate his potatoes.

Matty watched him. “Are we okay?”

“Yeah. We’re okay.”

Jack ate. Chew and swallow. Sip of coffee. You will do this for him. You will not let him know. You will not.

Matty sat watching him. Then he picked up his fork and started eating.

Good.