Do you think you’d have chosen better? That you’d have altered the course? Alter what? What would you do at that reckonable moment? The end is coming, and soon your judgments will be sealed with dirt.

I know this: After all that happened, I still would make the same choice.

When Jack opened his eyes, Matty was standing right next to the bed, staring at him. “Want to watch a show, Jack?” he asked.

Jack yawned.

“There’s a Batman marathon,” Matty said.

Jack sat up. The other side of the bed was rumpled. Empty. He looked around. A commercial played on the television. Lucky Charms. They’re magically delicious!

“Or we could play UNO,” said Matty.

“Where’s Ava?”

“We’re supposed to stay here.”

Jack rose and went to the window and parted the blinds. His side burned vaguely. Tire tracks in the snow. Almost buried. No car. “Where did she go?”

“Home. She’ll come back tomorrow.”

Jack’s heart started firing odd beats. “Did she say anything else?”

“She left money for food, and we’re supposed to stay here.”

Jack looked out at the day through the jumble of twisting snow and then let the blinds close. He walked to the armchair and sat. Matty sat beside him, on the arm of the chair. After a minute he put his head on Jack’s shoulder.

They spent the morning eating cereal from the box and watching Batman. Side by side under the blankets. He’d planned to get up and take a shower, but sitting with Matty was justification enough to wait. The snow was less. The storm breaking. Anyone could be on the roads soon. Red. The dope dealers. Police. They slept a little, but Jack didn’t really sleep. He thought he shouldn’t have gone to see Red, but it was too late now. He shouldn’t have let himself get hurt. He should have taken better care of Matty.

At noon he got up and showered and cleaned his wound with a washcloth and warm water while Matty watched television. He swallowed an antibiotic and got dressed and took deep breaths. In through the nose. Out. When he thought about taking care of Matty, he couldn’t seem to take a breath deep enough to fill his lungs. Pounding in his head. He told himself to be fine.

Suck it up.

You’re fine.

She’ll come back tomorrow.

He went out and made the bed. His shirt lay folded on the pillow—the one she’d worn. He lifted the shirt to his nose: smell of her, the subtle spice. He put it on.

He tidied things. Put away the cereal, picked up the dirty clothes. Then he sat in the chair by Matty. Batman and Robin were tied up, dangling over a pit of snapping crocodiles. Jack watched Matty watch TV, his tranquil face. He tried not to worry.