Jeremy’s father slipped out of the living room, went out the front door without bothering to close it, allowing a wintry wind to blow into the house. There was the sound of a car trunk slamming shut, and seconds later, Dad was back, nudging the door shut with his body because his arms were full.

He was carrying a cardboard box large enough that his chin was resting on the top. Printed boldly on the side of the box was the word tide.

Was this some sort of joke?

Had Dad bought him a year’s supply of detergent? This was no PlayStation box, that was for sure. But Jeremy continued to hold out hope that there might be such a box within the Tide box. Dad was trying to fake him out here.

His father leaned over, set the box on the floor, and let out a long, exhausted breath. “Lotta stuff in there.” He got down to unfold the cardboard flaps, but then motioned for Jeremy to scoot over and do it himself.

“Go for it,” Dad said.

Jeremy did, feverishly. He pulled back the four cardboard flaps and before he saw what was inside said, “I knew you’d get it! I knew you’d get me the Play—”

He stopped.

There was no video game system in this box. What would Glynis say right about now if she were him? What the fuck? The box was filled with . . .

Trains. Stupid, dumb toy trains.

Jeremy looked into his father’s face, unable to disguise his disappointment.

“No, no, you’re gonna love this,” his father said quickly because the kid looked like he was on the verge of tears. “This is way better than some stupid video game system. Tons more fun, believe me. I had trains when I was a kid, Lionel and American Flyer, and they’re still making this stuff, and—”

“Trains are lame,” Jeremy said.

The words were a dagger to his father’s heart. “Give it a chance. Look what we’ve got here.”

He pulled out a boxcar and then a caboose and then a heavy black metal steam locomotive. None of the pieces was in its original packaging, but carefully wrapped in newspaper. One shred of masthead—showing the Burlington Free Pr—offered a hint of where these trains had come from.

“It’s all used stuff,” Glynis said derisively.

“Where did you get all this?” Jeremy’s mother asked her husband.

As Jeremy continued to bring out more cars and accessories—a tanker car, a flatcar with a helicopter perched on it, a train station, a water tower—his father said, “You know that new guy at work? Wendell? Wendell Comstock? Met him the other day at the Tops?”

She tried to remember, and when she did, her face fell. “Is that the poor man who just moved here? Where was he from?”

“Just across the border into Vermont.” He paused, lowered his voice. “Lucknow.”