{Cary}

On Thursday, Cary bussed home from school, instead of taking the bus to Jon's house. He had an essay to finish, and Jon said that if he had a rough draft done he would come over and edit it the next day.

He expected the main floor of the house to be empty and to eat cold leftovers out of the fridge. Instead, he found Phillippa in the kitchen with Liam tied securely on her back in a broad blue-and-green striped cloth. She smiled when he came in, her cheeks high and round as apples.

"Mr. Douglas, you are just in time. Your mother said you need supper, so I made chicken and rice."

"Don't call me that," Cary said. "Just Cary." The kitchen was filled with the smell of garlic, ginger and soy sauce. "You don't have to cook for me." His stomach growled in disagreement.

Phillippa tsk'd disapprovingly. "I have brothers. I know boys need good food to grow. You are much too skinny."

Cary flinched away from her hand, shrugging his shoulders to cover his involuntary response. Phillippa snapped her fingers instead of pinching his arm. She bent to take the bubbling pan of chicken drumsticks out of the oven. Liam surveyed his new view—the kitchen ceiling fan—with the same puzzled expression he gave everything.

Cary opened the fridge, hunting for a Coke.

"You were at a friend's house today?" Phillippa asked.

He slung a leg over one of the stools at the island counter. "Nope." He cracked open his pop. "Homework."

Phillippa set a plate of curry chicken and rice in front of him, smiling into his face. Cary looked away. "Thanks." He took a bite, then closed his eyes: it was amazing, hot, sweet and spicy.

Phillippa laughed and his face colored. One side of his mouth wanted to smile with her, but he didn't do that here. He watched her clean up out of the corner of his eye as he ate. Phillippa was younger than the other working women he had seen slipping in and out of side entrances in his neighbourhood. He didn't think she would last long in this house. But he was starting to hope.

Liam made a little complaining noise, and Phillippa hefted him around onto her hip and lifted him out of his wrappings. Cary got up to help mix Liam's bottle.

Phillippa smiled again. "Thank you, Mr.–Cary. Do you want to feed him?"

Cary stepped back, crossing his arms tightly. "No." As she settled Liam in the corner of her elbow, he remembered the baby's warmth and weight in his arms. He stayed to watch Liam eat until his brother's eyes drooped with sleep, and Phillippa took the baby upstairs to settle him for his nap.

Cary went to his room and sat at his desk, pouring music from his headphones into his brain and writing one painstaking sentence after another on his essay. He vaguely heard the front door open and close; a few minutes later his mother came into his room carrying Liam. He took his headphones off, watching her sideways.

"Look Liam, it's your big brother. I know, we never see him anymore. Take a good look." Beverly brought Liam close so his blurry eyes focused on Cary's face and widened.

Cary leaned away. "Mom, I have homework."

She put on a pout. "You're so boring: homework here, homework at a friend's house. Liam my love, lie here." She laid the baby in the center of Cary's bed. Liam kicked his legs and gurgled.

"Where's the nanny?" Cary asked.

His mother was rummaging in his closet. "I asked her for a turn." She flashed a smile, sharp as a knife blade, around his closet door. "She's going to do some laundry."

She came out with an armful of Cary's clothes. "Darling, these are filthy." She gave a pair of pants a shake and a shower of wood shavings fell on the floor. "What have you been doing?"

He hadn't lied to her; he just hadn't offered any information. "Framing a garage."

A neat wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. "Should I assume we are not talking about a work of art?"

"Jon's dad is building a garage. That's what it's called when you make the frame of a building out of wood."

For a second, she was speechless. She looked again at his clothes. "Ciaran, if you wanted a hobby, I would have been happy to pay for lessons or sports—or something other than construction." She made a face.

Cary turned back to his desk. "It's what I'm good at."

She sighed. "Well, for God's sake, don't let your father find out." She left with her arms full of laundry, muttering to herself.

Cary stole a look at Liam. His brother was holding up his fist like he had never seen anything so bizarre. Cary turned his desk chair so he could see Liam above the edge of his notebook. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his drawing pencils.

When Beverly returned, she curled on the bed with the baby. She let Liam catch her finger in his tiny fist and grinned over at Cary. "Let's do something fun tonight. The three of us."

Cary lifted his pencil. Almost anything would have been preferable to carving another fifty lines on 'Brian's Winter.' "Like what?"

"I don't know—let's rent one of those old movies we used to watch and have popcorn in our pajamas."

Cary looked at her sideways. "What about Liam?"

She gathered her son in her arms, ready to go. "He'll just sleep. I want some time with you."

Cary shrugged and got up from his desk.

///

When they got back from the movie rental store, his father's black sedan was in the garage. Cary turned his head to watch its smooth side slide by as his mother pulled in beside it. She turned the car off, and they sat silently in the dark.

"Is he supposed to be back today?" Cary finally asked.

She shook her head. "Something must have happened."

"I'll take Liam upstairs?" He waited without looking at her.

"Yes, do that." His mother flipped the visor down and checked her face in the mirror. She made an irritated noise. "No lipstick."

Liam was asleep in his car seat and Cary hated to disturb him for this. He took the keys out of the ignition and went in through the garage door. Beverly went in the front entrance.

He found Phillippa in the nursery, reading with her feet up on the stool. She stood when he appeared. "Mr. Cary? Isn't it Liam's bedtime?"

Cary held out the keys. "He just fell asleep in the car. Can you drive?"

She nodded, half-smiling in amusement and curiosity.

"My mother wants you to drive him around for another 45 minutes so he'll be out for the night."

She took the keys and went out by the back stairwell. Cary hoped that would be enough time.

He went down the hallway to listen from the top of the stairs. His parents were fighting in the front entryway; their voices bounced off the cavern of space above them, making the glass sculpture shiver and shake.

" –come home hungry and find the house empty, the kitchen a mess. Would it be too much to ask to have dinner ready at the end of the day?"

His mother said, "Darling, we had no idea you were coming back today. You told me—"

The 'slap' made Cary's whole body tighten. He saw his mother fall back a step, her eyes wide, red printed across her cheek. She brushed it with the back of her hand, lifting her chin. "Why don't I order in, a nice meal from Ginos?"

"Why don't you do that," Conall growled. "God, my head is splitting."

Cary didn't wait to hear any more. He ducked into his room, threw his window open, and climbed onto the roof. He sat against the house gripping his knees while the sky melted from blue to black.

The light went on in Liam's bedroom. He turned his head and watched Phillippa's shadow pass across the curtain as she tucked Liam in. Nothing disturbed the peace of that scene. It was like looking into another world—a fairy tale he would never be a part of. Cary kept his eyes on Liam's window until the light went out. He shut his eyes. Somehow, he had to keep that peace for Liam.

He was numb with cold, and starving when he slid back through his window. Phillippa's curry chicken seemed like another day entirely. He decided to risk a trip into the kitchen for food before he tried to sleep.

When he stepped out of his bedroom, he found the house dim and quiet. He thought the kitchen was empty until he snapped on a light. His mother was leaning against the cupboards, holding an ice pack to her cheek.

Cary held still. "Are you okay?"

Her eyes darted to his face, then away. She nodded.

"Where is he?"

"His office. The university sent him the wrong assignment. He had all the wrong material to teach from. It was an awful week."

Cary turned aside. "That's not an excuse."

"And you've never had a bad day and taken it out on someone else." She tossed the ice pack back in the freezer and thumped it shut.

It was a low blow; she knew it was. He poured cereal without looking at her.

She sighed and touched his shoulder. He flinched and she rested her hand there, holding him steady. "Same as me, I'm sorry."

It wasn't the same and Conall never said sorry. Cary kept that to himself and ate his cereal. He didn't want to fight with her tonight.

She leaned against the counter next to him while he ate. Her shoulder was level with his. They were the same size now; he hadn't noticed before.

"Can you help me tomorrow?" she asked in a low voice.

Cary swallowed. "With what?"

"I need you to look after Liam, just for an hour. Phillippa's off for Easter weekend. I wanted to go to a Good Friday service."

He was silent. Finally he said, "Like that?"

She turned her face to him; one side was swollen, angry and red. She brushed a strand of hair back. "I'll wear make-up. People see what they want to see. You know that."

First rule of camouflage. He blew out his breath. "Yeah. I'll look after Liam."

He held still while she kissed his cheek. Her lips were dry and cool. "Thank you."

"Good night, Mom," he said softly, as she retreated into the shadowed hallway.