"Aunt Bunny told you Mommy was going to die."

The arms clenched tighter. "She's sick. It doesn't stop."

"Mommy's sickness doesn't stop."

"Aunt Bunny said."

Instead of completing the sentence, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up an action figure from a collection of dozens. One s.p.a.ce ranger in an army of miniature centurions posed to do battle, green-scaled, fanged, plated with steroid muscles.

"Aunt Bunny said-"

"I didn't give it to her."

"That's true."

Silence. His mouth tightened into a sour little knot.

"Aunt Bunny told you the truth, Chad. You didn't give Mommy her sickness."

A low, gravelly noise rose from his tiny torso. The sound an old man might make when grumpy or congested or waking up tired.

"You're not sure?"

"The teachers are always saying stay home if you're sick. So you don't give it." Tossing the action figure to the side, the way you'd fling lint. It hit the wall, dropped silently to the bed. "She stays home."

"There are different types of sickness," I said.

Silence.

"The sicknesses your teachers talk about are colds. The sickness Mommy has you can't get from anyone else. Ever."

He retrieved the green warrior, tried to pull off the head. Failed and discarded it again.

"Do you know what Mommy's sickness is called?"

"I gave her a cold."

"Colds are different. You can catch colds from someone else if they sneeze on you."

"One time I was real sick." Touching his abdomen. He tossed the green figure across the room. It hit the wall, fell to the floor.

I said, "One time your tummy hurt?"

"Before."

"Before Mommy got sick."

Grunt. "I was coughing."

"Mommy coughs."

"Yeah."

"There are different kinds of coughs, Chad. You didn't give Mommy's sickness to her. I promise."

Rocking on stubby feet, he got off the bed, dropped to his knees as if praying, searched underneath the frame, and pulled out a drawing tablet.

Professional-quality Bristol board. A handwritten note on the cover said To My Genius Artist, Your Worshipful Ma-mah To My Genius Artist, Your Worshipful Ma-mah in loopy, oversized red script. in loopy, oversized red script.

Chad let go of the pad. It slapped carpet. He touched his belly again. "I throwed up."

"When your tummy was-"

"Mommy throws up. All the time."

"People throw up for all kinds of reasons, Chad."

He kicked the drawing tablet. Did it again, harder.

"Even though everyone keeps saying you didn't give Mommy her sickness, you're worried you did."

His toe nudged the pad.

"You don't believe anyone."

"Hunh."

"They're telling you a lot," I said. "Over and over."

"Hunh."

"Maybe that's making you worried. Everyone talking so much."

He stood, snapped small hands upward in a boxer's stance. Kicked the bed hard. Did it again. Five more times.

Threw himself to the floor and pummeled the carpet with both fists.

Jumped to his feet again and watched me.

I did nothing.

"I'm gonna draw."

"Okay."

"By myself."

"You want me to leave."

"Yeah."

"Would you mind if I stayed a little bit longer?"

Silence.

"Chad, how about I just sit here and don't talk while you draw."

"Unh-uh."

"Okay, then I'll tell Mommy we're finished for today."

Scuttling on his knees to a box in the corner, he grabbed a red marker, dove down belly-first, flipped the tablet open, and commenced drawing circles. Large, red page-filling circles that he began filling in laboriously.

Big red bubbles.

"Bye, Chad. Nice meeting you."

"Unh. No!"

"No?"

"You draw, too," he ordered, without looking up. "We'll draw fast." Ripping his circle drawing out of the tablet, he tore out the following blank page and thrust it at me.

"Draw!"

"What color should I use?"

"Black." He punched air. "We're going fast. I'm gonna win."

Ten minutes later, he'd announced victory fourteen times before announcing, "This time you go."

I left him, found Gretchen in her living room, exactly where we'd left her.

"So?"

"He's a great kid."

"I don't need you to tell me that. What's going on in his head?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary."

"I don't believe this," she said. "Jesus, it's not like I'm going to be around forever, I need meat and potatoes-put out out! Why the h.e.l.l else would I pay you?"

"He's going through what any kid would go through."

"Meaning?"

"Anger, fear. I'm not going to tell you anything dramatic right now because there's nothing dramatic to tell."

"Thought you were the master shrink."

"One thing to be aware of," I said. "Everyone's been telling him he didn't give you the illness. That's better than not dealing with it but sometimes too much repet.i.tion can make kids anxious."

"He said that?"

"I deduced it." I smiled. "Being a master shrink."

"Well, I sure as h.e.l.l didn't bug him about it. I told him once, maybe twice to make sure it sank in, 'cause that's what the books say. Who's everyone?"

"Who else has talked to him?"

"Just Bunny," she said. "Oh, s.h.i.t, I told Bunny to tell him, what, she overdid it? Typical. Only reason I included her was so he'd get a consistent message. And because one day she'll be his...she'll be the one to..." Burying her face in her hands, she moaned, "Oh, G.o.d." Looking up: "Would you just please G.o.dd.a.m.n hold me!"

I was doing just that when Chad came out, holding a page full of black circles.

"You love her?" he said.

Gretchen pulled away, swiped her eyes frantically. "No, no, honey, we're just..."

"You're sad. He wants to make you happy. Maybe he loves you."

"Oh, baby, you're so smart." She spread her arms. "No, he's a friend, he's helping. And you know what I really want? For you you to be happy." to be happy."

Chad stood there.

"C'mere, honey, give Mommy a hug."

He walked over to me and held out the drawing. "For you."

"Thanks, Chad."

"You can come back. We'll make Mommy happy together."

Gretchen swooped him to her breast. "I am am happy, honey, you make me happy, honey, you make me so, so so, so happy." happy."

The movement had pulled the air hose from her nostrils.

A hiss filled the room.

Chad said, "Put it back. So you can get better."

"Anything you say, sweetie boy smart boy. Anything." Plugging the line back in, she said, "Now come up on my lap and I'll tell you a story."

"No," he said. "I'm too heavy."

"You're-"

"I'm big. I'm heavy." Turning to me. "You can go, I'm helping her."