Chapter 7

We went to the french doors and stared out into the garden, now buried in snow.

You like it? I asked.

He shrugged with disinterest.

Let’s go see your room,I suggested.

We retraced our steps and went up the marble stairs. Mrs. Ledbetter had “freshened up” two of the guest rooms next to each other. They had a connecting door. If Tony got scared during the night, he could slip out of bed and easily find us.

Jackson had already put Tony’s small suitcase on the end of his bed, and somebody—Mrs. Ledbetter, perhaps—had put toys and board games on the small writing desk under the window, including a Tonka truck that Noah used to play with in the garden.

The sight of that truck brought back a rush of memories.

This is your room,I said. Do you like it?

He shrugged again, as if indifferent to these material things, as if he thought it could make no difference how he felt about them. I’m just passing throughwas his message. None of this has anything to do with me.

Are you okay? I asked.