Jamey closed his eyes. Henry…the boy, his body, my body…Henry…He opened his eyes. He was still in his bedroom, still his parents’ captive. Captive. Henry has never tried to hold me—physically or emotionally—against my will.Henry had been, Jamey realized, extraordinarily patient with him.
His mother was singing another hymn, “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee,” softly, as she arranged the food on his desk. Jamey watched her. Orange raised his head from where he had been sleeping on the corner of the bed, stood, and stretched, and after rubbing against Jamey, jumped off the bed and wandered out of the room.
“Orange always eats downstairs. I thought it would be easier—well, Pastor Carl said you might go running after that—” His mother stopped as if she had run out of words.
“Running to where? Henry?”
She shuddered at the sound of his name. “Come eat, darling. Here, you come and eat and I’ll go get some coffee and sit with you. I’ve missed you, Jamey. You have no idea how much.”