'Thank you,' she said. 'Why don't you take your coat off?'
'That's okay.'
She went into the kitchen. He followed close behind. She opened the minifridge. Not much there. There were a couple of eggs, though, that were probably still all right. No bread. She thought she might have some crackers somewhere.
'How about scrambled eggs?' she said. 'Okay.'
She washed out the skillet, which had been soaking in the sink for a few days, and passed through a moment of surreal embarrassment about her housekeeping. The boy stood a few feet away, watching her. In the light, she could better appreciate how compromised he was. His shoulders, frail as the bones of a bird, canted to the right. His ears were mere nubs, bright pink, like wads of chewing gum stuck on either side of his big round skull.
'Where are your children?' he asked.
'I don't have any.'
'You don't have any at all?'
'No.'
He was getting agitated. He was looking around the apartment and fingering the lighter. Apparently he thought every woman had to have children.
'Okay, yes,' she said. 'I have a little boy named Luke. But he's not here now. He's far away.'
'Is he coming back soon?'
'No. He's not coming back soon.'
'Luke is a nice name.'
'How old are you?' she asked as she cracked an egg into a bowl.
'I'm the youngest.'
'And what's your name?'
'I don't have one.'
'What do people call you, then?'
'I know when they're talking to me.'
'Your brothers didn't have names, either?' He shook his head.
Cat broke the second egg. She looked for a moment at the two yolks, their deep yellow, floating in the pallid viscosity. It was so normal: two eggs in a bowl. She beat them with a fork.
'Did you love your brothers?' she asked.
'Yes.'
'You must miss them.'
'I do.'
She poured the eggs into the pan. Ordinary, ordinary. Making scrambled eggs for a child. Should she throw the hot pan at him? No, his hand was still inside his jacket, holding the lighter. It was too risky. She scraped the eggs with a spatula, put them on a plate with a couple of Triscuits.
'Come on,' she said. He followed her to the table in the living room. She put the plate down for him, went back for silverware and a glass of cranberry juice. It was that or tap water.
If he detonated in here, the whole apartment would go-She took him a fork, a napkin, and the juice. She sat in the other chair, across from him.
'Don't you want any?' he asked. 'I'm not hungry right now. You go ahead.' He ate innocently, hungrily. She watched him. 'Have you always lived with Walt?' she asked.
'Yes.' He took a sip of the cranberry juice and grimaced.
'Don't you like the juice?' she asked.
'No, it's okay. I've just never had it.' He took another sip.
He was trying to please her. He was being polite.
'Does Walt hurt you?' she asked.
'No.'
'Then why do you think she wants you to die? That doesn't sound like love to me.'
'We don't die. We go into the grass. We go into the trees.'
'Is that what Walt tells you?'
'It's in our home.'
'What's in your home?'
'Everything is.'
'Do you go to school?'
'No.'
'How often have you left?'
'At first, I never did. Then it was time, and we went outside.'
'What was that like?'
'It was hard. I mean, I was surprised.'
'By how big the world is?'
'I guess.'
'Did you like it?'
'Not at first. It was so noisy.'
'Do you like it now?'
'Yes.'
'Is that why you're not sure if you're ready to go into the trees and the grass?'
'I'm not brave,' he said. 'I'm not loving. My brothers were.'
'Can I tell you something?'
'Uh-huh.'
'The world is more beautiful and wonderful than you can imagine. It's not just the city.'
'I know that. It's on the wall.'
'But it's different when you see it. There are mountains. There are woods, and they're full of animals. There are oceans. There are beaches covered with shells.'
'What are shells?'
'They're… They're the most beautiful little round boxes. The ocean makes them. And when you put them close to your ear, you can hear the sound of the ocean inside them.'
'The ocean makes boxes and puts itself inside?'
'It puts its sound inside. Wouldn't you like to go to a beach and see the shells?'
'I guess.'
'I could take you there. Would you like me to do that?'
'I guess.'
'You can have a long, wonderful life. You can see the ocean. You can sail on a ship.'
Why did she feel even slightly guilty, telling him that?
He said, 'I like dogs.'
'Of course you do. Dogs are nice.'
'But they can bite you, right?'
'No, a dog wouldn't bite you. A dog would love you. He'd sleep with you at night.'
'I think I'd be afraid.'
'You wouldn't have to be afraid. I'd be with you.'
'You would?'
'Yes. I would. Now. Why don't you take that thing off your chest?'
'I shouldn't do that.'
