"Or maybe it was gray," Mary said.

Bonnie saw Rod's face tilting toward hers as he'd tucked her in bed last night, his prematurely gray hair accentuating his boyishly handsome face.

"Maybe it was brown," Mary mused, unaware of the havoc she was causing to Bonnie's insides. She suddenly thrust her dentures out of her mouth, balancing them on the tip of her tongue.

"Oh gross," Lauren said.

Bonnie's stomach reeled.

Mary popped the dentures back inside her mouth, clicked them sharply into place. "Can I have her vanilla custard?" she asked, her hand reaching toward the tray.

"I think my grandmother might like to try her custard," Lauren said, with surprising authority, lifting the small cup of custard away from Mary's grasp. "Wouldn't you like to try some custard, Grandma?" Lauren scooped a tiny amount onto the edge of a small plastic spoon and placed it delicately on her grandmother's tongue. "Do you like that, Grandma? Is it good?"

Slowly, Elsa Langer's face turned toward her granddaughter, her eyes slipping into gradual focus, like a kaleidoscope.

"Grandma?" Lauren asked. "Grandma, can you see me? Do you know me? Grandma, it's Lauren."

Elsa Langer stared at her granddaughter, as everyone in the room leaned forward. No one breathed. "Lauren?" the old woman said, the word a sigh.

Lauren's eyes grew wide with wonder. "Did you hear that, Sam?" she whispered. "She knows me. She knows who I am."

"Grandma," he said quickly, jumping out of his chair, lurching toward the bed, almost upsetting her lunch tray, "it's me, Sam. Do you remember me?"

"Lauren," Elsa Langer repeated, eyes not moving from her granddaughter.

"I'm here, Grandma," Lauren said. "I'm here."

But the focus in Elsa Langer's eyes was already shifting, retreating, disappearing.

"Where does she go?" Lauren asked, several seconds later, when it became obvious she wasn't coming back.

"I'm not sure," Bonnie said.

"Do you think she really knew who I was?"

"I'm sure she did."

Sam pushed himself off his grandmother's bed, walked to the door. He said nothing, but it was obvious he was ready to leave.

"Do you think she's thinking about anything?" Lauren asked, watching her grandmother's face.

"I don't know."

"I think she must be thinking about something," Lauren said.

"I don't think she thinks about anything," Sam said, impatiently. "And you know what else I think? I think it's better that way." He opened the door and walked from the room.

"Testy young man," Mary said, dentures clicking in and out of her mouth. "Just like my late husband. May he rest in peace."

"We should go," Bonnie said, gently touching Lauren's shoulder, grateful when Lauren didn't automatically pull away.

Lauren leaned forward, planted a delicate kiss on her grandmother's cheek. "Good-bye, Grandma," she said. "We'll be back again soon. I promise."

Elsa Langer said nothing. Bonnie led Lauren from the room.

"Bonnie was sick on the way home," Lauren told her father as soon as they walked in the front door, Sam immediately disappearing up the stairs to his room.

"I wasn't sick," Bonnie insisted.

"You had to pull over. Sam had to drive home."

"I got a little dizzy," Bonnie explained, seeing the worry in her husband's face. "I don't think the air conditioner is working properly in my car."

"You look awful," Rod said.

"Thanks," Bonnie told him. "Where's Amanda?"

"Mrs. Gerstein took her to the park."

"When did you get home?" she asked.

"About half an hour ago." Rod took Bonnie's elbow, guiding her to the stairs. "Now, I want you to get into bed and get some sleep."

"Rod, don't be silly. I'm fine."

"Don't argue with me. You have the flu; you should be in bed. I'll call Marla and cancel tonight."

"I'll be fine by tonight," Bonnie protested, wondering why. The last thing she wanted to do was have dinner with Marla Brenzelle.

"All right, we'll see how you're feeling later. Meanwhile, go upstairs, get undressed, and get into bed. I'll bring you up some tea."

"Rod..."

"Don't argue with me."

"Apparently, Elsa Langer had another visitor this morning...."

"We'll talk about Elsa later."

"But..."

"Later," he insisted.

"This is silly," Bonnie muttered, becoming angrier with each step up the stairs. "I'm probably just overtired. I'll sleep for half an hour, then I'll be fine."

When Bonnie opened her eyes, Lauren was standing at the foot of her bed. She looks beautiful, Bonnie thought, pushing herself up on her pillows, thinking she must be in the middle of a dream. Lauren was wearing a bright blue little dress that started in the middle of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and stopped in the middle of her thighs. It made her look very grown up, Bonnie thought, wishing she could have looked like that at fourteen, wishing she could look like that now. "How beautiful you are," she said, her mouth dry.

"Thank you." Lauren smiled, self-consciously. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure," Bonnie said honestly, wetting her lips with her tongue. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven-thirty."

"Almost seven-thirty?" Bonnie looked over at the clock on the night table for confirmation. Could she really have been asleep all afternoon? "My G.o.d, I have to get up. I have to get ready."

"You're not going anywhere," Rod said, coming into the room, wearing a deep green silk shirt and black pants, looking wonderful.

"I don't understand," Bonnie said, struggling to get out of bed.

"Lauren's volunteered to be my date tonight," Rod told her.

"What?"

"Honey," Rod began, "you have the flu. Stop being so stubborn and admit it. You feel like s.h.i.t. There is absolutely no way you're up for going out tonight. One look at Marla and you'd probably throw up all over her, which would not do a great deal to enhance my career. So please, do us all a favor, and stay in bed."

"Do you mind?" Lauren asked timidly.

"Mind? Of course not," Bonnie told her, secretly delighted with the way things were working out.

"I already fed Amanda dinner and got her settled into bed," Lauren said.

"You did?"

"She's great with her," Rod said proudly.

"And Sam's here, if you need anything."

"Thank you," Bonnie said, renewed fatigue settling over her like a heavy blanket. Have a good time, she wanted to tell them, but she was asleep before the words could come out.

She was dreaming of tomatoes, lots of fat red tomatoes in the produce section of a small grocery store. Bonnie picked up one tomato, turned it over in her hand, then squished it between her fingers, watching thin veins of tomato juice trickle down the back of her hand to her arm.

She lifted both arms to the ceiling, tomato juice cascading, as if from a waterfall, across her face, sneaking between her lips, inside her mouth. She opened her mouth wide in order to drink more.

Bonnie woke with a start, a stale taste permeating the inside of her mouth. She needed a gla.s.s of water, she thought, climbing out of bed and shuffling toward the bathroom, glancing at the clock. It was almost ten-thirty. Three more hours lost, and she still didn't feel any better.

She poured herself a gla.s.s of water and drank it slowly, praying it would stay down. The stale taste remained, so she squeezed some toothpaste on her toothbrush and vigorously brushed her teeth, the normally cool mint taste curiously dull and ineffective. She swirled some water around in her mouth and spit it out, her spittle laced with traces of blood. "Great," she said, shuffling back out of the room. "Just what I need."

The upstairs hall was in almost total darkness, except for the small night light in the shape of a ballerina that shone outside Amanda's bedroom. Bonnie slowly approached her daughter's room, the light from the television flickering underneath Sam's door, m.u.f.fled electronic voices squeezing toward her bare feet, licking at her toes.

Amanda was sound asleep in her bed, her covers bunched around her knees, her hands thrown back above her head, her head across her left shoulder. Bonnie pulled the covers up, tucked them under Amanda's chin, kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I love you, sweet thing," she whispered.

I love you more, she heard the walls echo as she left the room.

Bonnie stopped for an instant in front of Sam's room, peering at the closed door as if she could see right through it. She heard the noise of the television-a man talking, a car accelerating, a woman screaming-and turned aside, about to return to her room, when she became aware of another sound, a sound so low she almost missed it, a sound so haunting she found herself frozen to the spot.

She stood this way for several minutes, ear pressed against the door, listening to the sound. It was as if the walls were moaning, she thought, as if someone were trapped inside, begging for release. The walls are crying, she thought, pushing open Sam's door.

On the television, a scantily clad young woman was screaming as she ran from a masked knife-wielding attacker. Bonnie's eyes traveled from the TV to the top of her once majestic oak desk, on which L'il Abner lay pressed against the gla.s.s of his tank, to the sofa on which Sam sat, watching the television with tears streaming down his face, his lips slightly parted, a low hum vibrating from his throat, as if he were lost in the throes of some medieval chant.

"Sam?" Bonnie approached him gingerly. "Sam, are you all right?"

The low moan continued even as he turned toward her, as if it had a life of its own, as if it didn't depend on Sam for its existence. Bonnie's arm reached out; her hand touched Sam's shoulder. She felt him flinch, but she didn't withdraw and he didn't pull away. Slowly, she lowered herself into the seat beside him, her arm snaking around his side.

"What is it, Sam? Please, you know you can talk to me."

The wailing grew louder, more intense. Bonnie fought the urge to bring her hands to her ears. Instead, she drew the boy toward her, pressing his face to her chest, feeling his wet tears through her nightgown, the moan growing louder, as if emanating from an echo chamber.

His arms encircled her, quickly tightening their grip, as if trying to pull her into the center of his grief, as if he were hanging on for dear life. Which perhaps he was, Bonnie thought, allowing him to cling to her, smoothing back his long black hair, her eyes alternating between the woman being butchered on the TV screen and the snake now stretching toward the top of the gla.s.s tank. Suddenly, Sam's body exploded in a series of violent sobs.

Bonnie rocked Sam back and forth in her arms like a baby. "It'll be all right, Sam," she told him. "It'll be all right."

They sat this way for a long time, Bonnie's lips pressed against the top of Sam's head, the smell of his freshly washed hair filling her nose. The movie ended. From the little Bonnie could make out, everyone had died. The snake continued exploring the inside of his tank, his head occasionally prodding its gla.s.s top, as if trying to escape.

Eventually, Sam stopped crying. "I'm sorry," he said, refusing to look at her.

"Don't be sorry," Bonnie said, temporarily forgetting her own discomfort. "And don't be embarra.s.sed. You have nothing to be sorry for, nothing to be embarra.s.sed about."

"I'm crying like a stupid little kid."

"You don't always have to play the tough guy, Sam," Bonnie told him. "Talk to me. Tell me what's going on inside your head."

There was a long silence. "She didn't know me," Sam said finally. "She didn't know who I was. She knew Lauren, but she didn't know me."

"I'm so sorry, Sam," Bonnie said. "Maybe the next time we go..."

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm not going back there."

"She's a sick old woman, Sam," Bonnie told him. "Who knows what's going on inside that confused mind of hers?"

"She knew Lauren."

Bonnie said nothing.

"I just want somebody to love me," Sam blurted out, the words escaping his mouth in a great anguished sweep.

"Oh G.o.d, sweetheart," Bonnie cried with him. "I'm so sorry for the pain you're feeling. I wish I could do something to make it all go away. I wish there was something I could say..."

Sam shook his head roughly from side to side. "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," Bonnie told him. "Because you matter. You're a person who deserves to be loved, Sam. Do you hear me? You deserve to feel loved."

Sam said nothing, refusing to look at her.

Bonnie sat watching him for several minutes. It was obvious that he was deeply embarra.s.sed by his outburst, that he would say nothing further. "I better get back to bed," she told him.

"Can I get you some tea or something?" Sam offered.

Bonnie smiled, tenderly patted Sam's cheek. "Some tea would be nice," she said.