There came a morning in the beginning of February, which just happened to be a terribly dreary, wet, cold one, on which the boys awoke to see their mother making coffee. This wouldn't have been a phenomenon to worry about, except that Mr. Kemper, always getting up a good hour before anyone else, made the coffee, so that it was ready for his wife when she came to breakfast. In fact, in all the years that the boys could recall, they'd never seen their mother make coffee more than five or six times, and those times had been when their father was out of town. Neither of them really gathered that this was strange at first. They came to the kitchen, poured cereal, quietly began eating it. Knew something was different—wrong, perhaps—but couldn't specify exactly what. And so much had been different and wrong, lately, that it didn't even really bother them for some moments. However, as their mother retrieved a filter from the cabinet, scooped out two spoonfuls of coffee grounds, filled the pot, and started the machine, they began to sense what it was.

Kyle said it first.

"Where's dad?" He knew. Knew, just like that. Before even saying it. And he didn't really want an answer.

Mrs. Kemper didn't say anything at first, she just messed with the coffee pot, which had, for some reason, begun to spit water all over the counter. "Damnit!" was all she at first offered in response as she grabbed a towel. Wiped the water. Turned off the pot with a huff of anger. And then, her shoulders sagged. She leaned over the counter with her head down, as if the thing had defeated her and it was just too much effort to try again. Throwing the wet towel into the sink, she rubbed her forehead and looked at her sons.

They stared back at her, spoons paused midway to their mouths. Knowing something awful was wrong. Knowing how little their mother swore. Or looked so defeated, for that matter.

"Your father's . . . on a business trip."

The way she said it—so clear in real meaning. And the fact that she was attempting to lie about it infuriated Kyle. He shoved back from the table. Anger contorted his features. Anger and a mix of disbelieving despair. "You liar!" he cried. "The least you can do is say the truth! You did it. You made him go. I hate you!"

"Kyle!" She closed her eyes. Pressed the palms of her hands into them. Mrs. Kemper had absolutely no patience. None. It was entirely gone. Jack sensed, dully, that his mother wasn't herself at all. The woman standing there didn't even resemble the one he'd known his entire life. She was an entity unknown to him. And this shook the stable, uncomplicated world he'd transitioned into over the past weeks. It confused him. Made him remember things he'd deleted from his mind because they'd been hard to understand or categorize.

So he didn't focus on it. Didn't think about it. Switched his brain.

"What time are we leaving for school?" he asked, as casually as he would any other day.

Mrs. Kemper sighed. "Seven forty-five, like always." Then she regrouped and turned back to the coffee pot. Quietly cleaned and restarted it, signaling the end of the conversation. His question seemed to calm her.

As he looked back toward the table, he caught sight of his brother staring at him. The expression on Kyle's face conveyed so much incredulousness and loathing that Jack actually, for the first time since starting on his medication, felt part of him resonate, deep down inside, with hurt. But this, too, he shifted out of perspective. He didn't have time for feelings he couldn't quite fathom.

Kyle was silent for the ride to school. His tumultuous mind and heart, which had been torn after his accident, were fast becoming damaged beyond repair.

Jack knew nothing of his brother's inner turmoil. He was too busy focusing on what his mother had put in his lunch.

School progressed quite normally for Jack the day his father left. He thought little of his mother and father and more of his schoolwork. He was pleased to see he'd received a B+ on his pre-algebra quiz. The grammar activities in communication arts were easy, which also made him happy. In gym, basketball practice was uneventful. Lunch was all right because Grace wasn't there to try talking to him (she'd begun to pester him) and he was able to sit on his own and work on his math homework while he ate. After lunch, his classes moved smoothly, and he went to his last day of his special end room. The teachers there had conferred with his mother and Jack's doctor and whoever the decision maker was and they'd decided to place Jack back into a regular schedule. He was going to be in a normal end room. A study hall with the rest of the students.

His day was made. Nothing could bother him. His parents' problems were far from his mind. And even the look Kyle had given him that morning was long forgotten, folded up and hidden away in one of the shadowy boxes of his mind, where he placed all the little parts of his days and hours that he didn't have time or effort to think about.