A Measure of Blood by Kathleen George

and your friends and they have lots of room and they have a dog.”
    Again Christie tells himself this is right. These people should have a kid. This kid needs parents.
    Jan and Arthur don’t leap on the boy. They let him look at them for a moment. Then Jan leans over to say, “Hi, Matt. Hi. I’ve been thinking about you this whole trip home.”
    â€œWhere were you?”
    â€œIn France.”
    He nods.
    Arthur has stooped down beside him. “Hi. We were so eager to get here. We’d like to show you our house.”
    â€œMr. Christie told me you have a dog.”
    â€œOh, we do. He’s a good one. Big and affectionate. Do you … do you like dogs?”
    â€œWe weren’t allowed to have one in our apartment.”
    â€œThat’s the usual rule for apartments. Our dog is named Felix. We love the name.”
    â€œFelix. Why?”
    â€œThe name means happy. Oh, back in Roman times, anyway, the name comes from the word for happy . So we thought that was a good idea. How about we take you to meet him?”
    Jan’s face shines with hope. She’s a smart-looking woman, medium-length hair with a slight wave, brown eyes, and an open face, eager to please. “We still have to get our luggage.”
    â€œWe could meet you at the house,” Christie volunteers. “We could go get us a milkshake and meet you in an hour or so.”
    Is he right? Is everyone relieved by the little break he has proposed?
    TWO HOURS LATER, Matt is ready for bed in his new pajamas, bought for him by Christie. The dog is at the side of the bed—as thrown off course as all the humans are. He has just come home from the sitter. He is dog-angry that he has been left alone for two weeks. He is also ecstatic that his family is home again. And he’s curious about the new person—a usurper of his place? Still Felix likes the size of the usurper and he likes the way the boy keeps wanting to pet him. The dog is deciding to be happy. He is Felix, after all.
    Arthur watches the dog and the boy and his wife, wanting to understand everything and to savor it all, too. He watches this new life unfolding before him—Jan climbing into the bed next to Matt and reading (books lent by Christie). How patient she is. How she’s needed this, being a mother. She has energy to spare. Not to mention love. He listens, almost asleep himself, as he sits in the room’s only chair, the Post-Gazette on his lap . He allows himself to imagine many evenings like this. And some at PNC Park in summer. And trips to the zoo. He’s a teacher . He’ll be a teacher father; he’s definitely not a coach father, strict-disciplinarian father, or preacher father. To watch someone learn and grow, it’s his thing and he’s good at it.
    What happened to this boy’s mother is unthinkable and he must not expect the child to get past it any time soon.
    By their body clocks, which are still on French time, it is five in the morning. He slept on the plane, but Jan hardly slept at all. She never can when something’s up.
    By the time Jan is on the fourth book, Matt’s eyes are beginning to stay in the half-closed position.
    When Matt is asleep, Arthur shows the newspaper to Jan. The murder is front-page news. She puts her glasses on, reads.
    They go to their room, just next door, but she’s afraid to leave Matt alone. He may wake frightened, she thinks. So she drags a futon from the floor of a third room she uses as a study to the floor of Matt’s room.
    â€œJust for tonight,” she says.
    Arthur climbs down next to her. Sleep? Who needs it?
    THE PHONE. HIS MOTHER AGAIN . “I keep thinking about that awful news—same last name as us …”
    His heart starts pounding again. He stops at the bank and leans against the building to steady himself.
    â€œWhat are those sounds?”
    â€œTraffic. I’m on my way home.”
    â€œYou should be