hand, placing it on the table, so that the dead man’s palms held the letter in place.
“Be at peace, brother,” said Tom.
He wiped his knife and stepped back. He looked at Benny, who was openly sobbing.
“This is what I do, Benny.”
13
F OR FIVE DAYS AFTER THEY GOT BACK , B ENNY DID NOTHING. In the mornings he sat in the backyard, invisible in the cool shade of the house as the sun rose in the east. When the sun was overhead, Benny went inside and sat in his room and stared out the window. As the sun set he’d go downstairs and sit on the top step of the porch. He didn’t say more than a dozen words. Tom cooked meals and laid them out, and sometimes Benny ate and sometimes he didn’t.
Tom did not try to force a conversation. Each night he gave Benny a hug and said, “We can talk tomorrow if you want to.”
Nix came over on the third day. When Benny saw her standing on the other side of the garden gate, he just gave her a single small nod. She came in and sat down next to him.
“I didn’t know you were back,” she said.
Benny said nothing.
“Are you okay?”
Benny shrugged, but kept silent.
Nix sat with him for five hours and then went home.
Chong and Morgie came by with gloves and a ball, but Tom met them at the garden gate.
“What’s up with Benny?” Chong asked.
Tom sipped from a cup of water and squinted at sun-drowsy honeybees, hovering over the hedge. “He needs a little time, is all.”
“For what?” asked Morgie.
Tom didn’t answer. The three of them looked across to where Benny sat staring at the grass that curled around the edges of his sneakers.
“He just needs some time,” Tom repeated.
They went away.
Nix came again the next day. And the next.
On the sixth morning she brought a straw basket filled with blueberry muffins that were still hot from the oven. Benny accepted one, sniffed it, and ate it without comment.
A pair of crows landed on the fence, and Benny and Nix watched them for almost an hour.
Benny said, “I hate them.”
Nix nodded, knowing that the comment wasn’t about the crows or anything else they could see. She didn’t know who Benny meant, but she understood hate. Her mother was crippled by it. Nix could not remember a single day when her mother didn’t find some reason to curse Charlie Pink-eye or damn him to hell.
Benny bent and picked up a stone, and for a moment he looked at the crows, as if he was going to throw the rock at them, the way he and Morgie always did. Not to hurt the birds, but to scare a noise from them. Benny weighed the stone in his palm, then opened his fingers to let it tumble to the grass.
“What happened out there?” Nix said, asking the questionthat had hung burning in the air for a week.
It took Benny ten minutes to tell her about the Rot and Ruin. But Benny didn’t just talk about zoms. Instead he talked about three bounty hunters on a rocky cleft by a stream in the mountains. He spoke without emotion, almost monotone, but long before he was finished, Nix was crying. Benny’s eyes were hard and dry, as if all of his tears had been burned away by what he’d seen. Nix put her hand on Benny’s, and they sat like that for more than an hour after he was done, watching as the day grew older.
As they sat Nix waited for Benny to turn his hand, to take hers in his, to curl his fingers or thread them through hers. She had never felt closer to him, never believed in the possibility of them more than she did then. But the hour burned away and turned to ash, and Benny did not return her grip. He merely allowed it.
When the evening crickets began singing, Nix got up and went out through the garden gate. Benny had not said another word since he’d finished telling his tale. Nix really wasn’t sure that he knew she’d held his hand. Or that she’d left.
She cried all the way home. Quietly, to herself, without drama. Not because she had lost Benny, but because she now knew that she had never had him. She wept for the hurt
“Be at peace, brother,” said Tom.
He wiped his knife and stepped back. He looked at Benny, who was openly sobbing.
“This is what I do, Benny.”
13
F OR FIVE DAYS AFTER THEY GOT BACK , B ENNY DID NOTHING. In the mornings he sat in the backyard, invisible in the cool shade of the house as the sun rose in the east. When the sun was overhead, Benny went inside and sat in his room and stared out the window. As the sun set he’d go downstairs and sit on the top step of the porch. He didn’t say more than a dozen words. Tom cooked meals and laid them out, and sometimes Benny ate and sometimes he didn’t.
Tom did not try to force a conversation. Each night he gave Benny a hug and said, “We can talk tomorrow if you want to.”
Nix came over on the third day. When Benny saw her standing on the other side of the garden gate, he just gave her a single small nod. She came in and sat down next to him.
“I didn’t know you were back,” she said.
Benny said nothing.
“Are you okay?”
Benny shrugged, but kept silent.
Nix sat with him for five hours and then went home.
Chong and Morgie came by with gloves and a ball, but Tom met them at the garden gate.
“What’s up with Benny?” Chong asked.
Tom sipped from a cup of water and squinted at sun-drowsy honeybees, hovering over the hedge. “He needs a little time, is all.”
“For what?” asked Morgie.
Tom didn’t answer. The three of them looked across to where Benny sat staring at the grass that curled around the edges of his sneakers.
“He just needs some time,” Tom repeated.
They went away.
Nix came again the next day. And the next.
On the sixth morning she brought a straw basket filled with blueberry muffins that were still hot from the oven. Benny accepted one, sniffed it, and ate it without comment.
A pair of crows landed on the fence, and Benny and Nix watched them for almost an hour.
Benny said, “I hate them.”
Nix nodded, knowing that the comment wasn’t about the crows or anything else they could see. She didn’t know who Benny meant, but she understood hate. Her mother was crippled by it. Nix could not remember a single day when her mother didn’t find some reason to curse Charlie Pink-eye or damn him to hell.
Benny bent and picked up a stone, and for a moment he looked at the crows, as if he was going to throw the rock at them, the way he and Morgie always did. Not to hurt the birds, but to scare a noise from them. Benny weighed the stone in his palm, then opened his fingers to let it tumble to the grass.
“What happened out there?” Nix said, asking the questionthat had hung burning in the air for a week.
It took Benny ten minutes to tell her about the Rot and Ruin. But Benny didn’t just talk about zoms. Instead he talked about three bounty hunters on a rocky cleft by a stream in the mountains. He spoke without emotion, almost monotone, but long before he was finished, Nix was crying. Benny’s eyes were hard and dry, as if all of his tears had been burned away by what he’d seen. Nix put her hand on Benny’s, and they sat like that for more than an hour after he was done, watching as the day grew older.
As they sat Nix waited for Benny to turn his hand, to take hers in his, to curl his fingers or thread them through hers. She had never felt closer to him, never believed in the possibility of them more than she did then. But the hour burned away and turned to ash, and Benny did not return her grip. He merely allowed it.
When the evening crickets began singing, Nix got up and went out through the garden gate. Benny had not said another word since he’d finished telling his tale. Nix really wasn’t sure that he knew she’d held his hand. Or that she’d left.
She cried all the way home. Quietly, to herself, without drama. Not because she had lost Benny, but because she now knew that she had never had him. She wept for the hurt
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