pillow, sound asleep. Jenna wondered if he’d had another nightmare. She decided to let him sleep and returned to the kitchen.
“He hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since he watched that damned horror movie with you and David the other night,” Jenna said.
“You sure that’s all it is?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Maybe something’s bothering him.”
Jenna hoped nothing was wrong at school. She got up and started breakfast—scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast. Once the smell of the cooking eggs wafted through the house, she knew Miles and David would make their way to the kitchen.
Sure enough, Miles shuffled in wearing his pajamas about five minutes later.
“Why were you sleeping on the couch?” Jenna asked.
Miles’s eyes were puffy with sleep as he scratched his head. He said nothing.
“Did you have another nightmare?”
He looked up at her and seemed to consider his answer. Finally, he nodded.
“Honey, you can’t sleep on the couch with the TV on.”
“Oh, why not,” Martha said. It wasn’t a question. She got up and shuffled over to Miles and gave him a hug. “You want some juice?”
He nodded again.
Martha got a glass from the cupboard, a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator, and poured. She handed him the glass and said, “Come sit with Grandma.” They went to the breakfast nook together and sat at the table. Martha turned to Jenna, who stood cooking at the stove. “If he’s having nightmares, it’ll pass. Maybe he sleeps better on the couch than he would in his bedroom.”
“You’re not helping, Mom.”
“Oh, come on. You used to have nightmares when you were a little girl. I had to leave the lamp on in your bedroom. Sometimes you came in and slept with me, remember?”
A corner of Miles’s mouth curled up as he turned to Jenna. “You did, Mom?”
Jenna sighed as she turned back to the eggs. “Yes, I did.”
Miles grinned as Martha put an arm around him and said, “So don’t feel bad, honey. Everybody goes through it.”
David shuffled in wearing his robe, yawning. “Something smells good,” he said as he poured a cup of coffee. He went to the table and sat across from Miles. “You ready to go back to work on the garage today, Tiger?”
Miles nodded.
Jenna said, “Don’t forget, we’re going over to see the Gimbles today.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. A Dodge Durango, huh?”
“Yep. It’s idling fast or something.”
“Well. A job’s a job.”
It was a gray, smoky day, but the rain had stopped. After breakfast, David and Miles worked a couple hours in the garage, which was now only half filled with junk. The day before, they had made two trips to a stinking landfill, and there was more to be hauled away: a couple rusted old bicycle frames, an old car battery, a broken trampoline, a rusted-out Weber Kettle barbecue, several garbage bags filled with empty Michelob beer cans that David planned to take to a recycling station, and more. They were ready to haul off another load when Jenna came out.
“Why don’t you do that when we get back?” she said.
“You want to go now?” David said.
“Yeah, let’s go before you hit the dump.”
“Okay.”
Jenna turned to Miles and said, “Stay here with Grandma, okay? Keep an eye on her for us?”
“Sure,” Miles said.
David said, “First, I’ve got to clean up.”
Kimberly and Harry Gimble lived in a gated community called Seacrest Estates, in a ranch-style house with an immaculately tended front yard. Harry Gimble was raking leaves in the yard when they arrived, and he put his rake down as they got out of the car. He stood a couple inches short of David’s six feet, soft and doughy with a wreath of rust-colored hair surrounding his bald head. He wore a burgundy sweater over a yellow shirt, khaki pants, and sneakers.
“You must be the Kellars,” he said with a wide smile. He pumped David’s hand and said, “Harry Gimble, Sand Dollar
“He hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since he watched that damned horror movie with you and David the other night,” Jenna said.
“You sure that’s all it is?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Maybe something’s bothering him.”
Jenna hoped nothing was wrong at school. She got up and started breakfast—scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast. Once the smell of the cooking eggs wafted through the house, she knew Miles and David would make their way to the kitchen.
Sure enough, Miles shuffled in wearing his pajamas about five minutes later.
“Why were you sleeping on the couch?” Jenna asked.
Miles’s eyes were puffy with sleep as he scratched his head. He said nothing.
“Did you have another nightmare?”
He looked up at her and seemed to consider his answer. Finally, he nodded.
“Honey, you can’t sleep on the couch with the TV on.”
“Oh, why not,” Martha said. It wasn’t a question. She got up and shuffled over to Miles and gave him a hug. “You want some juice?”
He nodded again.
Martha got a glass from the cupboard, a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator, and poured. She handed him the glass and said, “Come sit with Grandma.” They went to the breakfast nook together and sat at the table. Martha turned to Jenna, who stood cooking at the stove. “If he’s having nightmares, it’ll pass. Maybe he sleeps better on the couch than he would in his bedroom.”
“You’re not helping, Mom.”
“Oh, come on. You used to have nightmares when you were a little girl. I had to leave the lamp on in your bedroom. Sometimes you came in and slept with me, remember?”
A corner of Miles’s mouth curled up as he turned to Jenna. “You did, Mom?”
Jenna sighed as she turned back to the eggs. “Yes, I did.”
Miles grinned as Martha put an arm around him and said, “So don’t feel bad, honey. Everybody goes through it.”
David shuffled in wearing his robe, yawning. “Something smells good,” he said as he poured a cup of coffee. He went to the table and sat across from Miles. “You ready to go back to work on the garage today, Tiger?”
Miles nodded.
Jenna said, “Don’t forget, we’re going over to see the Gimbles today.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. A Dodge Durango, huh?”
“Yep. It’s idling fast or something.”
“Well. A job’s a job.”
It was a gray, smoky day, but the rain had stopped. After breakfast, David and Miles worked a couple hours in the garage, which was now only half filled with junk. The day before, they had made two trips to a stinking landfill, and there was more to be hauled away: a couple rusted old bicycle frames, an old car battery, a broken trampoline, a rusted-out Weber Kettle barbecue, several garbage bags filled with empty Michelob beer cans that David planned to take to a recycling station, and more. They were ready to haul off another load when Jenna came out.
“Why don’t you do that when we get back?” she said.
“You want to go now?” David said.
“Yeah, let’s go before you hit the dump.”
“Okay.”
Jenna turned to Miles and said, “Stay here with Grandma, okay? Keep an eye on her for us?”
“Sure,” Miles said.
David said, “First, I’ve got to clean up.”
Kimberly and Harry Gimble lived in a gated community called Seacrest Estates, in a ranch-style house with an immaculately tended front yard. Harry Gimble was raking leaves in the yard when they arrived, and he put his rake down as they got out of the car. He stood a couple inches short of David’s six feet, soft and doughy with a wreath of rust-colored hair surrounding his bald head. He wore a burgundy sweater over a yellow shirt, khaki pants, and sneakers.
“You must be the Kellars,” he said with a wide smile. He pumped David’s hand and said, “Harry Gimble, Sand Dollar
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