“It’s not a trade, Hannah.”
She snorted. “Of course it is. And it’s important for all parties to keep to such an agreement. Just ask anyone ensconced in a nursing home.”
“And that’s important? Taking care of elderly parents simply because there’s a social contract?”
She gave him the same look he got when she realized they were out of Cocoa Pebbles. “That’s not why I would take care of you.”
“I adore you,” he said, zipping the carry-on closed.
“Thanks!”
“What is that?”
She looked where he was pointing. She was wearing shorts, and just above her kneecap she had what looked like a cloud sticker.
“It’s a temporary tattoo, the kind they give children,” the child explained. “See?” She rubbed her fingers across it, but nothing smeared.
“But what is it?”
“It’s a lamb. See?”
Tom squinted and could make out little black legs on the clou—the lamb. “Why?”
“They were handing them out at the sleep clinic. You know—‘counting sheep’? That’s why it’s shushing you. So you quiet your mind and sleep.”
“There’s not a temporary tattoo in the world that can effectively shush me.”
“All right. But as I was saying, you could have done something like Marcus did.”
“I could never have done such a thing,” he said. “Even now, I couldn’t. Your fellow MAGE is far more intelligent than I am.”
“But it’s not about intelligence, Uncle Tom. Well, it is, but in this particular case it’s also about parsing emotions. Like when you tried to help that boy when you were younger.”
Yes. That. His father had been a psychiatrist who frequently consulted for adolescent treatment programs. This included examining teenagers accused of violent crimes and testifying in court. Tom occasionally came along.
He had been waiting for his father in the processing area of Hennepin County Juvenile Detention. (Processing area = customer service with armed guards and the more disgruntled customers in handcuffs.) His father was late (a not uncommon occurrence), he had finished his book (also not uncommon), and after twenty minutes of boredom Tom struck up a conversation with the youth sitting across from him.
“Does that bother you?” Indicating the handcuffs.
“Naw.”
“Why?”
“Not the first time.”
“What happened?”
The other boy blinked slowly, but was also bored, so he answered. “They think I killed some guy I never met. Can’t kill someone you never saw.”
“Oh. Maybe your lack of affect was off-putting.”
“What?”
“The next time someone thinks you killed a person you never met, you have to convince them that you care, but not too much.”
“What?”
“Like this: you know Jenny through a friend.”
“Never met Jenny.”
“Jenny is hypothetical. So someone tells you Jenny’s husband is dead. It’s unfortunate when someone dies, right?” When he didn’t get an answer, Tom added, “Well, theoretically it is. So you should be sad. But not too sad, because you never knew Jenny’s husband and you barely know Jenny. So while it’s technically sad, it won’t have any real impact on your life and it doesn’t necessarily make you sad. So how to react to that news?”
There was a long silence, and then the other boy leaned forward and said, “How?”
“You want to project a kind of vague sorrow. It’s mildly sad when someone dies…”
“Even if you don’t know ’em,” the youth repeated. “It’s technically sad.”
“Right! So even if you don’t care about Jenny’s dead husband, you can be a little sad for her. So that’s what you put across: vague sorrow.”
“Huh.” The boy leaned back. “Still doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“Well, you’re no worse off if you try, right?”
“Yeah. Right. Thanks, man.”
(Tom’s father was equal parts horrified and impressed when one of the guards told him what happened. “Just so you know, Tommy, that boy killed two people and was carving up a third when he got caught. Vague sorrow indeed.”)
“I am better at such things now,” Tom admitted, “though I struggled when I was younger.”
“You struggled last month when you tried to explain short-term gain versus long-term gain to Mr. Herbekker.”
“I should have factored his Alzheimer’s into the discussion,” Tom admitted. “So we’ll change ‘I am better at it’ to ‘I have improved but there’s room for more.’ Do you know how I’ve improved, Hannah?”
“I … think so.”
“Proximity to you.”
She nodded and tucked her tongue up into the slot where her permanent tooth would come in. “There’s something to that, I think. Remember my first birthday party? You were the only one I wanted to talk to.” And then, abruptly: “Are you worried I’m on the spectrum?”
“No. I’m curious about it.”
“Okay. When can—”
Tom’s phone had clicked at him, and he reached for the thing at once, hoping Abe wasn’t delayed or otherwise in trouble.
Not Abe. Better: Ava.
CAPTAIN AVA CAPP: Just had the WEIRDEST run-in with Becka, the new crewmember we met Saturday.
TBMD: Are you all right?
CAPTAIN AVA CAPP: Fine. Definitely not murdered. But she’s squirrelly and weird and talked about death. And not in a fun way, like we do.
TBMD: Police?
CAPTAIN AVA CAPP: For what? Creeping me out and being a close-talker?
TBMD: A what?
CAPTAIN AVA CAPP: OMG. We’ll go over pop culture later. Are we still on for Thursday?
TBMD: Of course.
CAPTAIN AVA CAPP: Want to make it tomorrow?
TBMD: Of course.
CAPTAIN AVA CAPP: Let’s do more amateur sleuthing after you get off. Heh.
TBMD: Technically only one of us is an amateur.
CAPTAIN AVA CAPP: Technically that’s a good way to get smacked.
TBMD: Noted.
CAPTAIN AVA CAPP: You know what’s weird? We both text in complete sentences.
TBMD: Anyone who doesn’t is a savage.
TBMD: A SAVAGE.
CAPTAIN AVA CAPP: Yow! Noted. Say hi to Hannah and the bud for me. Cool name for a band BTW. “And now, for your polka pleasure, HANNAH AND THE BUD!”
TBMD: Never while I live.
CAPTAIN AVA CAPP:
CAPTAIN AVA CAPP: Yeah. I’m one of those. I’ll never apologize for gratuitous emoji use, either. Be resigned.
TBMD: Noted.
* * *
“You have the silliest grin on your face, Uncle Tom.”
“Irrelevant. Ava says hello. Ready?”
“Yes. It was nice of her to think of me, especially since she had new information about your case.” Before he could ask, she added, “You tensed up when you first started reading her texts—your shoulders got super tight and you were frowning. But toward the end you loosened up and were smiling. So she must have told you something about the case and then, I’m guessing—”