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trout would have. Or, in this case, a dozen trout. I used my knife to cut them away at the ends and right behind the head, and then I stuck the front end of the fish in the kitchen sink and scraped out the blood vein as best I could. Rinsed it inside and cleaned it out with four or five paper towels. Wrapped the fish in plastic wrap, round and round until it was all covered.
    “Come on, Ernie,” my mother said. “It’s going to get cold.”
    “I’ll be right there.”
    But I wasn’t right there. I had to find space for that monster in the fridge. This was no small task, believe me. We have lots of food in our fridge. I had to move things around. Stack things on top of other things. Take out a bunch of stuff like ketchup and mustard and salad dressing and jam and jelly, stuff that would survive on the counter until morning. Then I managed to wedge the fish in on a lower shelf, but I had to stack some stuff on top of it.
    I balled up the guts in the paper and ran it out real quick to the outside trash. I knew it would stink by morning. I also knew Peaches might knock over the inside trash in the night.
    When I got back, my mom was sitting at the table, not eating. Just letting her food get cold. I sat down. She’d gotten me two Big Macs, a giant fries, a supersize soda, and one of those deep-fried apple pies. I was so hungry from not having eaten since breakfast. I never even got to eat my lunch. It ended up at the bottom of the ocean.
    “Why didn’t you start?” I said, picking up a Big Mac.
    “Put it down,” she said. I did. I didn’t know why. I just knew it was no day to go pushing my luck. “Before we eat, we’re going to say a prayer for that little boy. What’s his name?”
    “Sam.” It was the first time I’d said it out loud for so long. Sam.
    “Right. We’re going to say a prayer that Sam Manson is okay. And that they find him before it gets dark.”
    We sat there in silence for a minute. Our heads bowed. I don’t know if I should call what I was doing praying. I’m not so sure about the whole God thing. I’m not saying there isn’t one, but I don’t know. And if there is, I’m not sure I like him. I guess I shouldn’t think that, but it’s true. But I wanted Sam to get found real bad. So I hoped real hard. Maybe that’s all a prayer is. Just hoping real hard that things turn out okay.
    I cheated once and looked up at my mom. She just got her hair cut short. I don’t like it. But I keep saying I do. I want to be supportive. A lot of her weight is in herface. She has very big cheeks. Usually they’re pretty red. Yester day even more so. I worry about her. I think it’s a blood pressure thing. I quick looked away again.
    Then we picked up our food, and I took a big bite of burger and ate four fries all at once. They were really cold, but I didn’t care. I wanted to get numb. I wanted to eat so much that I couldn’t feel. I didn’t want to feel anything at all. There was nothing good to be felt. Any feelings I had were going to be bad ones.
    Now and then I glanced at the kitchen phone, sitting on the wall. But it never made a sound. It never told me anything about Sam.
    By about nine o’clock at night, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to know. But I was afraid to call Will’s house. What if his father answered? What if Will was being punished in some horrible way and couldn’t come to the phone?
    I’m not big at talking these things out, but I got so twisted up and confused that I actually asked my mom what to do. I could tell by the look on her face that she couldn’t stand not knowing, either.
    “ I will call Will’s father. That’s more appropriate. Besides, I want to give him a piece of my mind.”
    I just died inside. So much for the idea that this day couldn’t get any worse. This is why I never ask advice from a grown-up. In case that doesn’t go without saying.
    I sat at the kitchen table, frozen in my misery, while she made the call. Then, worse yet,