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didn’t know what was going on. But nothing happened.
    Chris helped Mom clear the table, Dad went in the other room and turned on the TV, and I gathered the tablecloth and linen napkins together. I was on my way to the laundry room, all this cloth crumpled into my arms, when I saw Chris and Mom, alone together in the kitchen, get into this fierce hug. It was at that point that I decided the weirdness at the table must have been because Chris was leaving tomorrow, and everyone knew what that meant. It meant he had to go back to hell, and we had to stay here and worry about him. The reprieve of having him home had almost made things worse.
    When I got back from the laundry room, Mom was alone in the kitchen, and no one was in with Dad. I debated: TV with Dad or cleanup duty with Mom? Wherever Chris was, I figured he’d probably come back to the kitchen. So that’s where I went.
    â€œCan I help?”
    Mom didn’t look at me right away; I think she was blinking tears out of her eyes. She turned a smile on me that was trying too hard to be a smile. “Sure, Paul. Why don’t you help separate the things that go into the dishwasher from the things that don’t? Watch out for those turkey skewers; they’re vicious.”
    As bad as punji sticks?
    Chris was gone a long time. At one point I peeked out to see if he’d gone into the living room too quietly for me to hear, but Dad was alone in front of the boob tube, watching some cop show. Finally I couldn’t stand it. “Where’s Chris?”
    Mom took a deep breath. “He’s in your father’s den, dear. He said he had to make a phone call.”
    I scowled. “Who would he call?”
    â€œWhom, Paul. Whom would he call. I’m sure I don’t know. Maybe a girlfriend?” She kind of giggled; it sounded weird.
    I blinked, feeling stupid. “Does he have a girlfriend?”
    She stopped midway between counter and sink, her hands cupping bits of turkey she’d just wiped up. “I guess I don’t know of anyone special.” Her smile wobbled. “But you know he wouldn’t be likely to tell his mother!” She tried a laugh, but it wasn’t very convincing.
    We finished our cleanup, the machine tethered to the faucet and churning away, and I had gone with Mom into the living room, pretending to watch Dad’s show but really just waiting for Chris to make an appearance—his last one before tomorrow, the day he’d leave us again. It became more and more obvious that he wasn’t with us, but nobody seemed like they dared say anything about it. Shit. His last night, and he can’t spend it with us? But then if he’s gonna be all morose, like he was at dinner, do I want him out here?
    Yes, damn it; I did. I got up. I walked really quietly down the dark hall toward Dad’s den. The door was closed and there was just a little light coming from underneath. Standing there, ears straining, I tried to figure out if Chris was talking or listening or not on the phone at all. Every so often I could hear this odd sound, almost like a sharp intake of breath, and then silence. And then there’d be a kind of strangled noise. And then silence. I lifted my hand maybe three times, wanting so much to knock or turn the handle, anything to get that door out from between us, but something held me back. Finally I tiptoed away and went back to the waiting room. I mean, living room.
    I don’t know what we were watching, because my eyes weren’t focused on the screen and my ears were tuned to any noises behind me that weren’t made by the dishwasher. It was an eternity, and in fact it was nearly ten o’clock, before Chris finally came in. He sat next to Mom on the couch, put his arm behind her shoulders, and leaned his head toward her. Nobody said anything. My throat started to get tight, and my eyes were burning. It was a minute before I recognized the signs for what they were and