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grilled steaks while Maisie and Felix’s mother made a salad, and the four kids stood awkwardly in the backyard, trying to think of things to say to one another.
    Cate tried. “I really don’t like lacrosse,” she said, flipping her pale blond hair back. “Ice hockey’s my game.”
    â€œWe’re an ice-hockey family,” Todd said smugly.
    â€œThen why do you play lacrosse if you don’t like it?” Felix asked her politely.
    Cate looked at him, confused. “You need a spring sport,” she said.
    Todd nodded in agreement. He was tall, well over six feet, and burly, with blond hair several shades darker than his sister’s and thick wide hands. His nose, Maisie thought, reminded her of a ski jump. Cate had a similar one, but smaller.
    Felix tried: “Maisie got the lead in the school play!”
    Cate and Todd stared back at him blankly.
    Maisie wondered if those steaks would ever get cooked so they could eat and go home and finally open the egg.
    â€œThe Crucible,”
Felix added.
    â€œWe do this Follies show at school,” Todd said. “And all the hockey players dress like girls.”
    â€œIt’s hilarious,” Cate said.
    They all shifted on their feet for a bit.
    Then Todd tried: “You guys moved here from New York, right?”
    â€œYes,” Felix said, happy to find something to talk about. “We lived in Greenwich Village, on Bethune Street.”
    â€œMy roommate lives on East Seventy-Seventh Street,” Todd said. “Matt Homes. You know him?”
    â€œNo,” Felix said.
    Thankfully, Bruce Fishbaum called everyone to dinner. He and Maisie and Felix’s mother had a short discussion on whether or not it was too cold to eat outside, and finally they decided it was. So they all picked up a plate and a napkin and silverware from the teak table outside and rearranged themselves in a room that the Fishbaums called the sunroom. It reminded Maisie of a greenhouse, with glass slanted walls, a glass roof, a big ficus tree in one corner, and a tree with small oranges in another. The sunroom was hot as a greenhouse, too, and Maisie could smell Todd Fishbaum’s locker-room scent and Cate Fishbaum’s fruity shampoo.
    The steaks were enormous and bloody. Felix didn’t like bloody meat, and he grew pale just looking at the slab of beef on his plate. Unlike Maisie, Felix was in no hurry to get home and open the egg. Because once they did, they would have to go to Imperial Russia, where for all he knew the Bolsheviks were wreaking havoc and murdering people. He didn’t really like the awkwardness here at the Fishbaums’, and Cate and Todd seemed like creatures from another planet to Felix. But at least it was safe here. No Bolsheviks lurked around corners. No one was trying to massacre anyone else.
    â€œBruce,” Felix’s mother was saying, her hand on Bruce’s thick forearm, “do you think you could throw Felix’s steak on the grill for a few more minutes? He doesn’t like it rare.”
    The Fishbaums turned their heads toward Felix in unison, their faces shocked.
    â€œYou lose the nutrients that way,” Bruce said to Felix. “The iron and whatnot.”
    Felix looked down at the steak, which by now was sitting in a small bloody puddle.
    â€œIt’s your call, buddy,” Bruce Fishbaum said, swiping up Felix’s plate and heading out of the sunroom.
    â€œThank you,” Felix called after him, but Bruce was already lifting the hood of the grill and tossing the steak inside, shaking his head as he did.
    Todd and Cate chewed their steak, their eyes fixed on Felix. There was nothing else to eat, except the macaroni salad. But the blood from the steak had oozed across the plate, so Felix just sat, watching the Fishbaum kids chew.

    â€œWasn’t that fun?” Maisie and Felix’s mother asked them as they drove, finally, back to Elm Medona.
    â€œReally fun,”