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before, but he held his tongue. “What about the string beans?”
    “In the blue bowl,” she said, pointing in the general direction of the sink counter. “Put some butter on them before you take them to the table.”
    Henry did as he was told. The exhilaration of the rats he had eaten was beginning to fade, the strength leached out of him by the deadly sorrow and anger that filled him and his mother. He watched the butter run over the string beans and tried to conjure up an appetite for the meal without success. He pointed to the skillet of Hamburger Helper, saying, “It’s starting to scorch.”
    “I’ll take care of it.” She removed the skillet from its burner, muttering as she did, “If your father would pay his child support on time, we wouldn’t have to eat crap like this.”
    “It’s okay,” said Henry, knowing it wasn’t.
    The dining room light had only one bulb burning, but it was enough to illuminate the table. As his sister and mother took their seats, Henry did his best to look hungry. He sat down last of all. “Smells good, Mom,” he said with false enthusiasm.
    “It smells burnt,” said his sister.
    “Margaret Lynne,” their mother warned her.
    “Well, it does,” said Margaret Lynne.
    “I’ve had a hard day,” said their mother patiently. “Can we at least eat in peace?”
    “Okay,” said Margaret Lynne in a tone that made it clear it wasn’t. “Sure. Anything you say.”
    “Okay,” said their mother, and put some salad on her plate, then reached for the string beans. “I hope you’re not planning on going out tonight. It’s a school night, and you know you need to study more than you do.”
    “Mo-ther,” said Margaret Lynne. “I’m only going for an hour or two. And it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong. I told Melanie that I’d help her with her geometry.”
    “Dressed like that?” Their mother was not convinced. “If your father saw you like that, he’d—”
    “Well, he can’t see me, can he?” Margaret Lynne asked defiantly. “He hasn’t seen me for five months now. He doesn’t give a shit about what I do!” She flung down her napkin as if it were a gauntlet.
    “Margaret Lynne!” their mother exclaimed. “You will not use such language at the dinner table!”
    “Why not?” Margaret Lynne flung back, her eyes beginning to fill with tears of rage. She pushed her chair back and rushed out of the dining room, heading for the door. “I’ll be back later!”
    Their mother sat still for a long while, then drank the last of the vodka in her glass. “I don’t know what to do with that girl.”
    Henry put his fork down. “Mom. I’m not very hungry.” He sounded apologetic, but he was secretly relieved: he didn’t have to invent a reason for not eating. “I’ll be down in the basement, if you need me.” He got up slowly, not wanting to seem too eager.
    “Oh, no, Henry. You don’t have to run off.” She reached out and took his hand. “I want you to eat. You need to eat.”
    “Maybe later,” he said as gently as he could.
    “We can’t afford to waste food in this house,” said his mother, spooning some of the Hamburger Helper onto her plate. “Remember that, Henry.”
    “I will, Mom,” he assured her. “I’ll nuke something a little later. Just put the leftovers in the fridge.”
    “Okay,” she said, accepting defeat for the moment.
    Henry smiled, knowing what good bait the Hamburger Helper could make. He went back into the kitchen, his plate in his hand, and put it on the edge of the sink for later. Then he headed down for the basement, planning to set some more traps.

    * * *
    Two weeks later, Henry caught a squirrel, and the charge he got out of eating it was way beyond what he had hoped for. It was much, much better than the rats had been! He thought it was delicious—and entirely superior to bugs and spiders. He relished every morsel of it, and vowed to catch more of them as soon as possible. But he also realized he had taken