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told him, laughing lightly.
    "He'll die, though."
    "Someday. But he's not terribly old. He'll probably live another, oh, maybe seven years. Won't you, Toby?" she said to the dog, who lifted his head at the sound of his name. She leaned toward him and scratched his neck.
    "Well, if you don't want him anymore, you can get someone to shoot him. I'll do it for you after I get my gun."
    "I'll never not want Toby," the woman told the boy. "There's your toast, popped up. I'll get some jam from the cupboard."
    "Don't you ever get mad at him?" The boy lifted the two pieces of toast from the toaster and dropped them onto the blue plate on the table.
    "Of course I do. Once he stood on his hind legs and grabbed a whole roasted chicken from the counter. I was furious."
    "Did you beat him? I bet you beat him."
    "No. But I called him a few not-very-nice names. And I shut him in the back hall for a while."

    "Did he cry?"
    She laughed. "He whined. Piteously."
    "Sometime you'll get really, really mad at him," John said. He tore one piece of toast in half and stacked the two pieces on top of each other. "Then you won't want him. You'll probably give him away.
    "You'll probably give him to some jerk with no TV," he added matter-of-factly, and poked a hole through the remaining slice of toast with his index finger. "Can we play war again after breakfast?"

15
    "I'm looking for a job," the young woman said into the phone. "But I've been busy. I moved, you know that. It was a pain in the neck to move.

    "But I'm looking for a job now. I'm really cleaning up my act."
    She exhaled some smoke and glanced with a wry look around the room, at the stacked unopened cartons, the stained rug, the dirty dishes, and an opened pizza box with the stale crusts still inside. "Not my apartment, " she added under her breath.
    "I know," she replied to a question from the person on the other end of the line. "Yes, I'm very aware that I have to be here for him. He'd be in school all day, and then I'd be home when he got home. I'm looking for something part-time, maybe like eight to two. I saw an ad for a receptionist and it said 'flexible hours.' I'm just about to call there."
    She listened for a moment. She stubbed out her cigarette and reached for the half-empty pack nearby.

    "No, I wouldn't leave him alone again. Of course not." Nervously she twisted a strand of her long hair around one finger.
    "And also," she went on, "I did what you suggested. I took out a restraining order."
    She lit a cigarette and listened. "He's gone. I don't know where he is. I probably didn't even need the restraining order. I think he went to California.
    "So anyway, as I said, I'm really getting it together. I'm going to counseling. But I need John back. It's totally weird having him gone. He's my best friend, you know?"
    She listened and made a face, grimacing to herself. "No, well, I didn't mean that. I know he's my child. I know all that. I'll set limits. I can do all that stuff. But I need him back here so I can do it, right? I mean, how can I do parenting if my kid isn't here, right?"
    She twisted her hair again, listening. Her shoulders, which had been tensely raised, sank, and her voice trembled slightly. "I lost it, okay? It was a bad time for me. I did some stupid things."
    The voice on the telephone was calm, reassuring. The woman listened, rolling her eyes.
    "Okay," she said in a defeated tone. "Okay. Yeah. I understand. I know, it takes time.

    "Listen, I'll call you back as soon as I get a job. And you make sure he's treated okay! And tell him—well, tell him I'm working on it, and he'll be back home soon, and I love him, and—"
    Huddled on the couch, clutching the phone, the young woman began to cry. "Tell him I dreamed about him last night," she said.

16
    "Do they come back to the same person again?" Littlest asked Thin Elderly. They were back at the Heap now, and most of the dream-givers were sleeping soundly, exhausted by their hard work during the night. But Littlest