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the left side of her mouth. It’s the same crooked smile Finny has when he’s feeling playful.
    “Autumn, why are you wearing a Jimmy Carter campaign shirt?’” she asks.
    “I dunno,” I say. “Why is your son wearing green socks?”
    She looks back at Finny. “Phineas, are you wearing green socks?”
    He looks down at his feet. “Well, yeah.”
    “Where did you get green socks from?”
    “They were in my sock drawer.”
    “I never bought you green socks.”
    “They were in there.”
    “This all sounds very suspicious to me,” I say.
    “Agreed. Finny, Autumn and I are going into the kitchen, and when we come back, you better have an explanation for your socks.” Finny and I glance at each other in surprise. I look away and set my book down. Aunt Angelina waits for me at the door. When I reach her, she lays one hand on my shoulder as she walks with me into the kitchen.
    “Honey, your mom isn’t having a good day,” she says quietly. “Your dad had to cancel dinner tonight and it really upset her.”
    To other kids, this wouldn’t sound like a big deal. But when your mom has been hospitalized twice for depression, you learn to read between the lines.
    “Okay,” I say.
    Last time Mom was in the hospital, I was in sixth grade. I spent two weeks living with Aunt Angelina and Finny. At the time, it was fun. Everyone kept telling me that my mom was going to be okay. They told me about chemical imbalances and how it was a sickness like any other, and that Mom would get better. So I accepted it, and every night Finny snuck into the guest bedroom and we would draw pictures on each other’s backs with our fingers and then try to guess what they were.
    I doubted it would be like that this time. Any of it. For one thing, this time I’ll ask why, if it’s just a chemical imbalance, Dad seems to be causing it.
    “She’ll be fine. We just all need to be really understanding tonight, okay?”
    “I get it,” I say. She’s saying not to stage a teenage rebellion at the dinner table.
    “Your mother loves you very, very much,” she says.
    “I get it,” I say again. “It’s okay.”
    “All right,” she says, and she squeezes my shoulder. Despite her promise to find out more about the mysterious socks, Aunt Angelina does not follow me back into the living room. When I come back in, Finny mutes the TV and watches me sit back down.
    “Everything okay?” he says.
    “Yup,” I say. “Isn’t it always?”
    He laughs, a quick exhalation through his nose, then his face becomes serious again, and he cocks his head to the side. He’s asking me if I want to talk about it. I shake my head and he looks away again quickly. The sound comes back on the TV and I pick up my book again.
    ***
    Back in sixth grade, he had to sneak into the guest bedroom because we weren’t allowed to sleep in the same bed anymore. We hardly ever broke the rules and I was nervous every time he came, but I never told him not to. The truth of the matter is, if they hadn’t suggested it, it never would have occurred to me that things could be different between us just because we were older. We lay on our stomachs side by side and we only touched to draw on each other’s backs. I drew flowers and hearts and animals. Finny drew rocket ships and soccer balls.
    On my last night there, Aunt Angelina came and stood in the doorway. She was silhouetted in the darkness by the light in the hallway. I suppose she could see us better than we could see her.
    “Phineas, what are you doing in here?” she said.
    “Autumn is sad,” he said. It wasn’t until he said it that I realized it was true. There was a long silence. Finny lay still next to me. I watched her dark form in the doorway.
    “Fifteen minutes,” she said, and then she left. It was Finny’s turn to draw on my back. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the shapes he traced over me. It always tickled, but I never laughed.
    “Two houses,” I said. “And four people.”
    “It’s our