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trains and buses. The one thing nobody expects is me sticking around.
    It wasn’t my mother who pointed out this next part. It was me. I didn’t want to mention it, because I liked him, and I didn’t want to make him mad, but it seemed important for someone to bring this up.
    Isn’t it against the law to harbor a criminal? I asked him, a fact I’d picked up from watching television. Then I felt bad that I’d used that word. Even though we hardly knew Frank at this point, it seemed mean to call this person who had bought me a puzzle book, and put in new lightbulbs all over the house, a criminal. He had complimented the color my mother had chosen to paint the kitchen—this certain shade of yellow that he said reminded him of buttercups on his grandma’s farm when he was growing up. He had told us we’d never eaten chili like he was going to make for us.
    You have a wise son here, Adele, Frank told her. It’s good to know he’s looking out for you. That’s everything a boy should do for his mother.
    It would only be a problem if someone found Frank here, my mother said. So long as nobody knows he came by, there’s no harm done.
    I knew the other part. My mother didn’t worry about laws. My mother didn’t go to church, but the one who looked after us, she said, was God.
    True enough, Frank said. But it’s still not acceptable to place you and your family here in jeopardy.
    Our family. He spoke of us as a family.
    This is why I’m going to tie you up, he said. Only you, Adele. Henry here knows he doesn’t want anything to happen to his mother. That’s the reason he won’t go to the police or call anyone. I’m correct on this, right, Henry?
    My mother, hearing this, did not move from her spot on the couch. Nobody said anything for a minute. We could hear the scraping of the wheel in Joe’s cage as he pawed his way in circles, the click of his little nails against the metal, and the hiss of the water on the stove from our Meal in Minutes dinner.
    I need to ask you to take me up to your bedroom, Adele, he said. I’m guessing a woman like you would have a few scarves. Silk is good. Rope or twine can cut into the skin.
    The door was four feet away from me, and still partly open from when we’d carried in the bags from our shopping. Across the street was the Jervises’ house, where Mrs. Jervis sometimes called out to me, when I went by on my bike, to comment on the weather. Beyond that, the Farnsworths, and the Edwardses, who had come over one time to ask my mother if she intended to rake our leaves anytime soon, because they’d started blowing onto other people’s lawns in the neighborhood. Every December, Mr. Edwards put up so many lights people from other towns drove by to see, which meant they often went by our house that time of year.
    People spend all this money putting up lights, my mother said. Did they ever hear of looking at the stars?
    I could burst out the door and run to their houses now. I could grab the phone and dial a number. The police. My father. Not my father: he’d use this as evidence that my mother was crazy, the way he always said.
    But I didn’t want to do this. Maybe Frank had a weapon, maybe he didn’t. Evidently he had killed someone. But he didn’t seem like a person who would hurt my mother or me.
    I studied my mother’s face. For once, she actually looked fine. There was a pinkness in her cheeks I wasn’t accustomed to, and her eyes were locked on his eyes. Which were blue.
    Actually, I have a silk scarf collection, my mother said. They were my mother’s.
    It’s about keeping up appearances, Frank said, in a quiet voice. I think you understand what I mean.
    I got up and went to the door. Closed it, so nobody could see inside. I sat there in the living room, with my legs folded under me, and watched the two of them climb the steps up to her room: my mother first, Frank following behind. They seemed to walk slower than normal, climbing those stairs, as if every step required