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Shirtless in bed, a deep red colored his skin and I could see that he was holding his body very stiffly.
    "Oh, bug, what happened?"
    He didn't answer, just pressed his mouth into a straight line. Behind me, Logan cleared his throat. "He wouldn't put sunscreen on when the afterschool center went to the pool."
    "That's Lily's job!" He started to fold his arms over his chest in a perfect mirror of his dad but winced and lowered them back to the sheet.
    Logan and I spoke at the same time. "I'm so sorry, little man," intersected with "It's not Lily's fault you were sunburnt."
    I started to move into the room. Logan caught the fabric of my sleeve and offered another terse shake of his head. Stevie looked up just in time to witness the exchange. His gaze went from petulant to a few blinks away from crying.
    "Why can't she come in, dad?"
    Logan didn't answer, just let go of my sleeve. I walked to the edge of his bed and stopped. "I've got your homework. Do you want me to go over it with you?"
    He didn't answer. Lifting his arm, his hand landed on the built-in bookshelf next to his bed. He fingered the spine of one book, refusing to look at me.
    "Yeah," I conceded and put the folder on the nightstand. "You've got all weekend to do homework. Do you want me to read to you?"
    I reached across him, looking for one of his favorites. "This one?"
    He remained silent and my finger kept drifting until he finally nodded.
    Where Dolphins Play
    Looking at the title, I took a hard swallow. The book had unofficially been off limits since his mother abandoned him. Now he wanted me to read it to him. Taking it off the shelf, I carefully sat down next to him on the bed. He snuggled closer, wincing until he found a position where the pain from his sunburn apparently subsided.
    Opening to the first page, I cast a nervous side glance at Logan. He had stayed out in the hall. His back rested against the wall, but his attention was focused on his son. Something like confusion softened his hard features.
    Kissing the top of Stevie's head, I started to read.
    I spend my day where dolphins play.
    Outside my door, along the shore.
    Yawning, Stevie slid a little further down his pillow.
    They jump for me, they jump so high.
    Another yawn, twice as long as the first. I felt his body relax in quick increments as I continued reading. As I read, my attention jumped between sentences to the hall where Logan had moved mostly out of my field of vision. I could only see his left arm and part of his left hip and leg.
    From deep green sea to pale blue sky.
    They jump for me, they jump for me.
    Outside my door, along the shore.
    I kept going until a soft snore from Stevie punctuated the last sentence. Careful not to wake him or brush against his injured skin, I rose from the bed and replaced the book. Stepping into the hall, I whispered to Logan.
    "Maybe I can stay until he wakes up." Expecting him to kick me out, I tried to keep my tone neutral and make my words a statement rather than a request.
    He inhaled, held it for one long minute then crooked a finger at me. I followed him to the threshold of the laundry room, where he started shuffling the bins stacked across the far wall. Before Mrs. Logan left, there had been one blue storage bin. Since her departure, green bins had started piling up as her things disappeared one-by-one from the rest of the house.
    I had a very clear memory of Mrs. Jones putting the blue bin out by the trash about a week before she left. Logan had rescued it. Marching into the house that distant trash day, bin in hand, Logan had asked me to take Stevie to the park and ice cream parlor. When we returned, the house was eerily quiet and the bin was back in the laundry room. A week later, Mrs. Jones booked me for a Friday evening while Logan had special duty, patted Stevie once on the head as she left for a supposed nail appointment and never came back.
    Aside from a call that night to Logan and one to her parents to let them know she was alive and