But she was so beautiful… , he thought vaguely, and then was irritated with himself. Why was it any different to be abandoned by a beautiful woman than by an ugly one?
No, he corrected himself. Mom wasn’t ugly. She was just… defeated.
He had never thought of it that way before. Mom had lost Dad too, after all. She’d lost her husband, she’d lost all hope — what was there left for her to live for?
Me, Trey thought fiercely, and it was like he was answering a question about himself, not his mother. It made him stop shaking, momentarily. It made him think that he might be feeling light-headed because of hunger, not just horror.
I am in a kitchen, he reminded himself. There’s probably food mere inches away. All I have to do is open the door of this cupboard. How stupid and cowardly was he to sit there shaking and starving instead of eating?
Trey pushed the door of the cupboard open a crack. In the dim light that filtered in from the TV room, he could see a refrigerator. He shoved out one foot and then the other, carefully avoiding all the pots and pans on the floor. He angled the rest of his body out of the cupboard. Crouching, he reached over and opened the refrigerator.
The sudden bright light scared him, but he reached in and blindly grabbed garishly colored cartons and containers. Then, clutching the food, he dove back into the cupboard.
There wasn’t room in the cupboard to eat with the door shut, so he risked leaving it open. That way, he could even see what he was eating. A paper carton yielded rice and mysterious vegetables in a spicy sauce, all of which he virtually inhaled. He’d also grabbed three plastic containers of strawberry yogurt. This was harder to eat with his fingers, so he mainly squeezed it into his mouth and then licked out the containers as best he could.
Like an animal, he thought. I’m behaving like an animal. He remembered his father’s view of animals. One night, years ago, Dad had told Trey and his mother about seeing feral cats in an alley on his way home from work. Trey was pretty young then, but he already knew Latin.
“Feral?” Trey had said. “Like fera, meaning ‘beast,’ or feralis, ‘funeral’? Were the cats dead?”
Dad had ruffled Trey’s hair fondly. Trey’s knowledge of Latin always made Dad fond.
“Very good, son!” he’d said. “The word can be used in either sense. But in this case, it means ‘wild beast’ Those cats used to be somebody’s pets, but now they’re out living on their own.”
Trey was intrigued. He’d followed Dad around the rest of the evening, asking questions.
“How can those cats live on their own?” he asked as Dad took off his good coat — the one with only one patch on the sleeve. “Who feeds them? Who gives them books to read?” In Trey’s world then, books were as important as food. And books were more plentiful.
“Animals don’t read books,” Dad said. “They aren’t like humans. Animals are only concerned with surviving— with eating and… and reproducing. That’s what separates humans from animals — our ability to think and reason. To do more than just survive.”
And then Dad had exchanged a significant glance with Mom. That’s what had made the whole conversation stick in Trey’s mind. Trey hadn’t understood that glance.
But now, remembering, he was ashamed. How ashamed Dad would be if he could see Trey now, not thinking, not reasoning, just trying to survive.
But Dad, you never did tell me who took care of those cats, he thought resentfully.
Trey squashed the three yogurt containers and put them in the paper carton that had held the rice and vegetables. Bravely, he inched his way over to a trash can and threw away the garbage. Then he scurried back to his cupboard and pulled the door shut behind him.
Okay, I’m thinking now. What am I going to do?
He felt drawn in so many different directions.
“Stay hidden,” the boy in uniform had said on the porch. Why? Why hadn’t the boy reported him? Could Trey trust his advice?
“I’ll do my best to help you,” Trey had promised Mrs. Talbot. Was that promise void now because she’d left?
“I’ll tell Mr. Talbot everything,” Trey had promised Lee. But now Trey couldn’t even remember where he’d left the papers from Mr. Grant’s desk, the ones he’d wanted to show to Mr. ‘Talbot
“I’ll watch out for Lee,” Trey had promised Mr. Hendricks before leaving for the Grants’ party yesterday— had that been only yesterday? It felt like a century ago.
Mr. Hendricks. Of course. Why hadn’t Trey thought of him sooner?
Mr. Hendricks was the headmaster of Trey’s school. He’d been in a horrible accident as a young man and lost the lower portions of his legs. So he used a wheelchair to get around. Last night, when Trey and his friends had witnessed a murder and were terrified of the muscular killer, Trey hadn’t even thought of going to a disabled man for help.
I’m sorry Trey thought, as if Mr. Hendricks could overhear his thoughts. You’re so much more reliable than Mr. Talbot Smarter, too.
All Trey needed was a phone. He’d have to be careful what he said — the Population Police tapped the phone lines — but he could speak in code. And then Mr. Hendricks would have someone come and pick him up, and Lee too when he arrived. It was that easy.
For a moment Trey thought about waiting in his cupboard until Lee came — let Lee make the phone call. Let Lee figure out how to make “Come get us immediately!” sound innocuous and dull to phone-tapping listeners. Let Lee take care of everything.
But as familiar shame washed over him, Trey thought, No. I have to do this. Mrs. Talbot had warned that someone from the new Government might be taking over the Talbots’ house. What if Trey dallied and waited for Lee, and then the Government captured both boys — because of Trey?
I can do this, Trey told himself. He’d never actually used a telephone, but he understood the process. He could call information, ask for Hendricks School… The only hard part was getting the courage to leave his cupboard.
Maybe there’s a phone in the kitchen, Trey told himself. Maybe I won’t have to go very far at all.
That thought got him out of the cupboard. He picked his way past the pots and pans yet again and crawled along the floor. His cupboard — he was thinking longingly of it as “his” now — was under a counter smack in the middle of the kitchen. He circled this island, staring up at every counter and wall. Sometimes phones hung on walls, didn’t Trey?
It was hard to tell, because the counters were covered with a blizzard of papers, hiding the walls from view. A closet hung open, with an avalanche of boxed food thrown out on the floor. Trey resisted the urge to stop and scoop some spilled cereal into his mouth.
See, Dad? he thought. I’m not an animal.
He worked up the courage to step into the TV room, where the lights were still on.
The curtains are drawn, he reminded himself. You’re still safe. No one can see you.
He circled the room, stepping over broken glass, ripped-up pillows.
He found the phone on the floor, under a couch. He pulled it out easily — the hard plastic receiver, the curly cord, the—