To Patra, he said, “How about some hot cocoa? Can you put the kettle on, Pea?”
She shook her head once, and something strange was happening as she walked across the room toward him. All the braided rugs were sliding, then colliding under her bare feet. She was walking that fast.
He stopped her by opening up his arms and giving her a hug.
As he held onto her, his voice changed. It grew musical, full of highs and lows. “What are you doing, Patty Pea? Let’s not backtrack now, Patty Cakes. Let’s do what we always do, make the cocoa, clean the litter box, go about the morning. Can you do that for me?”
I watched him put his mouth against her ear.
Then, over her head and without the singing: “Linda, will you help me with something?”
I’d assumed he was ignoring me, so his question took me off guard. I frowned at him and prepared to shake my head. I felt my shoulders lift up defensively, but when he let go of Patra and turned, I found myself following him out.
I was curious. I couldn’t help it.
“Patra,” he said, when she started after us. “Some cocoa. Then the litter box, get dressed. Maybe read the lesson? It really is a beautiful day.”
In my dream, Paul had been so wily and quick. He’d seemed both mischievous and manic, which had amused and irritated me in turns. In my dream, I’d become furious with him at last. There had been something very devious about the way he’d wiggled across the ice on his belly. So when I followed Leo into Paul’s room, I felt some residue of resentment waiting for him. I took one look at him lying in bed and felt my resentment go dry. He was only a kid, after all. A little kid, sleeping. It was relieving to see him flat on his stomach, to see him tucked to his neck in covers, his golden head poking out. His chapped lips were open, his eyes closed.
“Now, Linda, don’t be afraid,” Leo murmured from behind, and it wasn’t until he said it that I was.
“Now, Linda. It’s okay.” He seemed to want to pat my shoulder.
Leo closed the door behind us and my first thought was to back away. My second thought was to look for a way out. I wasn’t sure what trap I’d been led into. I felt my calves tense up, my fingertips tingle.
Leo’s face looked lopsided. He was pushing out one cheek with the tip of his tongue, and I knew without thinking it through that this was something he only did when alone.
“We’re playing Candy Land,” he told me, almost bashfully, gesturing toward the floor.
“What?” But it was clear enough. The pastel board was spread out over the carpet, a path of colored squares snaking across.
“Paul’s blue. I’m red.”
“Okay.” But Paul was asleep.
“Just move his piece when it’s his turn.” Leo nodded at me, encouragingly. “I’ve got to use the bathroom, quick, and make one little call. If you could let me know if he—”
He was painfully apologetic about it. He was stacking a Bible and some other books on Paul’s nightstand in a low embarrassed tower. He was glancing at the full plate of pancakes on the dresser, hastily and without turning his head, as if he didn’t want me to notice it but couldn’t keep from looking himself. Then he just stood there. Eyes bloodshot, tongue tenting one cheek. “Leo—?” I asked him.
He started tucking in his shirt with his fingertips.
“Don’t be afraid,” I found myself saying. Leo tucked in his shirt again—and again. He pushed the fabric down deep. He hitched up his shorts and shoved in his shirt. The fabric strained against his shoulders, and he looked like he wanted to tuck in his whole torso and his arms up to the elbows. He was going to tuck his whole self in.
To stop him, I knelt on the carpeted floor next to the Candy Land board.
“Paul,” I said, to get Leo to leave. “It’s your turn.”