“Is this your youngest?” I asked, trying to look cheerful and interested.

“Yes, youngest of four,” she said, which explained her desperation about the dryer. “All the rest of ’em are at Little League baseball practice. It’ll be summer vacation soon, and they’ll be home for three months.”

Oh. I was out of things to say.

My unwilling companion sank back into her own grim thoughts, and I did my best to stay out. It was a struggle, because she was like a black hole of unhappy thoughts, kind of sucking me in with her.

Hunter came to stand in front of her, regarding her with open-mouthed fascination.

“Hello,” the woman said, making a great effort.

“Do you really want to run away?” he asked.

This was definitely an “oh shit” moment. “Hunter, we need to be going,” I said quickly. “Come on, now. We’re late, late!” And I picked Hunter up and carried him away, though he was squirming and wiggling in protest (and also much heavier than he looked). He actually landed a kick on my thigh, and I almost dropped him.

The mother in the play area was staring after us, her mouth agape, and her little boy had come to stand in front of her, puzzled at his playmate’s abrupt departure.

“I was having a good time!” Hunter yelled. “Why do we have to go?”

I looked him straight in the eyes. “Hunter, you be quiet until we’re in the car,” I said, and I meant every word. Carrying him through the restaurant while he was yelling had focused every eye on us, and I hadn’t enjoyed the attention. I’d noticed a couple of people I knew, and there would be questions to answer later. This wasn’t Hunter’s fault, but it didn’t make me feel any kinder.

As I buckled his seat belt, I realized I’d let Hunter get too tired and overexcited, and I made a mental note not to do that again. I could feel his little brain practically jiggling up and down.

Hunter was looking at me as though his heart were broken. “I was having a good time,” he said again. “That boy was my friend.”

I turned sideways to look him in the face. “Hunter, you said something to his mom that let her know you’re different.”

He was realistic enough to admit the truth of what I was saying. “She was really mad,” he muttered. “Moms leave their kids.”

His own mother had left him.

I thought for a second about what I could say. I decided to ignore the darker theme here. Hadley had left Remy and Hunter, and now she was dead and would never return. Those were facts. There was nothing I could do to change them. What Remy wanted me to do was to help Hunter live the rest of his life.

“Hunter, this is hard. I know it. I went through the same thing. You could hear what that mom was thinking, and then you said it out loud.”

“But she was saying it! In her head!”

“But not out loud.”

“That was what she was saying.”

“In her head.” He was just being stubborn now. “Hunter, you’re a very young man. But to make your own life easier, you have to start thinking before you talk.”

Hunter’s eyes were wide and brimful with tears.

“You have to think, and you have to keep your mouth shut.”

Two big tears coursed down his pink cheeks. Oh, geez Louise.

“You can’t ask people questions about what you hear from their heads. Remember, we talked about privacy?”

He nodded once uncertainly, and then again with more energy. He remembered.

“People—grown-ups and children—are going to get real upset with you if they know you can read what’s in their heads. Because the stuff in someone’s head is private. You wouldn’t want anyone telling you you’re thinking about how bad you need to pee.”

Hunter glared at me.

“See? Doesn’t feel good, does it?”

“No,” he said, grudgingly.

“I want you to grow up as normal as you can,” I said. “Growing up with this condition is tough. Do you know any kids with problems everyone can see?”

After a minute, he nodded. “Jenny Vasco,” he said. “She has a big mark on her face.”

“It’s the same thing, except you can hide your difference, and Jenny can’t,” I said. I was feeling mighty sorry for Jenny Vasco. It seemed wrong to be teaching a little kid that he should be stealthy and secretive, but the world wasn’t ready for a mind-reading five-year-old, and probably never would be.

I felt like a mean old witch as I looked at his unhappy and tear-stained face. “We’re going to go home and read a story,” I said.

“Are you mad at me, Aunt Sookie?” he said, with a hint of a sob.

“No,” I said, though I wasn’t happy about being kicked. Since he’d know that, I’d better mention it. “I don’t appreciate your kicking me, Hunter, but I’m not mad anymore. I’m really mad at the rest of the world, because this is hard on you.”

He was silent all the way home. We went inside and sat on the couch after he paid a visit to the bathroom and picked a couple of books from the stash I’d kept. Hunter was asleep before I finished The Poky Little Puppy. I gently eased him down on the couch, pulled off his shoes, and got my own book. I read while he napped. I got up from time to time to get some small task done. Hunter slept for almost two hours. I found this an incredibly peaceful time, though if I hadn’t had Hunter all day, it might simply have been boring.

After I’d started a load of laundry and tiptoed back into the room, I stood by the sleeping boy and looked down. If I had a child, would my baby have the same problem Hunter had? I hoped not. Of course, if Eric and I continued in our relationship, I would never have a child unless I was artificially inseminated. I tried to picture myself asking Eric how he felt about me being impregnated by an unknown man, and I’m ashamed to say I had to smother a snigger.

Eric was very modern in some respects. He liked the convenience of his cell phone, he loved automatic garage-door openers, and he liked watching the news on television. But artificial insemination. I didn’t think so. I’d heard his verdict on plastic surgery, and I had a strong feeling he’d consider this in the same category.

“What’s funny, Aunt Sookie?” Hunter said.

“Nothing important,” I said. “How about some apple slices and some milk?”

“No ice cream?”

“Well, you had a hamburger and French fries and a Coke at lunch. I think we’d better stick to the apple slices.”

I put The Lion King on while I prepared Hunter’s snack, and he sat on the floor in front of the television while he ate. Hunter got tired of the movie (which of course he’d seen before) about halfway through, and after that, I taught him how to play Candy Land. He won the first time.

As we were working our way through a second game, there was a knock. “Daddy!” Hunter shrieked, and pelted for the door. Before I could stop him, he’d pulled it open. I was glad he’d known who the caller was, because it gave me a bad moment. Remy was standing there in a dress shirt, suit pants, and polished lace-ups. He looked like a different man. He was grinning at Hunter as if he hadn’t seen his child in days. In a second, the boy was up in his arms.

It was heartwarming. They hugged each other tight. I had a little lump in my throat.

In a second, Hunter was telling Remy about Candy Land, and about McDonald’s, and about Claude, and Remy was listening with complete attention. He gave me a quick smile to say he’d greet me in a second, once the torrent of information had slowed down.

“Son, you want to go get all your stuff together? Don’t leave anything,” Remy cautioned his son. With a quick smile in my direction, Hunter dashed off to the back of the house.

“Did it go okay?” Remy asked, the minute Hunter was out of earshot. Though in a sense Hunter was never out of hearing, it would have to do.

“Yes, I think so. He’s been so good,” I said, resolving to keep the kick to myself. “We had a little problem on the McDonald’s playground, but I think it led to a good talk with him.”