Sam had filled in nine boxes on the therapist's chart by the time Caleb came up the walk, which meant Sam had been at the rubber ball for an hour, which meant Sam was avoiding something too. They were brothers. They avoided in the same direction.
"Sit," the mother said, and put a bowl in front of the chair Sam pushed out, and poured the tea, and went back to her end of the table with her book.
She did not ask how the day had gone. She had stopped asking, because she had learned over the years that her son told the truth better when nobody pulled on it.
Marcus was in the chair by the window with his eyes closed and his hands folded on the cane, not asleep, doing the thing he did now where he saved his strength by spending none of it until it was needed.
Caleb ate three bites he did not taste. Then he put the spoon down.
