Chapter 16: Mr. Fenn

Linus was sitting at the funeral home kitchen table with a mug of cocoa he hadn't touched.

His school sweater was on inside out, and his sneakers were wet to the ankles.

Hattie sat across from him with a needle and thread, and in her lap lay Mr. Fenn, the stuffed fox, with one ear half torn off.

"He's had a rough week," Hattie said, without looking up. "I'm only fixing what's loose."

I stopped in the doorway.

I had planned to run to him, but I held on to the frame instead.

"Hi, baby," I said.

Linus looked up.

He didn't speak, and he didn't smile, and then his face crumpled.

I crossed the kitchen in four steps, and he was in my arms before I got my knee down.

He smelled of cold air and school glue.

"I walked," he said into my cardigan. "Aunt Imogen was in the lobby. I told Dad I was going to the bathroom and I went out the back."

"It's nearly two miles."

"I know. I was careful at the big road."

"You're a very good walker."

"I did the thing where you look both ways twice."

I laughed into his hair, and then I couldn't, and Hattie quietly moved the needle to her other hand and kept sewing.

When he had cried himself quiet, I lifted him onto the chair beside mine.

Abel came in behind us with the stagehand's bag, took one look, and carried it upstairs without saying a word.

"Mom," Linus said.

It was the first time he had said it to my face since the hospital.

"Did I kill you?"

"No." I turned his chair so he faced me. "Never. Look at me. No."

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