Chapter 15: Max Draws the Boat

Patricia's house on Seventy-Fourth Street has a sunroom at the back, with a long table, a window seat and a view of a garden still brown from winter.

Max sat at the table on his knees, with his tongue between his teeth and the red headphones pushed down around his neck.

He had a sheet of paper, a box of crayons in rows and the atlas of harbors open beside him.

I stopped in the doorway with Caleb behind me and let my breath settle.

"Mama," Max said, without looking up. "Mama boat."

"Mama's here, bug."

"I'm making the boat."

"Can I see?"

He thought about it for a long moment, because Max thinks about everything for a long moment.

Then he slid the paper an inch toward me.

It was the ferry again, the same one, with three figures on the deck.

The one on the left was a tall man, and Max had colored him gray.

The small one in the middle was a boy with a red hat for headphones.

The one on the right had brown hair and a white jacket, and she was holding the boy's hand.

I had to look at the white jacket twice.

Max never draws anyone touching, because he doesn't like to be touched.

"You made me hold your hand," I said.

"Mama is safe," said Max.

"What about this one?" I put a finger near the gray man. "He used to be blue."

"Blue was Daddy." He frowned at the paper, serious as a judge. "Daddy is gray now. Daddy is far."

Caleb had come in quietly and lowered himself to the carpet beside the table, the way he does, until his eyes were below Max's.

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