“Hi, Charlie!” Mom said as I passed. “You guys are gross,” I answered. It smelled good in there, but it was too hot and steamy, in every inconceivable way. “How was work?” she called after me. “Um,” I said, yanking myself up the stairs with help from the banister. Kevin’s door was closed, I saw as I reached the top of the stairs. The next thing I noticed was that all along the hall walls were photographs. Very arty, I admit. Maybe too arty. Self-consciously arty, black and white, lots of partial faces and shadows. And most of them were of Kevin, or Samantha, or Kevin and Samantha. I was standing in the hall looking at an especially gorgeous shot of Kevin as a little guy, maybe seven, sitting on a rock with one eye closed and the other open, glaring at the camera, when Samantha emerged from her room. I jumped and dropped my backpack, in my failed attempt to not look guilty and caught. “Do you want to play with me?” Samantha asked. “Or I could just read or hang with Alpha if you’re busy.”
