Mum asked, offering Ben an open can of fruit with a spoon in it. Ben shook his head. “Whipped cream?” Dad said. Ben looked at his father and took the can of whipped cream, spraying some into the middle of a paper plate. They sat and ate quietly to the sound of Olive sleep-breathing and the wild noises from outside. “What’s wrong with you?” Dad asked. “Cat got your tongue?” Mum said. Ben felt as though he had been transported into an alternative universe. How could they be talking about apricots and whipped cream and cats’ tongues, knowing what they knew, what Ben now knew? Mum had come out of the cabin soon after Ben discovered the news article. He had thrown the phone back into the dash compartment and moved quickly to meet her halfway across the clearing, trying to stop her from seeing the smashed window. “Come back to the cabin. Have some dessert, get some sleep before we go,” she had said. So Ben, guilty, mind roaring, floated back to the cabin. “Are you over your little performance now?”
