“Kenny! Come here and just act natural, like you’re playing,” Connie said. Kenny looked uncertainly after us, in through the door of the laundry room. “What’s going on?” he asked, which for him was acting natural, I guess. “Kenny,” I finally managed to get out in a fairly firm tone, “this is important, so come right now. And don’t look around.” Immediately his head swiveled, from the back of the park to where the purple bus ought to be parked and wasn’t, to the front of the park. His face was blank; whatever he saw, it had no meaning for him. I spoke through gritted teeth. “Now, Kenny!” He walked toward us, kicking a pop can somebody had dropped, then picking it up to deposit it in the garbage can near the door, the way he’d been taught. Ma had a real thing about dropping trash around. As soon as he got close enough, Connie and I both reached out and jerked him inside. “What’s going on?” he protested. “Did you see the car turning in?” I asked, wanting to shake him for being so slow when we’d tried so hard to make him move quickly.
