~ ~ ~



The mother, father, son and daughter checker coach, only two of the assigned seats together, which means that Zan and Viv take turns with Sheba while Parker has his own seat across the aisle. On Zan’s shift, scruples waver and soon he has the four-year-old swilling Benadryl; as the plane flies into darkness, Sheba sleeps on her father’s lap with Parker slumped two rows ahead.

Viv says to Zan, “While you’re in London, you need to have the Talk with Parker.” Trying not to look as glum about it as he feels, Zan nods. “He’s twelve,” Viv insists, and Zan says, “All right,” realizing it sounds snappish. “I know he’s twelve.”

“He’s going to start wondering,” says Viv.

“He’s beyond wondering. He’s already figured stuff out.”

“He doesn’t know anything.”

“He knows all of it.”

“Did you? At twelve?”

“I don’t remember how much I knew or exactly what, but I had gotten the gist of it.”

“The gist?”

“Yes, the gist.”

“Shhh,” she says, looking at everyone around them sleeping.


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