Benji sat on the edge of the couch with his knees pulled tight up under his chin.

“We can get that space station set with the little blue astronauts you wanted,” Clay said, reaching over to pat Benji’s knee.

Benji drew his legs back against the cushion before Clay’s hand could touch him.

Clay froze with his arm stretched out over the rug, his fingers hovering two inches from Benji’s socks.

“He’s just tired from being up late,” Clay said to me without turning around.

“He isn’t tired,” I said from the hall doorway.