I stared at him.

“Somewhere safe where, Caleb?

What does that mean?” “It’s fine, Mom.” “That is not an answer.

Somewhere safe where?”

He lifted his eyes to me then, and there was something in them, some exhaustion far too old for his face, some plea.

“Can I please just take a shower?” he said.

“Please?” And before I could answer, he slipped past me and went up the stairs, and a moment later I heard the water begin to run.

I stood alone in the kitchen, in the smell of mud and dish soap he had left in the hallway, and listened to my son shower, and felt the whole careful structure of the innocent explanations I had built collapse, quietly, all at once.