“You don’t need to take that upstairs.”

“I always take it upstairs.”

“I know.”

He waited.

I straightened the collar of his pajama shirt, then Dylan’s, although Dylan’s was already straight.

“Are you mad at Elliott?” Caleb asked.

“I am thinking.”

“About what?”

I looked at the houses on Dylan’s paper.

“What happens next.”

Neither boy spoke.

Dylan picked up his crayon and added another window.

I put the drawing in our notebook and closed it.

The refrigerator hummed behind me.