“That doesn’t make any sense, Mom, because you can’t put a real kid on a shelf,” he pointed out plainly.

A faint, teary chuckle slipped out of me in spite of the heavy sadness filling the room.

“You’re totally right, honey, that was an awful way for me to explain it,” I admitted, reaching over to touch his knee.

He looked up at me, waiting patiently for his mother to make the frightening world make sense again.

“Do you remember back in October when you broke your reading glasses by accident sliding into second base at the park?” I asked him.

“Yeah, and they cost a hundred and fifty dollars to replace at the eye doctor,” he remembered right away.