Henry's room is between the hall closet and the bathroom. He shares it with his sister, but Ann's sleeping in Mr. Walker's den, a little space that sticks out of the side of the house a little. It's hidden by the stairs. Mr. Walker goes there to read when the sun's out. Mrs. Walker goes there to sew when the weather's nice enough. They've hung curtains up for it to make it more of a room. But Henry's room is dim and crowded and it smells like dust and wet. Dr. Tucker sits with Henry at the side of his bed, checking his pulse and watching the wristwatch. Henry's eyes are closed and scrunched, his face red and pale. His skin glistens, and his mouth is open for the hardest breathing in history. Whines come out like snakes. The muscles in him twitch, and the bed shakes a little.

Mrs. Walker realizes I'm behind her, and ushers me back downstairs. “He's awake right now, but needs to rest. He has a bad fever.”

“How bad?” I ask.

“One-hundred and four degrees.”

“That's hot.” I feel stupid saying that.

She nods, smiling tightly. She twists her hands by her waist and breaths slowly. “Everyone has been so kind the past few days,” she says, turning away. “We've gotten so many flowers. Your mother gave us some vegetables.” She shows me a bundle of carrots and cabbage and potatoes. A small cup of peas. Some onions, too. “Very kind of her. She said you helped plant all this?”

I nod. Momma said, after Papa left for the war, that she was afraid. Gramma was scared, too, because this happened “last time”. They ripped up Momma's pretty flower garden over two afternoons and planted lots of vegetables. Bill and I helped dig and set the edges of the beds.

“Well, tell them I very much so appreciate it, okay?”

I nod again. “I'll tell them.”

Dr. Tucker comes down the stairs. A few people look at him but he ignores them. “I've left the windows open, Mrs. Walker, so he's getting lots of fresh, circulated air. The transom window is open, too. He'll need some fresh water soon, and someone will have to clean him later. It's unhygienic for him to stay in those clothes. The sheets will need to be changed, as well.”

“Yes, Dr. Tucker,” she says. “Do you know when he'll wake up?”

Dr. Tucker looks at me. He puts his hand on Mrs. Walker's shoulder and pushes her towards the kitchen. “That's a tricky thing to guess,” he says, before they both disappear into the house.

The house is full of people. People I know and people I don't. Music is playing, but I don't know from where. Mrs. Walker's phonograph isn't playing. It's tingling and wet in the living room, even with the windows open, but I don't feel like I have a place to sit and stay. I go to the kitchen. Mrs. Walker is still talking to Dr. Tucker. She nods, but I don't know if she's listening anymore. He's said something she doesn't like. Her mouth is long and eyes are wide. All of it is almost too big. But when she sees me, Mrs. Walker blinks, and her face is normal. She comes over. “I should go back to my house,” I say.

“Come over again. When you can,” she says. “I bet Henry would really like that.”

I nod. I don't know how much he would really like it if he was asleep the whole time. Would he even know I was there?

Some people talk to me, but it's awkward and they don't know how to ask questions right. Their words fall out of their mouth like glass. Max won't let me leave until I scratch his belly. He rolls onto his side and watches me, his tongue hanging out and grunting. It makes me smile. When I do leave, I say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Walker. I don't know where Ann or Henry's gramma and gramps are. The house is gold on the inside, cold on the outside. I run home and tell Momma that Mrs. Walker says “thank you” for the vegetables. I go to bed.