Melody died. Zack wondered where his mother was. At the funeral he watched them put the big box in the ground, but he said nothing and showed nothing. He held Ada's hand. Afterward, she drove him home and they sat at the table and ate dinner with his aunt and uncle and some other people. He didn't understand what they were talking about. He kept looking at Ada, and after a while she pulled him to her and set him in her lap with her arms around him and he felt more comfortable. He wasn't accustomed to so many people in the house.

Ada had already removed his little bed from Melody's room. Now he slept in the big bed, where at first he'd slept with his mother, and where she'd let him in to tell him bedtime stories, even when he had his own big-boy bed. But his mother was gone, and his grandma said he had to sleep in his own room. (which had been their room, his and his mom's). His grandma wouldn't let him sleep with her. The room was full of shadows from the night light and he couldn't see the corners, or what was behind the door or under the bed, or in the chest of drawers. He tried to be brave, but the first night he ran to his grandma's room. She came back with him and turned on the lights and put him in bed and stayed. In the morning she was gone.

She gave him his mother's old brown bear, all worn, with the shiny nose. It still smelled of her perfume. He wanted to be a big boy. He didn't want his grandma to think he was afraid. He clutched the bear and smelled his mother's smell, and learned to sleep again, alone.

In the way of small children he accepted what had happened, without understanding. He was happy. For a while he missed his mom and the children at day care, too, but his grandma stayed home with him. She took him with her everywhere she went. She played games and read stories and sang songs to him, and taught him how to help her in the kitchen and garden. When they were outside and he wanted to play, she gave him the garden hose and let him drench himself. When he broke a nice dish she didn't scold him. She used the old dishes after that, and let him continue putting the plates and glasses on the table. She let him carry clean clothes upstairs, and if he dropped them, she simply refolded them. She said he was her helper.

He was clumsy and energetic. He tried even Ada's patience, but she always reminded herself that he was only eager to help, and that he had no parents. He had his mother's liveliness, and the normal stubbornness of a two-year-old, but otherwise he was as tractable as Gabriel had been. Ada reflected how odd it was, that the girls in this family had been more difficult to raise than the boys, when the genders were usually the other way around.

The house was cleaner and less cluttered. The chaos disappeared with Melody. This wasn't because Melody created disorder even when she tried to be a helpful housemate. Rather, she and Ada had been too busy with work and study and the boy to tend to domestic details. Carryout food, the rule for the last two years, disappeared, and cooked meals reappeared. The horizontal surfaces were clear of dust again. Now that Ada wasn't teaching, she had more time for the chores.

Old friends dropped by to talk, but she was detached, and her responses were noncommittal. Silences fell, and lengthened. Her friends felt as if they were interrupting. Their calls and visits tapered off. The only people she continued to see were Nina, Sarah, and the Larsons. Her life was slow and full. She kept the boy by her, not wanting to send him to preschool; though she believed he would be better off with more company than hers, she couldn't do without him. He was all that remained. She taught him his alphabet and numbers, and the other simple things of childhood.

She signed the two of them up for violin lessons twice a week. For the first time in her life she was learning an instrument. She didn't care for the way the fiddle felt, completely unnatural in her hands, but she thought she owed it to the boy. His grandfather Wyatt and his uncle Gabriel had been, or were, musicians, so maybe Zack would like music. She started him on the lessons at three, and he seemed to enjoy them, but as a shared expedition, rather than for the music. He admired the violin and the bow and the case more in themselves than for the sounds he could produce; he liked to exhibit these things whenever anyone came to the house. Ada was afraid the musical line had come to an end at this child, but she continued, enduring the screeching of her own instrument every day, practicing faithfully, and watching the clock as she did. If she had ever had any doubts, they were resolved: she lacked both talent and inclination.

Her health held until the year the boy turned five. She had never suffered from headaches; she averaged perhaps one a year. The first one came in the garden, as she dug. The pain was unlike any she'd ever felt: neither sharp nor dull, a massive sensation filled her head, as if her brain was being crushed or squeezed. She sat on the ground, waiting for the feeling to pass. When it didn't, she went inside and lay down. An hour later her suffering diminished and she resumed her gardening and other chores. By dinner she'd forgotten.

They washed the dishes and put them away, and played chess for a while, or tried to: they were learning the game from a book, and made nothing but mistakes. Zack's bishops always seemed to end up on the same color, and Ada never noticed until too late.

A week passed, and at the same time of day the pain returned. It was stronger, and laid her out for almost two hours.

The third headache waited nearly two weeks, and this time Ada made an appointment with a doctor. She hadn't been to one since the year Melody was born; she chose at random from the book of providers, a female. The voice asked whether it was an emergency. She said yes, an answer she had never imagined herself giving to such a question.

She had to wait in the office so long she read three old magazines, and then waited another half hour in a small room. She had forgotten about the preliminaries: taking the height, weight, blood pressure, and pulse, and writing all these in a file. The functional, almost featureless room had the same anonymous apparatus she remembered. Was there only one place that supplied these places with their furnishings, a massive central warehouse somewhere, filled with standard items in standard colors?

The doctor came and inspected her. Ada had always hated having her cavities -- mouth, ears, and especially her private parts -- inspected, her lungs and heart listened to, her reflexes checked. These exams were so intrusive, she felt like a dog at the veterinary's office.

She had to insist that the doctor, who was reluctant, order tests. They took blood, and arranged for her to have a spinal tap in two days. The doctor wrote a prescription for a painkiller, which Ada discarded later.

The tests came back negative.

The next headache was incapacitating. The others were inconsequential in comparison. She was so completely in its grip that she couldn't use the phone. She had never imagined that suffering on this scale was possible. She simply lay on the floor, absorbed in a pain that grew to consume the universe. Nothing outside of it existed.

When the headache let her move, she called an ambulance. The paramedics helped her, shaking and sweating, into the machine. The Larsons picked up Zack at the hospital.

The CT scan, like the other tests, showed nothing. They took more blood and spinal fluid. The emergency room doctors fired questions: any insect bites, contact with pets, undercooked food, bird droppings, HIV risk factors? She smiled at that question, in spite of her pain.

They kept her overnight for observation. She called Nina. Though she was almost ninety, Nina agreed to drive down and tend Zack for a day or two.

They kept Ada another twenty-four hours and released her, saying that she should get to the hospital instantly, the moment she felt a headache coming on. She wasn't having garden-variety migraines. Hers were more like aseptic meningitis, and could be fatal.

Nina stayed a week, and Ada used the time to put her affairs in order. She drew up a new will, leaving everything to Zack, with Clover as the executor. She made a living will, specifying that in case of brain death no life support should be used. She carefully printed on a piece of paper all her legal information, contacts, and recent medical history. She put the paper in a plastic holder and hung it on a cord around her neck.

She stored the wills in her safe deposit box and mailed her daughter the spare key. The following day, she called Clover at her office.

"Your name is on the card at the bank. They'll let you open the box if I die," she said.

"Aren't you being a little paranoid?" Clover asked.

"No. Now listen. Zack is outside, so he can't hear this. I need to ask. Will you adopt him? It wouldn't be fair for him to go to Gabriel. He only has a few years left himself. Melody dies, Ada dies, Gabriel dies. Can you imagine how that would make that little boy feel? Are you willing to raise him?"

"I never wanted chil-- "

"I know all that nonsense. I've heard you say that for years. But it's cowardice. All you need is some of that confidence you have in everything else."

"Mama -- "

"No. I know you love this boy. I know it. You're always asking for pictures of him. I've seen the way you hold him and watch him when you come to visit."

"Mama -- "

"Well, you can give me your answer tomorrow. I don't have much time. I'll have to look for someone else."

"Stop bullying me!"

"You've tried to bully me your entire life. I'm not being polite to you any longer. It's time for you to think of someone besides yourself." She started to hang up, then brought the phone back to her ear and said, "You'll be a wonderful mother. You'll manage very well. You always do."

She filled a little journal with all her thoughts and observations about Zack -- the sort of treatment he responded to, how he learned, his strengths and weaknesses. She mailed it to her daughter the next day. On the last page, she apologized for her mistake: she should have continued sending him to preschool. She had been his life for three years. How would he adapt, if she died?

She trained him to call 911 if he found her unable to move or speak: "See?" she said. "The man put a red piece of paper under this button." She pointed at her new programmable phone. The salesman had set the button to dial 911 automatically. "All you have to do is pick up the phone and push this button. Go ahead. Pick it up."

Zack lifted the entire phone.

"No. I mean this part. Like I do when I make a phone call."

Zack picked up the handset. Ada depressed the switch hook, so the call wouldn't go through. "Press the button," she said. He pressed, and she took the handset and hung it up.

She had him practice talking on the phone to Nina next. When they'd finished, Ada sat in the wooden chair next to the phone table. "Now, Zack, this is very, very important. We were just pretending. We were practicing."

"Like my violin?"

"Like your violin. We practiced pressing the button so you'll know what to do. We practiced talking on the phone so you'll know how to do that, too." Her eyes stung. "It's important to know what to do."

He looked at the phone.

"You pick up the phone and press the button if I can't talk to you."

"Why?"

"If I can't talk, it means I'm sick. I need you to help me." She wasn't sure she could say this. He looked frightened. "Zack. You have to be brave. You have to be a big boy. Do you understand?"

He nodded.

She drew a breath. "I've been sick. I have bad headaches. If I get sick again, you can help me. You call. Someone will ask what's wrong. Just say, 'My grandma's sick'."

" 'My granma's sick'."

"That's right. Don't forget. Use the phone. Press the red button."

She made a game of it. Every other morning they chanted a rhyme she'd made up, to remind him. She was most worried that she'd die in her sleep, but she didn't know what to do. She didn't think to have him sleep in her bedroom, or she in his. She didn't think to get a medical emergency pager.

She was pushing Zack in the swing one day, remembering his mother in the same swing at the same age, and she gave up. It was too unfair, that she shouldn't be able to stay on and take care of this boy, that he should be left behind a second time. She knew she was going to die, and soon, and she knew the doctors couldn't help. She knew these things with a certainty that was absolute.

She lay in the grass, looking at the branches of the tree above her.

"Granma?"

She didn't answer.

"Are you okay?"

She didn't answer.

"I'll help. I'll call on the phone." He jumped down from the swing, landing on his hands and knees. "Ow."

"Oh, honey, are you all right?"

"I'm going to help you."

"No, no. I'm fine."

She needed to lie down and rest, but Zack had skinned a hand and torn his jeans. Children, especially the small ones, were always inconvenient. It was one of their specialties.

She took him inside and washed the hand and sent him upstairs to change his pants. She wanted to call someone, but she didn't want to bother them. What could she say? That she'd had a premonition? She would sound ridiculous.

Zack came downstairs holding a book and asked her to read. He climbed onto her lap sideways and rested his head against her chest.

Ada began, "Once upon a time, in a gloomy castle on a lonely hill, where there were thirteen clocks that wouldn't go, there lived a cold, aggressive Duke, and his niece, the Princess Saralinda. She was warm in every wind and weather, but he was always cold. His hands were as cold as his smile and almost as cold as his heart. He wore gloves when he was asleep..."

It was her favorite book to read to him, though not at all his favorite to listen to. She thought he was trying to cheer her up. If so, he succeeded. She was in a better mood when she read "...the distant shining shores of Ever After. Your guess is quite as good as mine (there are a lot of things that shine) but I have always thought she did, and I will always think so." She closed the book.

She took him downtown to a movie that evening. He loved all movies, even the ones beyond his understanding. Amelie was playing, and she'd missed it the first time it was shown, the week Zack was born.

"What part did you like best?" she asked him on the drive home.

"When they let the goldfish go."

"That was good. I liked that, too."

"What did you like?" he asked.

She liked the scene where the fornicating couple caused the cafe dishes to bounce, because it reminded her of the frenzied clawing she and her husband had sometimes engaged in. But that was hardly appropriate to discuss with Zack. "There were so many good things," she said. She wished she'd known about all the sexual references, or she wouldn't have taken him. "The sad goldfish. I think I liked the part where she put the toys next to the man and he found them. Or maybe the travelling statue."

At home Zack got out his sketchbook and asked her to draw pictures of the movie.

"No. I'm tired. Besides, I can't draw. You draw. You're the artist in this family."

"Okay."

Ada let him stay up past his bedtime, drawing, and telling her the story of Amelie's secret sister, and then drawing and telling her the story of her secret brother.

The next morning she had another headache. This was what hell would be like, she thought. She dropped to her hands and knees and vomited on the carpet. She disappeared into the pain.

Zack found her shortly after, lying in the vomit. "Granma?" He waited. "Granma?" He picked up the phone and pushed the button.

"911," came a voice. "Where are you calling from?"

"My granma's sick."

"Can she come to the phone?"

"Granma?" He waited. "She. She doesn't talk."

"Okay. We're sending an ambulance. Stay with me. What's your name?"

"Zack."

"What's her name?"

"Granma."

"I mean her first name."

He thought for a second. "Ada."

"What does she look like?"

"She threw up."

"Where is she?"

"On the floor."

"Has she been sick lately?"

"She has headaches."

The fire truck arrived first. One of the firemen took the phone from Zack, spoke into it, then hung it up.

"Are we going to the fire station?" Zack asked.

"No. You're going with them." He pointed to the back yard. An ambulance was pulling in.

They put his grandmother on a strange bed with wheels and lifted it up and rolled her out. A woman took him by the hand and led him to the ambulance. He broke away and ran to the back door and pulled it shut. He rattled the handle, the way he'd seen his grandma do.

The drive to the hospital was exciting. The siren screamed and all the cars got out of the way. They drove through red lights. But in the hospital they put him on a chair and told him not to move. There was a television, high up in the corner of the room, and he wished he had a TV at home. He loved them. A nature show was on, about lions and zebras and elephants. He forgot everything and watched. Then another show came on, about fishermen. Someone changed the channel and they watched a basketball game for a while. He heard the word "Jayhawks". The game was boring. He got up and wandered down the hall, looking for his grandma.

A woman in a yellow flowered jacket squatted in front of him. "Hi," she said. "What's your name?"

"Zack."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm looking for my granma."

"Did she bring you here?"

He didn't know how to answer.

"What's your grandma's name?"

"Ada."

"Let's go find out where she is."

She held out her hand, but he didn't take it.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"You're a stranger. I'm not supposed to go with strangers."

"Oh." She pointed to her name tag. "See this? It means I work here. I'm a nurse. Do you know what a nurse is?"

Zack nodded.

"Nurses help people. I want to help you find your grandma. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Here," she said. "You can use my stethoscope. Would you like that?"

"Yes."

"Now we're just going to walk to that desk. That's all. Is that okay?"

The woman at the desk couldn't look up admissions by first name. Finally the nurse thought to ask Zack his last name.

"There it is," the woman at the computer said. "Ada Packard."

"Call the room and find out what's going on."

"There isn't any room. Probably the E.R." She picked up a phone and pushed a button, and asked a question. She listened. "Well, we have her grandson here. What should we do?" She listened a moment longer and hung up. "They're still working on her. That was one organized lady. She had all her information around her neck."

"Zack," the nurse said. "I want you to stay here with Peggy. See the extra chair? You can sit with her."

"I'm not supposed to let anyone behind the desk."

"Make an exception. I don't want this boy wandering off." She started down the hall. "Call Social Services," she said over her shoulder.

Peggy made another call. Zack was listening to her heartbeat with the stethoscope when the nurse and another woman arrived together. The other woman was black. The nurse and the woman talked.

The nurse asked Zack for her stethoscope. "Thank you," she said. "Now this nice lady is going to call Nina to come get you."

There was some confusion until they figured out that Zack's name for Nina was Muddy. Then the lady made the phone call. She handed the phone to Zack.

"She wants to talk to you."

"Zack? Are you all right?" Muddy asked.

"I'm okay."

"What's wrong with Ada?"

"She had a headache."

"Another one? Oh my God. I'm coming to get you. Let me talk to the lady again."

He handed the phone back. When the lady finished talking, she took him to her office. There was another TV in the corner, and she said she had to work, but he could watch the television. There was a war movie. His granma never let him see war movies. She said war was bad. But it looked exciting. He thought he'd like to be a soldier when he grew up.

The movie wasn't over when Muddy arrived.

"Zack, are you all right?"

She was hugging him, and he couldn't see the television. He struggled to get free.

"He wants to watch the movie," the black lady said. "You can check on Ada."

The movie finished and another one started. This one was about a man in a boat. It was boring.

Muddy returned and spoke to the woman. The woman handed her a piece of paper, and Muddy wrote something at the bottom and gave it to the black woman. She turned to Zack. "We'll go home now."

"Is granma coming?"

"She's sick. She has to stay here for a while."

"I want to say 'bye."

The black lady said, "She's too sick. She isn't awake."

"I want to see her."

"Maybe you can see her tomorrow," Muddy said.

"I want to see her."

The two women looked at each other.

He ran away from them, through the halls, searching for his grandmother.

He found her by her red hair. She was lying in a bed, strange things stuck to her arms and chest and face, machines all around. She was perfectly still. Two men were standing next to the bed, looking at her and talking.

Zack touched her arm. "Granma?"

One of the men grabbed him and yelled, "Somebody get this kid out of here."

Zack kicked and his heel hit the man's shin. The man shouted and let go. Zack almost got away, but there were too many adults and they caught him. A big man in strange baggy blue clothes with a matching hat carried him out of the room.

"Granma!" Zack screamed.

He refused to leave. They ended up taking him home in the back of a police car. He couldn't open the doors. Nina met them at the house. One of the officers did something to the door lock, and Nina thanked him and took Zack inside.

The next day the house was a blur of people coming and going: his uncle Gabriel and aunt Julia, and other people he didn't know. They sat at the kitchen table and talked. Then they left. Then they came back. Whenever Zack was in the kitchen everyone stopped talking. They wouldn't answer his questions about his grandma. No one paid attention to him. Sometimes he lay in bed and cried. He wondered what they were doing to his grandma at the hospital.

The day after that his aunt Clover came, and she took him for walks and played with him. Sometimes she asked him to go to his room for a while and promised to come get him soon. Sometimes it didn't feel like "soon" before she came and got him.

The next day a television set arrived, and she had the men put it in his bedroom, and she took him to a store and let him buy so many movies they filled three big bags. She carried two bags and he dragged the other one. The bag burst.

"Someone!" she yelled. "Get over here. We need help."

One of the boys behind the counter loped over.

"Bring another bag, you idiot! Unless you want to carry them in your arms."

At home she showed Zack how to put the tapes in the machine. Then she said, "I'll be downstairs. If you need me, come get me."

Zack nodded and put a tape in the slot. He watched one movie after another for the rest of the day. In the evening aunt Clover came upstairs.

"I have to go to the hospital," she said.

Zack jumped from his bed to the floor.

"I'm sorry," his aunt said. "You have to stay here."

"I want to see granma."

"If you'll stay here now, I'll explain later."

"I want to see my granma."

Clover looked at him. "I can't take you to see her," she said.

"Isn't she in the hospital? Where is she?"

"It's complicated. You have to trust me, Zack. Will you be a good boy? Will you stay here?"

"I want to see granma." He was crying. "I want to talk to her. I want -- " He started to sob.

Clover brought him downstairs. "He's coming with us." Gabriel started to speak and she hurried on: "Only to the waiting room. Nina, he rides with you. Don't break any speed limits, understand? Take your time. And everyone be careful what you say."

"This is not a good idea," Gabriel said.

"I know, but the alternative is worse. He insisted."

The adults shrugged. They were hiding something.

He waited with Muddy in the same place as before, the room with all the chairs. He watched the TV. Muddy let him get up and go to the water fountain when he was thirsty.

After a while he saw his aunt and uncle at the desk, writing on pieces of paper. He ran over.

A man in a black suit appeared. He shook Gabriel's hand and said, "I'm the chaplain -- "

Clover intercepted the hand and pumped it. "Reverend. So nice to meet you. Can we talk over here?"

She led him across the room, her hand still in his, the other hand guiding him by the elbow. She leaned toward him and said something Zack couldn't hear. The man looked at Zack and turned back to Clover and nodded and said, "I see. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, but thank you for the offer."

He took a little white card from his pocket and handed it to her, said something, and walked off.

Zack rode home with Clover instead of Nina. He knew she wasn't telling him everything. All of this felt familiar. Something very, very bad had happened.

"Are you tired?" his aunt asked.

"A little."

"Would you like me to read you a story?"

"I guess."

She put him in bed. "What story would you like?"

He handed her the book that was his grandma's favorite.

When she finished reading his aunt asked, "Are you sleepy?"

"No."

"You can watch your movies for a while. I have to talk to the other adults. We have to decide some things. If you really, really need something you can come and get me. But if you don't, please stay here. I mean, stay here unless you're hungry or your stomach hurts or something."

"Okay."

When she'd gone downstairs he put a tape in the television set and turned it on, but he didn't watch. He opened the door, so his aunt could hear the movie and know he was in his room. Then he went to the stairs and sat on the top step, at the side where he couldn't be seen from the kitchen, and listened. He heard a few words, not enough to be sure of anything. Then, when he was ready to go back to his room, he heard the word "funeral". A minute later he heard "dead". He turned off the television in his room and crawled under the sheets.

Clover came upstairs after the movie ended. "What's wrong? Have you been crying?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

"I miss my granma."

"I know. I miss her, too."

"I want to see her."

Clover looked at the floor. Then she said, "You can see her tomorrow. But she won't be able to talk to you."

So it was true.

"I'll take you. I'll explain -- Never mind. Do you want anything?"

"No. Do you think she'd like a picture? I want to draw her a picture."

Clover looked out the window. "Yes. Go ahead and draw. I have to make some phone calls. I'll be downstairs."

The next day he kept asking when they were going to see his granma, and Clover kept saying, "Not yet". Then the phone rang. When she finished talking she said, "We can go see her now. Get your coat."

In the car Clover asked, "Do you know what it means when someone is dead?"

"My mom's dead. They put her in the ground."

"Yes. It means we have to say goodbye to them. It's time to say goodbye to your grandma."

Zack stared out the window.

They pulled up in front of a building with a circular drive and a sign on the lawn. Inside, the building was like a church. A woman in a dress said, "Are you here to see Ada Packard?"

She led them to a big brown wood box. The top part was open. It was too high, and he couldn't see. His aunt lifted him up. His grandmother was lying in the box. Her eyes were closed. She looked asleep, but there was something wrong with her skin. It didn't look the way it always had.

"Granma?" he said. She didn't answer. "I made you a picture."

"Let me see," Clover said.

He held it up. It showed a red-haired woman sitting in a field of green, with a rainbow at the top, and a cloud between her head and the rainbow.

"Is that your grandma?" Clover asked.

"Yes. She's in heaven. See the grass? She likes grass. She likes rainbows and clouds, too. The weather's always nice in heaven."

"Oh, Zack. That's the most beautiful drawing. She would love that."

"Can I give it to her?"

"Yes."

Clover lowered him and Zack put the drawing on top of his grandmother's folded hands. He leaned further and kissed her.

The memorial service was the next day, at the Meeting house his grandma had taken him to a few times. Clover stood and said, "My mother was a Quaker. For those who don't know, that means there will be no elegy, no minister, and no service. We maintain silence. If you're moved to speak, to remember her with words, please do so, but leave a decent interval of silence after the person before you has finished." She sat, and for a while no one spoke.

The building couldn't hold everyone. There were people seated on the benches, and on folding chairs, and standing, and he saw more of them through the windows. He recognized Gabriel, and Julia and Muddy and the Larsons. Some of the others looked familiar.

They stood, one after another, and told stories. The most common began, "She was my teacher," but many said, "She was my friend". There were so many people that before they finished Zack tugged his aunt's hand and said, "I need to go pee," and she led him to the bathroom.

Later, in the afternoon, they went to the cemetery and he watched the box go in the ground, between his mother and his grandfather.

Gabriel knelt and spoke to Zack. "I have to leave. I'm sorry I didn't get much time to talk to you."

"That's okay."

"How are you feeling?" Clover asked.

Gabriel answered, "Good. The weakness comes and goes. I'm sorry to leave. I have to make as much money as I can, so Julia and the baby will have enough to live on. I already had to reschedule the first two dates. If I don't get my flight we'll miss another one."

"How's the pregnancy?" Clover asked.

"Perfect." Julia smiled. "The doctors say they wish all of them were like this."

"Call me," Clover said.

Gabriel nodded. Julia took his hand and they walked away.

Zack spent the rest of the afternoon doing things with his aunt -- buying some clothes, then sitting on the couch and listening to his grandfather's music.

She said, "Zack, I have to go home for a couple of weeks and get things ready, but I'll come back. Muddy will take care of you. Then I'll come get you."

"Okay." He wasn't sure what she meant. He liked his aunt, but sometimes she scared him. He was reluctant to ask questions.

At dinner there were only three plates on the table, one for each of them: Clover, Muddy, and Zack.

"Granma needs a plate," Zack said.

"But she's not here. I thought you understood."

"I want a plate for granma."

Clover lifted him to get down a china plate.

"No," he said. "Those." He pointed to the next cabinet, the one that held the old, chipped dishes.

His aunt carried Zack over and opened the other cabinet. Zack reached in and took a plain white dinner plate from the stack. Clover lowered him, and he set it on the table, at the end.

"She likes these better," he said.