I knew that twenty. My mother had given it to him for his birthday on the ninth of April and he had been guarding it like a dragon for eight weeks.
“Hey,” I said. “What are you saving up for?”
And he stopped. He actually froze, with his fingers still in the jar.
Then he said, “My sister.”
My chest went tight in a way I didn’t have any defense against.
I came in and sat down on his bed and pulled him in, and I said the thing you’re supposed to say. I’d been given a leaflet. I’d been told to be concrete with children, not to use vague language.
I said, “Eli. I know you miss her so much. But we can’t get her back, sweetheart. She’s gone.”
And he pulled out of my arms.
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