Jake, running on practically no sleep and out of bed at what passes as 3:30am pacific time, chirps around the kitchen, showered and fresh in a button-down and tie, fixing his lunch, fishing jalepenos from a jar, happiness flying off him in big fat drops.

Tucker holds very still. He moves up close to me and looks into my eyes. His stillness is asking me something he will not speak. His stillness is begging me. Don't make me go. Let me stay home. Let me not go.

No reason. Just a pooled dread.

I give him tylenol for the pain in his back. I give him lunch money for food he won't buy. I stand beside him on the porch until the bus comes. He goes, but the dread stays with me, pooled and cool and deep.