By the light of the moon

Would it? Shep?'
    'No.'
    'Some things that don't offend us may offend other people, so we
have to be respectful of other people's feelings if we want them to
be respectful of ours.'
    'I know.'
    'Good! So we don't eat Goldfish in front of certain
people—'
    'No Goldfish.'
    '—and we don't pee in public—'
    'No pee.'
    '—and we don't fold in or out of public places.'
    'No fold.'
    'No Goldfish, no pee, no fold,' Dylan said.
    'No Goldfish, no pee, no fold,' Shep repeated.
    Although the pained expression still clenched his face, Dylan
spoke in a softer and more affectionate tone of voice, and with
apparent relief: 'I'm proud of you, Shep.'
    'No Goldfish, no pee, no fold.'
    'I'm very proud of you. And I love you, Shep. Do you know that?
I love you, buddy.' Dylan's voice thickened, and he turned from his
brother. He didn't look at Jilly, perhaps because he couldn't look
at her and keep his composure. He solemnly studied his big hands,
as if he'd done something with them that shamed him. He took
several deep breaths, slow and deep, and into Shepherd's
embarrassed silence, he said again, 'Do you know that I love you
very much?'
    'Okay,' Shep said quietly.
    'Okay,' Dylan said. 'Okay then.'
    Shepherd mopped his sweaty face with one hand, blotted the hand
on his jeans. 'Okay.'
    When Dylan at last met Jilly's eyes, she saw how difficult part
of that conversation with Shep had been for him, the bullying part,
and her voice, too, thickened with emotion. 'Now... now what?'
    He checked for his wallet, found it. 'Now we have lunch.'
    'We left the computer running back in the room.'
    'It'll be all right. And the room's locked. There's a Do Not
Disturb sign on the door.'
    Traffic still passing in liquid ripples of sunlight. The far
side of the street shimmering like a phantasm.
    She expected to hear the silvery laughter of children, to smell
incense, to see a woman wearing a mantilla and sitting on a pew in
the parking lot, to feel the rush of wings as a river of white
birds poured out of the previously birdless sky.
    Then, without raising his head, Shepherd unexpectedly reached
out to take her hand, and the moment became too real for
visions.
    They went inside. She helped Shep find his way, so he would not
have to look up and risk eye contact with strangers.
    Compared to the day outside, the air in the restaurant seemed to
have been piped directly from the arctic. Jilly was not
chilled.
    * * *
    For Dylan, the thought of hundreds of thousands or millions of
microscopic machines swarming through his brain was such an
appetite-killing consideration that he ate, ironically, almost as
though he were a machine refueling itself, with no pleasure in the
food.
    Presented with the perfect entree – a grilled-cheese
sandwich made with square bread lacking an arched crust, cut into
four square pieces – complimented by rectangular steak fries
with blunt ends, dill pickles that Dylan trimmed into rectangular
sticks, and thick slices of beefsteak tomatoes that had also been
trimmed into squares, Shep ate contentedly.
    Although Shep used his fingers to pick up not just the sandwich,
fries, and pickles, but also the remodeled tomatoes, Dylan made no
effort to remind him of the rules of fork usage. There were proper
times and places to reinforce table manners, and there was this time and place, where it made sense just to be thankful
that they were alive and together and able to share a meal in
peace.
    They occupied a booth by a window, though Shep disliked sitting
where he could be 'looked at by people inside and people
out.' These plate-glass windows were so heavily tinted against the
glare of the desert sun that from the outside, in daylight, little
of the interior could be seen.
    Besides, the only booths in the establishment were along the
windows, and the regular tables were so closely set that Shep would
have quickly become agitated when the growing lunch crowd pressed
in around him. The booth offered structural barriers that provided
a welcome degree of privacy, and following his recent chastisement,
Shep was in a flexible mood.
    Psychic imprints on menus and utensils squirmed under Dylan's
touch, but he discovered that he continued to get better at being
able to suppress his awareness of them.
    Dylan and Jilly chatted inanely about inconsequential things,
like favorite movies, as though Hollywood-produced entertainments
could possibly have serious relevance to them now that they had
been set apart from the rest of humanity and were most