Dead in the Family

could see. Once again, something stirred in the back of my head, a memory that wasn’t a memory. Something to do with the woods . . . with a hurt man in the woods. I shook my head to rid myself of the haziness, and I realized I couldn’t hear any voices.
    “Claude,” I called.
    “Here!”
    I walked around a clump of bushes and saw the fairy and the little boy enjoying the whirligig. That’s what I’d always called it, anyway. It’s circular, several kids can stand on it, a few others run around the edges pushing, and then it whirls in a circle until the impetus is gone. Claude was pushing it way too fast, and though Hunter was enjoying it, his grin was looking a little tense, too. I could see the fear in his brain, seeping through the pleasure.
    “Whoa, Claude,” I said, keeping my voice level. “That’s enough speed for a kid.” Claude stopped pushing, though he was reluctant. He’d been having a great time himself.
    Though Hunter pooh-poohed my warning, I could tell he was relieved. He hugged Claude when Claude told him he had to go to Monroe to open up his club. “What kind of club?” Hunter asked, and I had to give Claude a significant look and keep my head blank.
    “See you later, sport,” the fairy told the child, and hugged him back.
    It was time for an early lunch, so I took Hunter to McDonald’s as a big treat. His dad hadn’t mentioned any ban on fast food, and I figured one trip was okay.
    Hunter loved his Happy Meal, ran the toy car from the container over the tabletop until I was absolutely tired of it, and then wanted to go into the play area. I was sitting on a bench watching him, hoping the joys of the tunnels and the slide would hold him for at least ten more minutes, when another woman came out the door into the fenced area, with a boy about Hunter’s age in tow. Though I practically heard the ominous thud of bass drums, I kept a smile pasted on my face and hoped for the best.
    After a few seconds of regarding each other warily, the two boys began shouting and running around the small play area together, and I relaxed, but cautiously. I ventured a smile at Mom, but she was brooding off into the distance, and I didn’t have to read her mind to see she’d had a bad morning. (I discovered that her dryer had broken down, and she couldn’t afford another one for at least two months.)
    “Is this your youngest?” I asked, trying to look cheerful and interested.
    “Yes, youngest of four,” she said, which explained her desperation about the dryer. “All the rest of ’em are at Little League baseball practice. It’ll be summer vacation soon, and they’ll be home for three months.”
    Oh. I was out of things to say.
    My unwilling companion sank back into her own grim thoughts, and I did my best to stay out. It was a struggle, because she was like a black hole of unhappy thoughts, kind of sucking me in with her.
    Hunter came to stand in front of her, regarding her with open-mouthed fascination.
    “Hello,” the woman said, making a great effort.
    “Do you really want to run away?” he asked.
    This was definitely an “oh shit” moment. “Hunter, we need to be going,” I said quickly. “Come on, now. We’re late, late!” And I picked Hunter up and carried him away, though he was squirming and wiggling in protest (and also much heavier than he looked). He actually landed a kick on my thigh, and I almost dropped him.
    The mother in the play area was staring after us, her mouth agape, and her little boy had come to stand in front of her, puzzled at his playmate’s abrupt departure.
    “I was having a good time!” Hunter yelled. “Why do we have to go?”
    I looked him straight in the eyes. “Hunter, you be quiet until we’re in the car,” I said, and I meant every word. Carrying him through the restaurant while he was yelling had focused every eye on us, and I hadn’t enjoyed the attention. I’d noticed a couple of people I knew, and there would be questions to answer later. This wasn’t Hunter’s fault, but it didn’t make me feel any kinder.
    As I buckled his seat belt, I realized I’d let Hunter get too tired and overexcited, and I made a mental note not to do that again. I could feel his little brain practically jiggling up and down.
    Hunter was looking at me as though his heart were broken. “I was having a good time,” he said again. “That boy was my friend.”
    I turned sideways to look him in the face. “Hunter, you said something to his mom that