Dead in the Family

let her know you’re different.”
    He was realistic enough to admit the truth of what I was saying. “She was really mad,” he muttered. “Moms leave their kids.”
    His own mother had left him.
    I thought for a second about what I could say. I decided to ignore the darker theme here. Hadley had left Remy and Hunter, and now she was dead and would never return. Those were facts. There was nothing I could do to change them. What Remy wanted me to do was to help Hunter live the rest of his life.
    “Hunter, this is hard. I know it. I went through the same thing. You could hear what that mom was thinking, and then you said it out loud.”
    “But she was saying it! In her head!”
    “But not out loud.”
    “That was what she was saying .”
    “In her head.” He was just being stubborn now. “Hunter, you’re a very young man. But to make your own life easier, you have to start thinking before you talk.”
    Hunter’s eyes were wide and brimful with tears.
    “You have to think, and you have to keep your mouth shut.”
    Two big tears coursed down his pink cheeks. Oh, geez Louise.
    “You can’t ask people questions about what you hear from their heads. Remember, we talked about privacy?”
    He nodded once uncertainly, and then again with more energy. He remembered.
    “People—grown-ups and children—are going to get real upset with you if they know you can read what’s in their heads. Because the stuff in someone’s head is private. You wouldn’t want anyone telling you you’re thinking about how bad you need to pee.”
    Hunter glared at me.
    “See? Doesn’t feel good, does it?”
    “No,” he said, grudgingly.
    “I want you to grow up as normal as you can,” I said. “Growing up with this condition is tough. Do you know any kids with problems everyone can see?”
    After a minute, he nodded. “Jenny Vasco,” he said. “She has a big mark on her face.”
    “It’s the same thing, except you can hide your difference, and Jenny can’t,” I said. I was feeling mighty sorry for Jenny Vasco. It seemed wrong to be teaching a little kid that he should be stealthy and secretive, but the world wasn’t ready for a mind-reading five-year-old, and probably never would be.
    I felt like a mean old witch as I looked at his unhappy and tear-stained face. “We’re going to go home and read a story,” I said.
    “Are you mad at me, Aunt Sookie?” he said, with a hint of a sob.
    “No,” I said, though I wasn’t happy about being kicked. Since he’d know that, I’d better mention it. “I don’t appreciate your kicking me, Hunter, but I’m not mad anymore. I’m really mad at the rest of the world, because this is hard on you.”
    He was silent all the way home. We went inside and sat on the couch after he paid a visit to the bathroom and picked a couple of books from the stash I’d kept. Hunter was asleep before I finished The Poky Little Puppy . I gently eased him down on the couch, pulled off his shoes, and got my own book. I read while he napped. I got up from time to time to get some small task done. Hunter slept for almost two hours. I found this an incredibly peaceful time, though if I hadn’t had Hunter all day, it might simply have been boring.
    After I’d started a load of laundry and tiptoed back into the room, I stood by the sleeping boy and looked down. If I had a child, would my baby have the same problem Hunter had? I hoped not. Of course, if Eric and I continued in our relationship, I would never have a child unless I was artificially inseminated. I tried to picture myself asking Eric how he felt about me being impregnated by an unknown man, and I’m ashamed to say I had to smother a snigger.
    Eric was very modern in some respects. He liked the convenience of his cell phone, he loved automatic garage-door openers, and he liked watching the news on television. But artificial insemination . . . I didn’t think so. I’d heard his verdict on plastic surgery, and I had a strong feeling he’d consider this in the same category.
    “What’s funny, Aunt Sookie?” Hunter said.
    “Nothing important,” I said. “How about some apple slices and some milk?”
    “No ice cream?”
    “Well, you had a hamburger and French fries and a Coke at lunch. I think we’d better stick to the apple slices.”
    I put The Lion King on while I prepared Hunter’s snack, and he sat on the floor in front of the television while he ate. Hunter got tired of the movie (which of course he’d seen before)