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Harry leaned back in his chair, arms folded, a sly smile on his face. Dylan looked up from his cereal.

“What?” he said.

“I know it’s not Christmas yet,” she said, “but I got a little something for the two of you to work on together, and decided to give it to you now.”

“What, like, a puzzle?” Dylan asked.

“Better,” she said. “Stay right there.”

She ducked out to the living room. Harry and Dylan exchanged puzzled glances. “What is it?” Dylan asked.

His father shrugged.

Janice was back in under ten seconds, bearing a wrapped package in her arms. She set it on the table. “You can fight over who opens it.”

Harry gave his son a nod. “All yours.”

Dylan put down his spoon, found a spot where the wrapping had been taped together, and tore into it. His eyes went wide and a broad grin took over his face as what lay hidden by the paper was exposed.

“Oh, cool!” he said.

Harry said nothing.

“This is awesome,” Dylan said. He raised the box up onto its side so that his father could see the steam engine and various boxcars displayed through clear plastic windows.

“That Southern Pacific steam engine?” Janice said. “That’s a four-six-two. That means it has four small wheels in the front, six big ones in the middle, and two little ones at the back.” She smiled broadly. “I just learned that. And I know some of the cars seem a little silly—that one there, a giraffe pokes his head up out of a hatch in the top of the boxcar—but I saw it and I thought of you guys and how you could set it up and, I don’t know, have some fun.”

She could see so far Harry had no reaction, which was, in itself, a reaction.

“What?” she asked. “It’s got a missile car. Roof opens up and it fires a rocket or something like that, and—”

“It has to go back,” Harry said.

There was a moment of stunned silence from Janice and Dylan.

“I’m sorry, but it has to be returned.” He looked at Janice. “I can take it back. You don’t have to do it. I know where you got it.”

“Why would I take it back?” she asked. “Dylan likes it. What’s your problem?”

Harry was slowly shaking his head. “I’ll deal with it. Don’t worry about it.”

Dylan looked at him, wounded. “You don’twantto set it up with me?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Harry protested. “I’d love to do something with you. Just not—just not this.”

“Can I talk to you?” Janice said quietly, giving her head a tilt.

Harry got up and followed her into the dining room, but not before pointing at Dylan and saying, “Donotopen that.”

Once in the other room, with the door to the kitchen closed, Janice got up close to his face and said, in a heated whisper, “All I wanted to do was find something you guys could do together. You’ve hardly been around for ages, you don’t have much time for either of us, and, okay, I can deal with that, I get that you’re under a lot of pressure lately, but your son? He misses his dad and I saw that fucking train set and thought, hey, I bet they’dlovethis, but instead you just took a huge dump on the whole thing.”

“We have to get it out of the house,” Harry said evenly.

“What? You think I’m spoiling him? When’s the last time I did anything like this?”

“You’re not—look, all I’m saying is, we have to get it out of here.”

Janice rolled her eyes. “Is it wired to explode?”