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“I promised you a surprise,” Janice said the following morning in the kitchen.

“That was a pretty good one last night,” Harry said, taking a bite out of a slice of toast. For the first time in weeks, he

had slept well.

“When Dylan gets down here,” she said, giving him a smirk, “all will be revealed.”

Their son showed up five minutes later. It was a school day, but aside from getting up earlier than he would have on a weekend,

there was no sense of urgency in his actions. He wandered in, opened the fridge and got himself a glass of orange juice, poured

some cornflakes into a bowl, and added a splash of milk.

As he took his first bite, Janice said, “Gentlemen, if I might have your attention for a moment.”

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’t want to 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, “Do not open 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’d love this, 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?”

Harry thought that was closer to the truth than he wanted to admit. “Please just trust me on this. Look, it was a wonderful

thing you did. I love the idea of doing something with Dylan, something we can build or make together. But it can’t be that.”

Janice’s look of anger had shifted to one of bafflement. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you.”

Harry rubbed his forehead, and dropped his voice lower. “You know that guy I was watching last night?”

She waited.

“It’s that shop owner. Where you bought this.”

Her eyebrows sprang up. “What?”

“Yeah. I’ve been keeping an eye on him. I can’t really say what it’s about.”

Janice was trying to read between the lines. “It’s stolen merchandise, right? Is that what’s going on? The stuff in his shop

is hot?”

Harry liked that, and nodded. “Something like that.”

“Shit, I can’t believe I bought stolen goods. He seemed like an okay guy. Oh my God.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone—”

They heard the front door slam. Harry ran, opened the door in time to see Dylan reach the sidewalk, his backpack slung over

his shoulder.

“Hey!” Harry called out. “Wait up, pal!”

Dylan didn’t look back, kept on walking. Harry ran after him, grabbed him by the shoulder, and turned him around despite his

son’s resistance.

“I have to go to school,” he said sullenly.

“Look, I’m sorry about the trains. It’s hard to explain.”

“I understand. You don’t want to do stuff with me. And you made Mom feel like shit.”

Harry took a knee. “I’m going to let you off the hook on using that kind of language this one time. And, yeah, I did make

Mom feel bad, and I’m sorry about that. And even sorrier about how I’ve made you feel. The truth is, we can’t have anything

from the store where your mom got that. You have to swear to me that you’ll never say a word about this to anyone, but I think

the guy who runs that store is a bad man.”

“What did he do?”

Good question.

“I’m working on getting answers to that. Can’t say anything more. But your mom’s right that I haven’t made enough time for you lately, and I’m working on that. Maybe we can do something this weekend. You pick. Whatever you want, that’s what we’ll do.”

Dylan appeared to be thinking. “Pancakes.”

“Pancakes?”

“At the diner.”

Harry smiled. “Saturday morning. Pancakes at the diner. It’s a deal.” He extended a hand and they shook on it.

“Okay, get to school.”

He spun Dylan around, gave him a soft swat on the butt to launch him on his way, and watched his son until he turned the corner.

Harry would never see him again.