'Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that,' said Mrs. Scuyler. 'Was anything taken?'
   'Nothing at all, but they did some pretty disgusting damage.'
   Mrs. Scuyler clucked two or three times in disapproval. "They're savages, these days, 
some of these young people. Just like savages out of the jungle. Do you know what they 
ought to do? They ought to send them there, instead of trying to keep them at Juvenile 
Hall.'
   'I'm sorry, Mrs. Scuyler, they ought to send them where?'
   Mrs. Scuyler stared at John in bewilderment. To the jungle, of course. That would soon 
sort them out! A few weeks of trying to survive amongst their own kind. Anacondas, and 
black widow spiders, and orangutans.'
   'Well,' said John, 'interesting proposition.'
   Mrs. Scuyler leaned forward and squeezed Lenny's hand. 'You just take care of 
yourself, young man, and we'll see you back in class when you're better.'
   Jennifer said, 'We're spending a couple of days away. That should help.'
   'Well, you don't have to rush back,' said Mrs. Scuyler. 'Maybe we'll see you on Monday 
morning.'
   'What do you say to Mrs. Scuyler?' John prompted Lenny.
   Lenny lowered his head and said nothing.
   'Come on, Lenny, what do you say?' John repeated.
   Lenny remained silent, his shoulders shivering.
   'It doesn't matter,' said Mrs. Scuyler, 'he's probably not feeling well enough.'
   Just as he spoke, Lenny twisted on one leg and collapsed to the floor. He lay on his 
back on the doormat, both hands raised, clawing weakly and jerkily at the air. His face 
was floury-white and his lips were blue, and he was breathing in short, harsh gasps. His 
eyes rolled up into his head so that only the whites were exposed.
   'Lenny!' John shouted. 'Lenny!' Lenny convulsed once, a muscular shudder that went all 
the way down his spine, then relaxed. Gradually his cheeks regained their color and his 
breathing returned to normal. His eyes closed, but after a few moments he opened them 
again, and he could obviously recognize everybody around him. 'Lenny, are you okay?' 
asked John. Lenny nodded. 'I think I fainted, that's all.' 'Does your head hurt, anything 
like that?' 'I'm fine,' said Lenny. 'I'm just tired. I don't think I slept too good.'
   All the same,' John told him. 'I'm going to call Dr Hendriksen, Jenny, would you go 
get him a glass of water or orange juice or something, please? I'll give him a piggyback 
up to bed.'
   'It's too early to go to bed,' Lenny protested. 'It's only lunchtime.'
   'You're going to bed and that's that,' John ordered. 'You can get dressed later, when 
we go to Chestnut Hill.'
   'What are we going there for?' 'We're going to stay at Mr. Felling's house - just 
until our bedroom's been fixed up. You'll love it; he has an indoor pool.'
   'Oh, wow,' Lenny exclaimed. He jumped up on to John's back, and John held him tightly. 
He was long-legged, but he wasn't heavy. Virginia had always told him that he would never 
be eaten by giants because there was no meat on his bones.
   'But wouldn't they grind my bones to make their bread?'
   'That's only a story. Giants hate bread. Giants eat nothing but fruitcake.'
   John carried Lenny up to the half-landing. As he did so, Lenny twisted around and 
said, 'G'bye, Mrs. Scuyler. And thank you.'
   John smiled, pleased to hear Lenny acting polite, especially unprompted. 'Come on, 
champ, let's get you into bed,' he said. 'I'm going out in a couple of minutes, to take 
all our bedroom stuff down to the dump. How about some comics?'
   Thanks, Dad. And, Dad?'
   'What is it?' John joggled Lenny all the way along the corridor to his bedroom, then 
swung him gently down onto the bed. The sun flickered through the white bedroom curtains; 
Lenny's blond hair shone in a bright childish halo.
   'Dad, do you ever dream about Mom?'
   John straightened up and regarded his son carefully. 'Sure I do. Quite often. I guess 
I always will'
   Lenny glanced up at his father, but said nothing.
   'Have you been dreaming about her?' John asked.
   'Not exactly,' said Lenny.
   'What do you mean, "not exactly"?'
   Lenny thought for a moment, then said, 'It doesn't matter.'
   'Come on, tell me,' John encouraged him. 'Have you been having nightmares about her? 
It's natural, you know. It's nothing to be afraid of.'
   Lenny frowned and licked his lips. 'It's not exactly nightmares, either.'
   'Then what is it? Come on, champ, if you can't tell me, who can tell?'
   Tears began to sparkle in Lenny's eyes, and he swallowed with difficulty. 'The thing 
is, I've seen her.' 'You've seen her? What do you mean, you've seen her?'
   'I saw her last week, outside the classroom window at school. And then I saw her again 
on Saturday, when we stopped at the gas station.'
   'You saw her when you were awake!' Lenny nodded, and the fat tears began to roll down 
his cheeks. John hunkered down beside the bed, put his arms around Lenny and held him 
close.
   'It happens all the time, when people lose somebody they love. They see somebody who 
looks like the person they lost, and they believe that it's them. They really believe it. 
And - well - it's kind of scary, and it's upsetting, too. But it's part of getting over 
their death. It's part of grieving.'
   'But she waved,' Lenny insisted. 'Is that so strange? People do wave, you know. It's 
not against the law.'
   'She was waving at me. She was right outside the classroom window and she was smiling 
and waving at me. And it was Mom.'
   John squeezed Lenny tight. 'Oh, Lenny, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. If I could bring 
her back to you, I would. But she's gone, champ, she's gone forever, and all we can do is 
try to be happy. You like Jennifer, don't you?'
   Lenny nodded. 'She's okay.'
   At that moment, Jennifer came into the bedroom with a glass of orange juice. 'Here you 
are, Lenny. I've called Dr Hendriksen and he's coming right over. He says to get into bed 
and keep cool.'
   John stood up and watched her as she helped Lenny take off his T-shirt. She treated 
Lenny so gently and so naturally, giving him all the undemanding affection a mother would 
have given him, but not trying to elbow her way into that well-guarded central core of 
love and memory that was still Virginia's preserve, and always would be. It had been 
Jennifer's immediate unselfish liking of Lenny that had convinced John that they could be 
more than lovers.
   It couldn't be easy, being Lenny. Lenny had been alone with Virgina when she had 
choked to death, unable to help her, unable to do anything. No wonder he thought he had 
seen her waving at him through the classroom window. No wonder he'd seen her at the gas 
station.
   Lenny put on his pajamas and climbed into bed. Jennifer leaned against John and smiled 
at Lenny. 'Anything special you want for lunch, signor,' she asked him. 'Your father and 
I were thinking of cold pasta.'