with their sorely needed surplus of noise and movement, excited molecules bouncing against each other and shouting,
“You’re it no you’re it no I was it but then I tagged you you didn’t tag me you missed me
well I’m tagging you now no dumb butt it’s a time-out DANIEL DO NOT CALL YOUR BROTHER A DUMB BUTT
Mom if I’m not allowed to use that word how come you just used it dumb butt dumb butt,”
and then, chorally, dumb butt dumb butt dumb butt dumb butt, and at the table Gus’s parents were now holding hands, which made me feel better.
“Isaac told me Gus was writing something, something for me,” I said.
The kids were still singing their dumb-butt song. “We can check his computer,” his mom said.
“He wasn’t on it much the last few weeks,” I said. “That’s true. I’m not even sure we brought it upstairs. Is it still in the basement, Mark?”
“No idea.” “Well,” I said, “can I...” I nodded toward the basement door.
“We’re not ready,” his dad said. “But of course, yes, Hazel. Of course you can.”
I walked downstairs, past his unmade bed, past the gaming chairs beneath the TV.
His computer was still on. I tapped the mouse to wake it up and then searched for his most recently edited files.
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