He'd been dreaming. He'd been dreaming that his mother came home and brought money with her, that she'd promised that she would never have another boyfriend and intended to keep it that way. He dreamed that they managed to move out of the welfare apartments and into a nice house in a nice quiet neighborhood with neighbors that looked like Ward and June Cleaver. Like all dreams, it ended. "Ike? Ike?" One hot little hand on his arm and Isaac's dream world dissipated into the cold, dark bedroom with the streetlight that shone through the window. "Ike, can you come with me down the hall? I'm scared." Taylor coughed. He was hot and tired and he didn't feel good and he had to pee. "Ike, wake up!" "I'm up!" Isaac murmured. "I'm awake!" "Come with me to the bathroom," Taylor wiggled down to the end of the bed and hopped onto the floor. "I can't go all by myself." "Okay, okay, I'm coming." Isaac yawned and slid his legs over the edge of the mattress. The air in the room was freezing. He shivered. "Hurry up, okay." "I can't go down the hall alone, there's monsters down there." Taylor's voice was matter-of-fact. "Come on, Ike." "Yeah." Isaac followed his brother down the hall and into the bathroom. He closed his eyes and propped his chin on his hand. Maybe he could sleep for a few seconds. . . "Ike?" Taylor balanced himself with one hand against the wall, feeling dizzy. "Ike, are you awake?" "Okay." Isaac opened his eyes again. "I'm awake. Pee, already." "I can't pee unless you watch out for the monsters," Taylor said. His cheeks were deeply flushed and his eyes bright with fever. "Watch," he instructed. "Pee," Isaac instructed. "I don't see any monsters," he said. "Pee, now." "It isn't good to rush people while they are trying to go to the bathroom," Taylor preached. "My teacher said it isn't healthy." Isaac sighed. "It isn't healthy to freeze in the bathroom when you could be nice and warm in bed," he told his little brother. "You're sick, Tay. Go back to bed." "Wait." Taylor flushed the toilet a few seconds early, liking the whirlpool effect. "Okay. Now I'm done." "Thank God," Isaac muttered, sighing as his brother headed for the bathroom sink and began washing his hands for what seemed like an eternity. "Hurry up, Tay!" "If you don't wash your hands for five minutes after you go to the bathroom," Taylor told him, "you will get germs." "You already have germs!" Isaac exclaimed. "You're sick!" "I know." Taylor coughed a few times, and Isaac was worried. Even he knew that the deep, lung dredging spasms that racked his brother's body would not go away on their own. Taylor sank to the floor, fighting for breath. "Are you okay?" Isaac knelt next to him, feeling the bony outline of his brother's spine through Taylor's thin pajama shirt. Taylor nodded. "Uh huh." "Okay." Isaac was worried. "Are you sure?" "I'm sure." Taylor struggled to his feet. "I'm okay." "Okay." Isaac bit his lip. "If you say so." The next time Taylor woke him up, however, he was close to tears. "I can't breathe at all, and it really hurts, Ike." Taylor sat up, leaning forward to relieve some of the pressure on his chest. "Where's Mom?" Isaac blinked. "What do you mean, 'where's Mom?' You know I don'tknow." "I wish she were here," Taylor whimpered. "What good would she be?" Isaac knew he sounded mean, but he felt like his brother was betraying him. Taylor knew full well that you lived your own life and left your mother out of it. "I just wish she was here." Taylor struggled not to cry. "Is it morning?" Zac lifted his head off the pillow and glanced around the room. "It's dark in here." "Go back to sleep, Zac," Isaac told him. "Can't sleep." Zac smiled cheerily. "Want to stay up." "You can't stay up," Isaac told him. "You're bothering Tay." Zac looked solemn. "Tay's sick," he observed. "You feel all right?" "No," Taylor squeezed his eyes shut. "I feel really bad." "Does your ear hurt?" Zac rubbed his own, in sympathy. "No," Taylor told him. "My ears are fine." "Sometimes my ears hurt." Zac sat back on his heels, remembering. "Sometimes that happens." "Your ear doesn't hurt now, does it?" Isaac asked. That was the last thing he needed. Two sick little brothers. And with his luck, they would both throw up. Zac shook his head. "No." "That's good," Isaac sighed. At least something was all right.
"Do I have to go to school?" Taylor asked.
Isaac shook his head. "No. You better stay home."
"Good," said Zac. "I'm glad."
"I'm not." Taylor liked school. When he didn't go, he missed it. "It was my day for show and tell tomorrow!" he wailed, remembering.
Isaac rolled his eyes. He hated school. "Well, what were you going to show? Hi, I'm Taylor, and for show and tell I'm going to show. . . my germs?"
Zac giggled. "Show my germs," he repeated.
"It isn't funny." Taylor crossed his arms defiantly, but he was falling back to sleep. "It isn't!" "Okay." Isaac was worried that Taylor would start that awful coughing again. "Okay, calm down. It isn't funny. Zac, stop laughing." All day long, Taylor got worse, until he wasn't even talking anymore. He just lay still on the couch, his eyes half-open and his breathing quick and painful sounding. Isaac paced through the apartment, knowing that his brother needed a doctor; terrified that if they went for help, someone would find out about their mother. Finally, though, he decided that his brother's life was worth more than preserving the family. It took every ounce of will power in his body, but Isaac didn't back down once he made his decision. "Tay," he said, kneeling next to the couch, "we're going to go find a doctor, okay?"
He bundled his brothers into their coats and they headed for the emergency room a few blocks away. It took them an hour and a half to reach it, they had to stop so often for Taylor to catch his breath. Finally, though, they made it to the sliding glass doors and stepped inside.
No one paid much attention to three small boys by themselves in the corner, and so Isaac finally decided to go looking for someone himself.
Isaac would never quite understand, in retrospect, exactly how he'd gotten from the filthy bathroom floor of his apartment one night to a soft, warm bed in a quiet suburban house the next. He would think about it a lot in the years to come, wondering exactly why he'd chosen, off all the doctors in the emergency room that day, to approach Nora Conway. The only thing he would be able to say for certain was, with that single "excuse me" he had changed the course of his life. . . and his brother's lives. . . forever. Waking up that morning in one of the guest beds in Dan and Nora's spare bedroom, however, Isaac just felt confused. He didn't know where he was, and he didn't remember how he'd gotten there. For an instant, he wondered if maybe his whole life had been a dream. . . his mother, Taylor, Zac, all of it, and it occured to him that he was probably some different person, with a different life, a better one. It was a relief, actually.
The memories came rushing back as soon as he sat up. The hospital. Dan. Nora. McDonalds. He bit his lip. The bed across from his was rumpled and empty. Zac had already gotten up.
Isaac jumped to his feet and bolted toward the door. He was terrified, suddenly. Maybe something terrible had happened. Maybe they'd all gone away and left him here. He reached for the doorknob and was hit with a spine-tingling thought. Maybe he was safe as long as he kept the door shut. Maybe if he opened the door, something awful would happen.
"It's just my imagination," Isaac murmured to himself. "It's just my imagination."
Still, he opened the door with great care. "Just my imagination," he whispered again, peering into the hallway.
For an instant he felt dizzy. The hallway was like those he'd only seen on TV. Everything was neat and in it's place, shining in the bright November sun. Pictures hung on the wall in ornate wooden frames, and even the bathroom smelled like flowers. (Later on he would find out that that was Nora's perfume.) Isaac paused, glancing at his grimy hands as he washed them in the bathroom sink. He didn't belong in a place like this. He would mess it up.
Carefully, Isaac picked his way down the stairs, scared of even making noise. One of the steps creaked, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. This house was so quiet! Where was everybody?
From the end of the hall came the sound of soft singing. It sounded like someone trying to sing opera and failing miserably. Isaac also caught an unmistakable giggle. . . Zac's. At least he was in the right house!
"Fee-gah-roo, feegarofeegarofeegaro!" Dan was standing at the kitchen sink, scrubbing at a frying pan. Zac stood on a chair next to him, playing with the bubbles. "FEEGAHRO!" Dan sang. "What do you mean, I can't sing opera?"
"You can't sing opera!" Zac giggled.
"No." Dan shook his head. "Of course I can!"
"You can't!" Zac insisted.
"I can!" Dan exclaimed.
"No. You. Can't." Zac grinned hugely, pronouncing every syllable as carefully as he could.
"Yes. I. Can." Dan glanced up to see Isaac standing in the doorway. "Hey, Ike. Good morning!"
Shyly, Isaac smiled. "Hi. Did you hear anything about Taylor?"
Dan nodded. "Yeah, he's doing a lot better. They might even let him out today."
Isaac sighed, relieved. "That's good."
Dan smiled. "You hungry?"
Isaac thought. "Maybe a little," he admitted.
"A little?" Dan rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "He says a little," he told Zac.
"You say a little," Zac told Isaac.
"A little what?" Dan asked Zac. "A little kid, maybe? Who says I can't sing opera?"
"You can't!" Zac exclaimed.
Dan turned to Isaac. "No, seriously, Ike," he said. "What do you want to eat?"
Isaac thought for a moment. He'd eat anything. He'd never really had a choice before. "Um. . . I don't really know. . ."
"We have lots of stuff," Dan told him. "Cereal, potato chips, zucchini."
Zac and Isaac both looked blank. "What's a zucchini?"
"Sounds gross," Zac piped.
"It is very delicious." Dan reached into the sink and drew out a soap bubble. It popped. "I eat zucchini quite often."
"Maybe I'll just have cereal," Isaac said. "If it's not a problem."
"Not a problem at all," said Dan. "Want cinnamon toast with that?"
"What's cinnamon toast?" Isaac asked.
"You, my boy," said Dan, "have quite an experience ahead of you."
"Do you like it?" Seven and a half minutes later, Dan handed Isaac a piece of toast and watched the kid eye it suspiciously. "It's very delicious and has no nutritional value whatsoever." "It's good," Isaac agreed. "I never had it before. Thanks."
Dan smiled at the ceiling. He liked these two. They were so much different than some of his "well-privileged" nieces and nephews, nicer to each other, happier about smaller things. It was funny how these kids who'd never had anything had such a tendency to share what they did have with each other. He just sat there for a moment and watched them, not saying anything.
Suddenly, Isaac had a thought. "Is cinna. . . cima. . . synom. . ."
"Cinnamon," Dan supplied.
"Is cinnamon really expensive?" Isaac looked worried. Dan could almost have laughed, but he was worried about the answer. He wasn't exactly rich, but he could buy caseloads of cinnamon, if he wanted. To Isaac's family, on the other hand, anything that wasn't a necessity probably was expensive.
"It's not too expensive," Dan finally told him.
"Because. . . how do you make this?" Isaac asked.
Dan grinned. "You can make toast, right?" The kid was eight years old. It was a reasonable expectation.
Isaac nodded. "Yeah."
"Ike can make lots of stuff," Zac told Dan. "Lots of."
Dan raised an eyebrow, pretending he didn't believe it. "Like what?" he asked.
Zac chuckled. "Macaronis," he said, "and peanut butter sandwiches. And sometimes he puts jelly on them." He thought. "And cereal. And hot dogs," he said.
"Anything else?" Dan asked. "That's pretty impressive."
Zac looked confused. "And cereal," he repeated, pronouncing the word like 'surreal-real.' "Cereal."
"Anyone can make cereal," Isaac pointed out.
"I can't make surreal-real." Zac pointed out.
"Neither can most people." Dan thought of surreal-real and grinned.
"Why not?" Isaac asked. "All you do is add milk."
Dan raised an eyebrow. "Is that how you do it?"
Isaac looked at Dan as if he were crazy. "Yeah," he said. "How else would you make cereal?"