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wipe the gummy knife across his shirt? Is the boy bored? Is it a feeling of boredom? Is it a feeling of not belonging? When he looks inside his heart, does he see clouds or sunshine? Isn’t that how the doctor put it?
    â€œThis isn’t over,” Flynn says, giving his son’s foot a gentle squeeze, before going next door, to his wife’s room. The boxy television on the edge of her dresser flickers blue across her bedroom.They sleep separately because of the snoring. His
snoring, not hers. She is asleep, or was, nestled in her mechanized queen bed with the hospital controls. She isn’t sick but kept the bed after Mookie died because, supposedly, it helps her back. He flips on her bedroom light, and she moans. She gives him a look like,
Please, not tonight.
    â€œHe’s doing it again,” he says. “I don’t think he ever stopped. I think he’s been hiding it from us.”
    She rummages for the control, and the bed vibrates into a sitting position. “We should call the doctor first thing,” she says.
    â€œWhat, so he can squeeze another three hundred dollars from us?”
    â€œThe doctor said to call him.”
    â€œHe can’t fix the problem.”
    â€œAnd the problem is—what?”
    â€œThe problem is a feeling. A feeling of not belonging.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œIt means the boy needs friends. He needs to be included. You know, to really
belong
to something.”
    Her bed vibrates backward into a reclining position.
    â€œI’m going to sign us up,” he says. “For the Grasshoppers.”
    â€œTo be continued,” she says.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Grasshoppers aren’t allowed at the father-son Grasshopper Camp until they’ve been in the program for a full year and earned enough beads. Flynn learns this in one of their brochures. Unfortunately, he’s never even taken Ryan to a Grasshoppers meeting.
    Flynn goes to see Bill Tierney, a malpractice attorney in townwith an ad on the back of the phone book. Tierney’s son, Grayson, is older than Ryan, president of the student body at the elementary school—and a Grasshopper. Tierney is the Head Guide.
    The attorney wears a tan suit and offers Flynn a seat on the other side of his desk. Bill Tierney wonders if maybe Flynn would like some pistachio nuts. Bill Tierney is crazy about them. Was Flynn aware that the nuts have been part of the human diet since the Paleolithic? That they’re one of only two nuts in the Bible?
    â€œWhat’s the other one?”
    â€œThe other what?”
    â€œThe other nut in the Bible,” Flynn says.
    â€œHell, I don’t know. Noah? Sorry, bad joke. Let’s get down to business. Tell me about yourself.”
    â€œI’m a father,” Flynn says. “And I love my son very much.”
    â€œYes, of course. Family’s got to be number one.”
    â€œRight. And I want my son to feel like he’s a part of something bigger than himself.”
    Flynn uncrosses his legs and reaches for a pistachio. The shell doesn’t want to pry. He admits that he should have signed his son up earlier and that he knows about the requirements for the father-son camp, but he’d be very grateful if the organization could make an exception in the case of his son, Ryan, who’s nine years old and who, Flynn thinks, would make a natural Grasshopper. His son is a good boy and loves the outdoors, and the camp would do him so much good. It would be a great fit. Flynn spins the chalky nut between his fingers.
    Tierney squints, his mouth hanging open. “I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I was under the impression you were here looking for representation.”
    â€œNo,” Flynn says. “I was hoping you could help me. As the Head Guide.”
    â€œAh,” Tierney says.
    â€œRight.”
    Neither of them says anything for a few moments. Not many people know this,