"If I decide to stay?"

"Jim, if you decide you can't parent, or don't want to, then there's no reason for you to stay on at Family, is there? I mean, that's what we're here for. We've been waiting for you to shape up. Here's your chance. Otherwise, ship out and make room for someone else, okay? I like you, but this job is more important."

That last one hurt. I looked at my shoes for a while. They needed polishing. Ouch. "Okay," I said.

"Want some more lemonade?"

"Uh-uh, the honey's too cloying."

"Don't stir it."

"Hey, B-Jay?"

"Yeah?"

"If Alec had to be sent back, where would they send him?"

She sucked her teeth thoughtfully. "They have a place for the kids who can't be reached. The feral ones."

"Feral?"

"The ones who've gone wild. Tarzan was a feral child, so was Mowgli--only they were lucky: Tarzan was raised by apes, Mowgli by wolves-but then it's always prettier in fiction, it's glamorized. In real life, of the feral ones don't get that much guidance-nothing-so there's not a lot left of their humanity. They're animals in human bodies. They've never learned to speak and never will; that learning window is permanently closed. They can't walk erect, their bodies have lost that potential. Their ability to reason is permanently impaired; they won't trust human beings; often they're suffering from serious bone deficiencies, malnutrition, and so on. They don't usually live very long." She sucked her teeth again. "Then, of course, there are the catatonic ones, the autistic, the deranged, the permanently damaged, the shocked, and all the other impairments and dsyfunctions."

"They don't keep them in a Bedlam, do they?"

"No, Jim, they don't." Her voice went very strange. "They take care of them."

"Oh, that's good. . . ." And then the strangeness of her tone sank in. "Wait a minute. How do they take care of them? If we're short of manpower here . . . ?"

"They take care of them, Jim." She paused, went softer. "Remember when they closed the San Diego and Los Angeles zoos, and the wild animal preserves too?"

"Yeah, that was a shortage of manpower, but . . . "

"What did they do with the lions?"

"They put them to sleep, they had to-"

"Right. Because there was no one to take care of them, and they couldn't be left to fend for themselves." She put down her glass on the desk, stood up and put the lemonade back in the small refrigerator. "It was the kindest thing they could do," she murmured. "The bastards."

I was watching when Holly fell and skinned her knee. She choked back the tears, trying very hard not to cry. She stood up quickly and pretended that nothing had happened. She hadn't seen me. She wiped at her nose and kept going, limping slightly.

"Hey, Punkin'," I called.

She saw me and looked startled. She hadn't known I was there. "Are you all right?"

"Uh-huh," she said. She brushed the hair back out of her eyes. Her expression was that frozen one that children wear while they're putting up with adults, while they're waiting to be dismissed back to their own pursuits.

"Oh," I said. "'Cause B-Jay said there was some fresh strawberry ice cream left over and I thought you might want to share some with me."

She shook her head. Her eyes were brimming with tears. I had a sense that she wanted to cry, or at least wanted to be hugged, but she was too proud to let anyone know.

I put down the hoe I was working with-loosening the soil around the tomato plants-and hunkered down in front of her. "What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"Nothin'."

"You got a hug for me?" She shook her head again.

"Okay." Sometimes the best thing is to just let it be. "Would you like to help me?"

She sniffled and nodded.

"Good. Okay, go get yourself a hoe, just like this one." I picked up mine again to show her.

"Where is it?"

"In the shed over there."

She turned and looked. "Uh . . . "

"Go on and get it." She hesitated. "Well, go on." She started to say something, then shook her head. "Are you okay?" I asked.

She didn't answer. She began hobbling toward the tool shed, but as she got closer to it she began to slow down. She stopped in front of the open door and stood staring into it. She was trembling visibly.

"What's the matter?"

"It's dark in there!" she said. The way she said it, I knew that it was more than the dark.

I was starting to get annoyed. I almost snapped at her, then caught myself in time; something wasn't right.

"Holly?"

She didn't hear me. She was staring into the shed like a paralyzed bird. What kind of snake did she see?

"Holly?"

She was starting to shake all over.

My army reflexes took over-I dropped to a crouch and came running at a sideways angle, carrying my hoe as a weapon, just in case.

There was nothing in the shed. I didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

I turned to Holly. She was almost catatonic. I threw the hoe aside and dropped to a squat in front of her; I grabbed her by the shoulders-she had gone rigid. "Holly?"

No response. What the . . . ?

I swept her into my arms and held her tight. I picked her up and carried her away from the shed, carried her around the corner of the house so it was completely out of her sight. She still didn't relax.

"Come on, Holly, it's all right now. Jim is here." I sat down on the low brick fence that divided the paved part of the patio from the rest of the yard. I held her on my lap and hugged her close and started talking to her as gently as I could. "It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay. Big Jim is here. Everything is all right."

She sniffled something.

"What was that?"

"I'm sorry," she sniffed. "Please don't hit me."

"Huh? I'm not going to hit you."

"I won't do it again. I promise."

"Hey, baby . . . It's all right. This is Jim, remember?" She was still rigid with fear. I held her out in front of me so she could see my face. "It's Jim, big ugly Jim. Remember me?"

She blinked at me and looked startled. And then she did break down and cry.

She climbed back into my lap and I held her tightly the whole time and stroked her hair and hugged her and told her everything was going to be all right. I hugged her and loved her and let her cry all over me. She sobbed quietly and steadily, only occasionally hiccuping. She didn't try to hold it back. Once-she wiped at her eyes and looked as if she were trying to choke it down, but I hugged her again and told her to let the rest of it out. "Let it all out, sweetheart. It's easier than carrying it around. Come on, Holly, that's my girl."

Gradually her sobs began to lessen and she lay limp in my arms, a tiny rag doll of a person, so thin, so very thin and small.

How fragile she was.

I shifted my position on the fence ever so gently, and her arms tightened around me. "It's all right," I said. "I'm not letting go." We sat there for a long time, me holding her and she hugging me.

Finally, she said, "I was so scared."

"I know," I said. "I saw."

"But I'm not scared any more."

"You're a good girl." I stroked her hair.

"Not while you're with me, I'm not scared."

"Mmm," I said. "Well, you don't have to scared ever again."

She sniffed, wiping her nose against my shirt. "I thought you were going away."