"He earned it." Inside the cabin was cold but clean. A housekeeper drove out twice a month to dust and air the rooms and make sure nothing had been chewed by mice. The main room had a fieldstone fireplace, a long worn leather couch the color of old saddle, two deep armchairs flanking the hearth, and a wall of windows that looked out over the lake. The kitchen was small and old-fashioned with painted cabinets Elena had repainted herself one weekend in 2003. A narrow staircase climbed to a loft bedroom upstairs.
There was a smaller bedroom downstairs with a single bed and a quilt Elena's grandmother had made. Richard built a fire. He had not built a fire in three years. His hands remembered. He laid the kindling in the small careful pyramid Elena had taught him, struck the long match, and watched the flame catch and climb.
Elijah stood in the doorway with his backpack still on his shoulders, watching. "You can put your bag down," Richard said gently. "You can sit anywhere. Anywhere you want." Elijah considered the room. He walked slowly to the deep armchair nearest the fire.
He sat on the very edge of it. He held the strap of his backpack between his knees with both hands. "Are you hungry?" "A little, sir." "Don't call me, sir. Not here. My name is Richard."
You can call me Richard or you can call me Mr. Caldwell if Richard is too strange, but please not, sir. Not in this house." "Yes, Mr. Caldwell." Richard went into the kitchen. He found a can of tomato soup in the pantry, a sleeve of crackers that were nearly fresh, a wedge of cheddar in the small refrigerator that the housekeeper kept stocked with basics. He heated the soup on the stove. He cut the cheese into careful slices and arranged them on a plate with the crackers."
He poured a glass of milk from a carton he had checked twice for date. He brought it all to a small round table by the windows and set it down. "Come and eat." Elijah came. He sat at the table. He looked at the food the way a person looks at food that has been put in front of him with no expectation that he earn it.
He picked up the spoon. He took the first bite slowly. He took the second bite less slowly. By the fifth bite, he was eating like a child who had not had a hot meal in longer than an 8-year-old should ever have to remember. Richard sat across from him.