Matilda turned the knob slowly. There was light coming from under the door. She pushed the door open slowly, not wanting to knock, for some reason. Bobby’s reading lamp was on, and there was a book lying on the sheet. It was summer, and that sheet was all that was on the bed, except for the book.
“Where is he?” asked Betty, from behind her.
“The light wasn’t on in the bathroom,” pointed out Matilda. “Maybe he’s getting a snack. We’ll just wait.”
Ten minutes later, they got tired of waiting, and went to the kitchen, which was dark and empty. Only one other light was on in the whole house, and that sent dim beams under their mother’s door. They could hear the faint sound of voices from inside. It had to be Bobby in there with her.
At that point, habit took over. They had been taught to k
