Our mother was gone. I looked over at Jack. He stood there, motionless, no expression on his face, staring out the window. “Jack?” He didn’t answer. He didn’t even turn in my direction or acknowledge that I’d spoken. “Jack,” I said louder. “What do we do?” He turned to face me. “We eat.” “What?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “We eat.” He turned and started for the kitchen. For a while I just stood there, stunned, not moving. Finally I snapped to and hurried into the kitchen. “How can you eat?” “I’m hungry.” “How can you be hungry at a time like this?” I demanded. “I was hungry two hours ago, so wouldn’t it make sense that I’d be even hungrier now?” he asked as he reached into the cupboard and pulled out a jar of peanut butter. “But … but … but after everything that happened …” “I’m still hungry. I have to eat so that I can think. I need my stomach full so my head can be clear.” He pulled a loaf of bread out of the breadbox and a knife out of the drawer and started to make a sandwich.
