Free Friends till the End by Gloria Dank

see.”
    “I plan to have her take a tour, get captured by the mountain people and made into a rug.”
    “Sounds educational.”
    “Yes. Look, Maya, if it’ll make you feel better, I can have a talk with your brother tomorrow. Let him know how we feel.”
    “Oh, thank you, honey. You know Snooky hasn’t listened to me since he was six years old. He might listen to you. Do you know, I think he’s a little afraid of you.”
    Bernard was pleased by this. “Really?”
    “Yes.”
    “You’re just saying that.”
    “No, no, Bernard, you can be quite terrifying when you want to.”
    She gave him a loving hug. From the foot of the bed there came a low yelp, and the dog scrambled up onto the quilt. She wormed her way up to their faces and sniffed them over thoroughly. Then she snuggled down, her tongue lolling blissfully over the pillow.
    Bernard leaned over to kiss his wife. “Good night, honey.”
    “G’night, Bernard.”
    “Good night, Misty,” said Bernard, but the dog was already fast asleep, her stomach heaving in little whistling grunts.

4
    The next day Bernard summoned Snooky into his study. Bernard and Maya had each chosen one of the spare bedrooms on the second floor as an office. Bernard’s was a small room with windows looking out over the back lawn; it was lined with bookshelves and dominated by a massive cherrywood desk that Maya had found in a dusty antique store in Vermont. The desk was nearly a century old and was battle-scarred, covered with graffiti etched into the wood by previous owners: T. and J. Hopstead, June 6, 1910; Billy Inching, 1951; even, on one of the lower right-hand drawers, a little heart with
Emily and Harris
scrawled on it, no date. Bernard loved his desk. He knew every scratch and scar on it. Now he motioned to Snooky to sit down and the two of them sat and stared at each other for a while over its vast, cluttered surface.
    “Well, this has been fun,” Snooky said at last, breaking the silence. “Is there any reason you invited me here, Bernard?”
    “Yes.”
    “Dare I ask what it is?”
    Bernard nervously linked several paper clips together to form a chain. “Your sister is worried about you.”
    “That’s nothing new. Maya is always worried about me.”
    “She’s afraid you’re going to be the next victim.”
    “Me? That’s absurd. Nobody’s after me.”
    “How do you know?”

    “I just know these things, Bernard. It’s like the crossword puzzle. Whatever’s going on with Isabel’s group of friends has nothing to do with me.”
    Bernard was interested in this. “You just know?”
    “That’s right.”
    “What else do you know?”
    Snooky shifted in his chair. “I notice things,” he said slowly. “The way people look at other people. What they say. People tell me things, I don’t know why. It’s always been like that. Maya says it’s because I’m basically inoffensive.”
    “Quite a compliment.”
    “Oh, Maya adores me. You know that.”
    “Snooky, you were at that party last week. What did you notice? What did people say to each other, how did they act?”
    “Oh, Bernard. Come on. You wouldn’t possibly be interested.”
    Bernard gave him a cold fishy glare.
    “Try me,” he said.
    “Mom,” said Little Harry, depositing his bulk on the kitchen chair, which creaked ominously.
    “Yes.”
    “I’m hungry.”
    The perpetual cry of the Crandall children.
    “Have a carrot.”
    “I don’t want a carrot.”
    “Have some celery.”
    “I don’t want any celery.”
    This interchange took place without heat on either side. It was a custom; a ritual.
    Heather had a brainstorm.
    “Have a raw yam.”
    Little Harry was intrigued. He took the well-scrubbed yam and gazed upon it. “Raw yam?”
    “Good for you,” said his mother. “Lots of potassium.”
    “Yeah? Okay.”
    Munching on the yam, he left the room.
    A few minutes later his father walked in. He had just come from lecturing to a class at the university.
    “Hello, Harry.” Heather gave