Free Far-Flung by Peter Cameron Page B

thinking of forbidding Ellery to wear them in the building.”
    “But I thought the problem wasn’t the sunglasses,” I say.
    “But it’s the … the manifestation of the problem,” Mrs. King says. “It’s all we have to go on.”
    “I’d just like to see Ellery out of those shades,” the nurse says. “Then we can take it from there.”
    “Would you agree to that?” Mrs. King asks.
    “What would happen if he refused to take them off?” I ask.
    “He wouldn’t be allowed to attend classes. We’d put him in ICE.”
    “In what?”
    “ICE. Isolated Continuing Education. Instead of suspending or expelling our students, we try to keep them in the building, but don’t allow them to attend classes or mix with other students.”
    “It sounds like prison,” I say.
    “It’s a very successful program,” Mrs. King says. “It might sound drastic, but it does get us results. Of course it’s supplemented with psychological counseling. It’s just what some kids need.”
    “Maybe I should talk to Ellery again,” I say.
    “By all means, do,” says Mrs. King.
    “Hey, listen,” the nurse says. “We don’t want to do anything without your knowledge and cooperation. And it’s much better if the problem is approached by you rather than us.”
    “But there is a problem,” says Mrs. King. “And it does have to be approached.”
    I nod.
    “One more question,” the nurse says. “I’m just curious. Why did you name him Ellery?”
    When I get home from the high school there’s a strange car parked in front of the house. I pull into the driveway, and as I walk up the front steps, a woman gets out of the car and crosses the lawn.
    “Do you live here?” she asks.
    “Yes,” I say.
    “I came about the garage sale? Vinnie Olloppia—she bought your Osterizer—told me.”
    “Oh,” I say. “Well, come in.”
    “Where’s the stuff?”
    “It’s inside,” I say. “I’m selling the contents of the house.”
    “Everything?” she asks.
    I unlock the front door. “Yes,” I say. “We’re moving overseas.”
    “Where to?”
    “The Philippines,” I say. “My husband is there now. I’m just trying to get the house sold.”
    “You shouldn’t tell people that,” the woman says. “I mean, that you’re living alone.”
    “My son is here,” I say. And, because Carly is lying in the front hall, I add, “And my dog.”
    “Does he bite?” the woman asks.
    “No,” I say.
    Carly sighs. We step over him and go into the living room.
    “Wow. This is all for sale? Everything?”
    “Yes,” I say. “My husband’s bought a furnished house.”
    “You could put this in storage,” the woman suggests. “I can’t imagine selling all my things. Aren’t you sad?”
    “No,” I say. “You can look around. Excuse me a minute.”
    I go into my bedroom and lie down on the bed. Carly noses open the door and walks over and looks at me. He doesn’t like it when you close doors. “Hi, Carly,” I say. I stroke his nose, and his ears. Carly has glaucoma and is almost blind. The vet told me that moving him into another new, unfamiliar house would be “torture” for him. Not that we would take him all the way to Manila. We’ll have to put him to sleep soon. I’ll have to put him to sleep soon.
    I can hear the lady walking around the living room. She could be stealing everything, for all I know. That would be nice. That would be the easiest way to get rid of it.
    I get up, wash my face, and go back to the living room. The woman isn’t there. I go into the kitchen. She’s holding open a cupboard door, looking inside. She closes it when she sees me. Real quick.
    “I’m sorry,” she says.
    “No,” I say. “It’s fine. Look.”
    “I’m trying to find some things for my daughter. She just got married, and moved into a beautiful condo—in the River warren?—but she won’t buy anything for it. She got some things as wedding presents, of course. A bed and a TV and a kitchen table. But she won’t get