"That's not an answer."
"Grandma says he's trouble," Joey said, lowering his voice. "But he's not trouble. He's just tall."
Lena looked at him for a long moment. Snow was landing on her eyelashes. Across the street, behind the Sheas' car, two pom-poms were bobbing in a way that suggested a conference.
"Go inside," she said. "Your mother's going to want you washed for dinner. And Joey?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't tell Grandma."
He was gone before she finished, running toward number 27, his jacket swishing. She knew with perfect certainty that he would tell Grandma before he had his boots off.
* * *