Safe Passage by Ellyn Bache

skimpy meals, but too ashamed to eat them because his brothers were not similarly fortified and his father expected him to make do with Angela's cooking. Now he knew he wouldn't be able to touch Cynthia for as long as it took to handle this crisis, and was embarrassed for wanting her. The knot in his stomach grew tight. In the living room, dressed, he closed all the bedroom doors to shield Cynthia and her boys from sound. Then he turned on the TV to learn what was happening in Lebanon.
         When he got to his parents house an hour later, his father was lying on the couch with a washcloth over his eyes, and his mother and Simon were sitting there soaked from delivering the papers, which gave some indication of their states of mind. The TV was on full blast, though for the moment no newscaster was on the screen, but rather an evangelist. Patrick never watched religious shows of any kind.
         "Give the most you can, sisters and brothers," the evangelist was saying, "the most you possibly can to spread the word of Gawd ."
         They were all absorbed in it. Alfred had come in the front door, not silently. None of them said a word to acknowledge he was there.
         "And tell us your want," the evangelist said. "We'll put your pledge to work and we'll do our best to pray over your want."
         "Your want ?" Patrick echoed.
          Alfred strode across the room. "I can't believe you're watching this." He changed the channel.
         "Oh …Alfred," Mag said, suddenly aware of him. "The program comes on when they take off the news."
         Patrick, still on the couch, said, "If God really cares how people act in the world, I have to believe He's pissed off at that guy."
         "Patrick, don't," Mag said. She never liked him to speak disrespectfully of God, just in case.
         Alfred had anticipated their disarray. The first thing he intended to say was that, statistically at least, it was unlikely Percival had been killed or even hurt. Alfred wasn't sure it would help, but it was logical and they would all feel the need for logic.
         "That dog went after Simon again," his mother said in an expressionless voice. "It bit him once already."
         "Twice," Simon said.
         "Twice!" his mother yelled.
         Simon opened the Velcro leg seam of his RipOffs sweatpants, to reveal a dark bruise on his calf. "It didn't break the skin."
          "He can handle the dogs, Mag ," Patrick said. His voice was muffled under the washcloth.
         "I called Camp Lejeune ," Alfred told them in the calm tone he had prepared. Percival had been stationed at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina before he went overseas. "They say only one building was involved in the blast. There are a number of buildings."
         Mag and Simon stared at him. It seemed as if Patrick was staring, too, though the washcloth was fast against his eyes. The knot in Alfred's stomach contracted like a fist.
         "Yeah, only one building, " Simon said. "Only the headquarters."
       "They don't know much about the casualties," Alfred said.
         "Does that surprise you?" Patrick asked.
         "It's only been a couple of hours."
         "A couple of hours."
         "More like eight hours," Simon told them. "It was just after midnight here when it happened. That's more than a couple of hours."
         "You should take your shower," Alfred said, noticing that Simon was hugging himself into his dripping sweatshirt, looking pale and ill.
         His mother studied Simon, though she was equally wet. "You're going to catch a cold."
         "That would be just some tragedy right now, wouldn't it?" Simon said. "Me catching a fucking cold."
         Mag ran her hand through her hair. "Simon, don't. No F-words. Not now." Simon stared at the floor.
         A newscaster had come on. He was retelling what they already knew. Alfred turned the sound a little lower. He did not see the value in hearing such things over