unimpressed with Kinlock humor.
“I’ll take over,” Jonah said. “I’m an old hand at torture, and Kenzie’s my favorite victim.”
Now she did look up. “Oh!” she said, and stood so quickly she nearly bumped her head on the equipment. S“I’m Jonah Kinlock. Kenzie’s brother.”
“I—I’m Miranda,” the therapist said, her cheeks pinking up. “They told me about you. I’m . . . um . . . filling in for Julie. And . . . ah . . . I’m sorry if I—”
“I’ve been away,” Jonah said, to put her out of her misery. “Has the treatment plan changed?” He touched the screen next to the machine and Kenzie’s chart came up. He scanned the progress notes. “Same PT and OT. What’s this mean, ‘minimal stimulation therapy’?”
Miranda shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s something they’re discussing . . . a new treatment to dampen drug-resistant seizures and hyperkinesis.”
“Hmm. How does that sound, Kenzie?”
“Horrifying.”
“My thoughts exactly. Do you have plans for him after this session?” Jonah asked. “Or can we go to the spa?”
“The spa?” Miranda said uncertainly. “Well. He has group at seven.”
“He’ll be back in plenty of time,” Jonah said.
“This is the life,” Kenzie said, biting into a Cadbury’s Screme Egg, then squinting at it. “What’s this green stuff in here anyway?”
“Guts,” Jonah said. “They already had their Halloween candy on display at Cadbury World. I guess it’s the next big chocolate holiday.”
“Crunchy spider?” Kenzie said, offering a pouch of candy. “Or would you prefer a deadhead?”
“I’ll stick with the truffles,” Jonah said, popping one into his mouth. “I’m too squeamish for the rest.”
“Squeamish? You, who fight the zombielike walking dead on a daily basis?”
“That’s exactly why I’m squeamish,” Jonah replied. “I don’t like to bring my work home.”
The spa was a little-used oasis on the roof of Safe Harbor, including an all-weather pool, sauna, massage therapy area (by appointment), and the hot tub the Kinlock brothers were presently sharing—Jonah in his boxers and leather gloves, Kenzie wearing nothing but the waterproof earbuds Jonah had brought back from the UK. They’d spent the last hour eating chocolate and reminiscing about Jeanette.
While Kenzie ate, Jonah studied him, looking for signs of deterioration or improvement. His brother was thin—all bones and brilliant eyes and a mop of red-brown hair. He burned so much energy that his caloric intake could never seem to keep up.
Kenzie looked up and caught him staring. “This is the best invention ever ,” he said, tapping his earbud. “Who is this?”
“Manygoats,” Jonah said. “Navajo punk band. Hot in the UK right now.”
“You know, leather and boxers is a good look for you,” Kenzie said. “Classic, yet just a big dodgy—”
Jonah splashed him.
“Hey!” Kenzie said, snatching his chocolate out of danger. “Respect the candy.” He stretched out his legs, allowing the churning water to support them. His body seemed relaxed, free of the electric, hyperkinetic movements that had plagued him all day long. It had taken the full hour to get to this point. “Let’s build a fort up here, and stay forever. Remember when we used to build forts?”
“We never built forts,” Jonah said, leaning his head back Sand looking up at the stars. Steam rose up all around them, eddying in the wind off the lake.
“We built forts,” Kenzie insisted. “In the jungles of Brazil. You saved me from a tiger.”
“There are no tigers in Brazil, bro.”
“A jaguar, then.”
Jonah rolled his eyes.
“Anaconda? ”
“You just keep thinking, Kenzie,” Jonah said. “I haven’t saved anybody from anything so far.”
“We did our best,” Kenzie said, “if you’re talking about Jeanette.”
“You did your best,” Jonah said. “But apparently my best is not good enough,” Jonah said. “And it’s not just
“I’ll take over,” Jonah said. “I’m an old hand at torture, and Kenzie’s my favorite victim.”
Now she did look up. “Oh!” she said, and stood so quickly she nearly bumped her head on the equipment. S“I’m Jonah Kinlock. Kenzie’s brother.”
“I—I’m Miranda,” the therapist said, her cheeks pinking up. “They told me about you. I’m . . . um . . . filling in for Julie. And . . . ah . . . I’m sorry if I—”
“I’ve been away,” Jonah said, to put her out of her misery. “Has the treatment plan changed?” He touched the screen next to the machine and Kenzie’s chart came up. He scanned the progress notes. “Same PT and OT. What’s this mean, ‘minimal stimulation therapy’?”
Miranda shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s something they’re discussing . . . a new treatment to dampen drug-resistant seizures and hyperkinesis.”
“Hmm. How does that sound, Kenzie?”
“Horrifying.”
“My thoughts exactly. Do you have plans for him after this session?” Jonah asked. “Or can we go to the spa?”
“The spa?” Miranda said uncertainly. “Well. He has group at seven.”
“He’ll be back in plenty of time,” Jonah said.
“This is the life,” Kenzie said, biting into a Cadbury’s Screme Egg, then squinting at it. “What’s this green stuff in here anyway?”
“Guts,” Jonah said. “They already had their Halloween candy on display at Cadbury World. I guess it’s the next big chocolate holiday.”
“Crunchy spider?” Kenzie said, offering a pouch of candy. “Or would you prefer a deadhead?”
“I’ll stick with the truffles,” Jonah said, popping one into his mouth. “I’m too squeamish for the rest.”
“Squeamish? You, who fight the zombielike walking dead on a daily basis?”
“That’s exactly why I’m squeamish,” Jonah replied. “I don’t like to bring my work home.”
The spa was a little-used oasis on the roof of Safe Harbor, including an all-weather pool, sauna, massage therapy area (by appointment), and the hot tub the Kinlock brothers were presently sharing—Jonah in his boxers and leather gloves, Kenzie wearing nothing but the waterproof earbuds Jonah had brought back from the UK. They’d spent the last hour eating chocolate and reminiscing about Jeanette.
While Kenzie ate, Jonah studied him, looking for signs of deterioration or improvement. His brother was thin—all bones and brilliant eyes and a mop of red-brown hair. He burned so much energy that his caloric intake could never seem to keep up.
Kenzie looked up and caught him staring. “This is the best invention ever ,” he said, tapping his earbud. “Who is this?”
“Manygoats,” Jonah said. “Navajo punk band. Hot in the UK right now.”
“You know, leather and boxers is a good look for you,” Kenzie said. “Classic, yet just a big dodgy—”
Jonah splashed him.
“Hey!” Kenzie said, snatching his chocolate out of danger. “Respect the candy.” He stretched out his legs, allowing the churning water to support them. His body seemed relaxed, free of the electric, hyperkinetic movements that had plagued him all day long. It had taken the full hour to get to this point. “Let’s build a fort up here, and stay forever. Remember when we used to build forts?”
“We never built forts,” Jonah said, leaning his head back Sand looking up at the stars. Steam rose up all around them, eddying in the wind off the lake.
“We built forts,” Kenzie insisted. “In the jungles of Brazil. You saved me from a tiger.”
“There are no tigers in Brazil, bro.”
“A jaguar, then.”
Jonah rolled his eyes.
“Anaconda? ”
“You just keep thinking, Kenzie,” Jonah said. “I haven’t saved anybody from anything so far.”
“We did our best,” Kenzie said, “if you’re talking about Jeanette.”
“You did your best,” Jonah said. “But apparently my best is not good enough,” Jonah said. “And it’s not just
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