She shows him by sitting on the sink and wrapping her legs around him. “We’re hiding from our dogs,” she whispers.

They can hear Buddy whining in the hallway. A little paw stretches under the door.

“I’m not hiding anymore,” James says. “No more postcards.”

This time she doesn’t stop him from doing anything. Maybe he was a monster once, and maybe she was too. Maybe the only thing they have in common is that they’re survivors. But this is not the past, this is not the icy road. This is what she wants in the here and now.

Shelby has come home from the clinic at the Humane Society to find Teddy and Dorian hunkered down on the steps outside her building. At first it seems like a hallucination. But it’s not her imagination. That is definitely Mrs. Diaz’s Subaru parked on Tenth Avenue, and those are the twins making themselves comfortable on the stoop. One is supposed to be in Valley Stream, and the other is in a boarding school he is not allowed to leave.

“You’re kidding, right?” Shelby says. It’s the end of a bright spring day, and the air is clear and sweet after a brief shower. “Tell me you’re not here.”

“Hey, Shelby.” Teddy stands to embrace her. “You don’t know how good it is to see you.”

Still too handsome for his own good, and still a charmer.

“We decided to visit you,” Dorian tells Shelby. At least he has the decency to look guilty.

“You drove up and got him?” Shelby asks Dorian. “With your grandmother’s car and a learner’s permit?”

They’ve been wandering around the city all afternoon and are clearly exhausted and depending on her. The boys explain that Teddy signed in to the clinic at his school complaining of a stomach virus, then, as preplanned, he climbed out the window, ran through the field, dove under the bushes, and squeezed through a hole in the fence to where Dorian was parked and waiting.

“Like a jailbreak,” Shelby says.

“More like a day off,” Teddy corrects her. “The nurse doesn’t come back till eleven at night. My buddy delivers the dinner trays, and he’s going to cover for me.”

“And you came here because you’d like me to be arrested for harboring a juvenile who has defied a court order?”

The twins exchange a look. Maravelle always says that, as toddlers, they slept in the same bed. They hated to be separated, and it’s been hard on both of them.

“We came to you because I can’t drive without someone over twenty­-one in the car,” Dorian tells her.

Shelby laughs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Really, Shelby. Legally, I can’t. If I get caught I’ll never get my license.”

It’s all clear to Shelby now. They came to her because they’ve realized how much trouble they could get into, and they want a driver. “If you think I’m driving you back to Albany, you’re mistaken. I don’t drive.”

“You have to,” Dorian pleads.

“Actually, I don’t.” Shelby unlocks the front door. Why then does she feel the heat of Dorian’s eyes on her back, pleading even when he doesn’t speak? The twins follow her upstairs, where the dogs are overjoyed to see them. She asks Dorian to call the Hunan Kitchen and order them some supper. While he’s on the phone she turns to Teddy. “Are you happy that you’ve involved your brother in an illegal act?”

“I wasn’t thinking of it that way.”

“You have to start thinking,” Shelby advises him.

She has a copy of Nevermore out on the table, and Teddy scoops it up. “You read this stuff? Comics?” He seems surprised.

He settles onto the couch to read while Dorian clips on the dogs’ leashes to take them for a walk and pick up their takeout. He looks the way he did when Shelby first met him, back when she hated children, or thought she did until she took care of him and Dorian and Jasmine.

After dinner Shelby says, “Let’s go now. Before I change my mind.”

They pile into the car and get onto the West Side Highway headed for the Thruway. Shelby’s heart is pounding. She’s rarely driven since the night of the accident, and now she’s responsible for Maravelle’s sons. Her hands are sweating as she grips the wheel tightly. Dorian’s in the passenger seat, directing her. He seems to think he’s an expert. “Stay in the middle lane, then no one can merge into you.”

Teddy’s sprawled in the backseat, engrossed in Nevermore. In James’s book the Misfit cries ice instead of tears. He can freeze a lawn, a street, an alleyway, a heart. And yet he’s nothing without his brother. Teddy has reached the end of the story. “So there’s the good brother who is a raven who has to pay for the bad brother’s sins. This is one fucked-up story your friend is telling. He’s just ripping off Cain and Abel, you know. It’s nothing new.”

“That’s not what he’s doing.” Shelby glances at Teddy in the rearview mirror. James never got to be sixteen, the age Dorian and Teddy are now. He went from being ten to being a hundred. “He’s writing about guilt and sorrow.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be looking at the road?” Dorian says to her.

“The author’s brother died,” Shelby tells Teddy. “He didn’t have a second chance.”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for him because he feels responsible for his brother? Should the bad brother jump off the roof or something? Save the world from his despicable self? And what makes you think this is a second chance for me? Maybe it’s what puts me over the edge into true evil.”

“Give me the book.” Shelby reaches behind her.

“Not while you’re driving,” Dorian tells her.

“I got all the bad genes,” Teddy says. “Everyone knows that.”

“Bullshit,” Dorian says.

Teddy’s referring to their father, a man with a criminal past who spent time at Rikers and hasn’t seen the boys since they were four years old. Occasionally the children’s father will send Maravelle a check, which she tears into tiny, confetti-like pieces. She says if she takes nothing, she owes him nothing.

“You know it’s not true,” Shelby tells Teddy. “Don’t waste your life trying to prove that it is.”

They stop at a service station. The boys pump gas, then head to the store for snacks and drinks. By now, Shelby is drenched in sweat. Driving has taken all her concentration, and her muscles are tense. She wonders if she could go to jail for this escapade.