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couldn’t wear Erna’s shoes because her feet are too big.” She paused for a moment, looking right and then left to make sure it was clear. Then she pulled out onto the road.
    â€œI wondered if it might be a vase,” she said, “or some coffee mugs that she doesn’t need anymore. She said that she got it for Christmas and she doesn’t need it. That’s she’s too old.”
    â€œDo you get too old for coffee mugs?” Simon asked.
    â€œNo, of course not, that was silly of me. Perhaps it’s chocolates; that’s what old ladies get for Christmas. And then they’ll probably be hard and moldy and we won’t be able to eat them.”
    â€œThey also get slippers,” Simon said, like a little grownup. “Granny has lots of pairs and she got them all from us.”
    â€œIt might be a smart little handbag,” Bonnie said after a while. “That would be nice. Erna never goes to parties. So maybe she thought that I might have more use for it than she does.”
    Simon leaned forward and grabbed hold of the back of her seat. “You don’t go to parties either,” he said.
    She looked at him in the mirror again. “No,” she replied. “I don’t. I’d much rather be with you.”
    Â 
    When they got home and had taken their coats off in the hall, Bonnie asked if they should eat or open the box first. Simon had to think about it.
    â€œWhat are we having?” he asked.
    â€œPasta twists,” Bonnie replied. “With tomato sauce.” Simon sat down on his knees on the sofa and Bonnie put the box down on the table in front of him. He lifted it up again and started to shake it.
    â€œI think maybe it’s a lamp,” he said wisely.
    â€œWell, then it must be a little one,” Bonnie said. “Or perhaps it’s a flashlight. I’m sure that Erna wouldn’t have much use for that. Although, actually, if there’s a power outage, and she has to find the fuse box . . . I can just see her stumbling around the house, banging into her horrible furniture, knocking over the lamp, and tearing the curtains.”
    Simon chuckled. “Pasta twists first because then the secret will be even bigger. Race you to the kitchen!” He grabbed hold of the footstool he needed to stand on to reach the countertop as he raced past. He liked to watch his mother making food; he liked her thin fingers with no rings.
    â€œThat’s good, you can watch and learn. One day, you’ll grow up and move away from home, and then you’ll have to cook your own food.”
    Simon shook his head. “But I want to live with you; I don’t want to leave home.”
    Bonnie filled a pan with water and put it on the hotplate. After a while, it started to boil and she opened the bag of pasta and the tomato sauce. Simon got some dry pasta to play with. He lined the pieces up on the countertop end to end like a string of pearls. She asked what he wanted to read when he went to bed.
    â€œ
Where the Wild Things Are,
” he said without any hesitation.
    â€œBut we read that yesterday.”
    â€œI know, but I want to hear it again and again, a hundred times.”
    Â 
    Bonnie put the food on the table and sat down. Simon kept glancing into the living room at the box that was waiting there with only a temptingly thin piece of string around it. He ate as fast as he could and afterward helped his mother clear the table. She rinsed the plates in warm water and stacked them on the side of the sink. Finally she wiped the table and then came into the living room. She put the box on his lap, and Simon started to struggle with the string. Erna had tied a really tight knot, but Bonnie didn’t help him. He had to do it himself. That way they could eke out the precious moments.
    â€œMaybe it’s money,” he said, full of hope, because he knew that was something his mother never had enough of.
    â€œBanknotes