There was a knock at the door. It was Theo, the kid from next door. He was only seven. Wearing nothing but blue jean shorts. Scabs on his knees. Feet filthy. Skinny as a broom. Darn kid probably hadn't eaten since Tuesday.

"You busy?" he asks.

"Kinda," I say, and hold up my crocheting.

Theo looks at the ground then back up at me. "Thing is, I'm hungry and I don't know where mom is."

I sigh. This happens all the time. I back up and let Theo march past me into the kitchen. I thought he was going to go for the cookie jar. But he doesn't. He opens the fridge instead.

"HOT DOGS!" he yells. "Can I have one?"

I'm about to protest but then I relent. Why not? I hate hot dogs and those weiners would probably just sit in the fridge until I threw them out.

So Theo grabs the weiners and soon a pot of water is boiling on the stove.

The water was boiling when Mary Lou, my mother-in-law, walks into the room. Her face is behind a green cream mask and her hair is up in a towel turban. She's wearing my fuzzy pink bathrobe. I hate it when she wears it and she knows that I hate it when she wears it and that's why she's wearing it.

"What are you doing?" Mary Lou asks. "Giving your food to a lazy bum?"

"Mary Lou, he's a child. What do you expect him to do? Get a job."

She glares at him. "If he wants to eat so bad, maybe he can earn it by mowing the lawn."

"Well, if you want to stay in my house, free of charge, the way you've been doing the past week, maybe you can earn it too. How about you paint the ceiling?"

She cuts her arm off and bathes the ceiling in her blood.

"Done," she says.

"Is my hot dog ready?"