The next morning when I wake up I go in the living room. Daddy is sleeping on the sofa, his feet hanging over the side. There’s a bunch of stuff in the middle of the room, boxes and bags that were over there by the wall, and now where that stuff was is something else. It has drawers, and a hole where your knees would go if you were sitting at it, so it looks like a desk, but instead of a place where you can write it has all these long pieces of wood that are put together in a big curvy shape. It’s really neat-looking but I don’t know what it’s for. So I go back to my room and play until I hear the door to Momma and Daddy’s room open, which means that Momma is awake. I run out of my room and grab her leg, and ask her what that thing is in the living room.

She picks me up and hugs me tight. “Oh, Robbie,” she says, and kisses my face all over, tickly. “I love you so much. That thing is a desk that your daddy bought for us yesterday.”

“But there’s no place to write,” I say.

“Come and I’ll show you,” she says, and walks with me into the living room. Daddy is still sleeping. Momma puts me down next to the desk. “Watch now,” she whispers, and then she lifts up in the middle and the long pieces of wood make a clap-clap-clap noise very quiet, and like magic, there’s a space where you can write, and little cubbyholes for things you want to put there.

I remember that Daddy’s sleeping before I yell, so I don’t, but I look at Momma with a big smile and I think she knows that I would yell because I think it’s really neat what she just did, and that makes her happy. She pulls on the little knobs, and the long pieces of wood go clap-clap-clap again and the big door is closed, and I can’t see the cubbyholes or the place to write anymore.

What a wonderful desk! A hiding place where you can put your desk things! I love hiding things and hidden places. How smart Daddy was to buy the desk.

I go over and I try to lift up on the knobs, to make the top come open again. Daddy’s there, I don’t know how he woke up and got there so fast, and he slaps my hand and makes it hurt. I start to cry.

“Shut that whining,” says Daddy, in a growly voice. “And don’t you ever touch this desk. You hear me? This desk is for Daddy, not for you.” He puts his hand into a fist and he hits me on the side of the head, really hard, and I fall down. I squinch up my face and I don’t cry, even though it hurts in my head and my hand now.

Momma is quiet, but she comes over to me and rubs my back with her hand. “Don’t let him touch that desk, Amy,” says Daddy. “It’s too nice for a little boy to fuck around with. We’re going to keep it nice, so you just keep him away from it.”

“Yes, Chet,” says Momma quietly.