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“Your mother is who she is,” Edward said. “It doesn’t make her weak. It just makes her Donna.”

I stared at him, trying very hard not to gape, but I wanted to. I’d never heard him cut anyone any slack for anything. Edward was not just judgmental. He was a harsh judge. What chemical alchemy did the woman have to have won him over? I just did not get it.

“I think what . . . Ted is trying to say is that it isn’t your age that makes us not want to show you the pictures.”

“You think I can’t handle it,” Peter said.

“Yeah,” I said, “I think you can’t handle it.”

“I can handle anything that you can handle,” he said, arms crossed over his thin chest.

“Why? Because I’m a girl?”

He actually blushed, as if embarrassed. “I didn’t mean that.” But of course he had. But, hey, he was fourteen. I’d let it slide.

“Anita is one of the toughest people I’ve ever met,” Edward said.

Peter squinted at him, arms still hugging his chest. “Tougher than Bernardo?”

Edward nodded.

“Tougher than Olaf?” And I thought more of the kid that he’d put the two men in that order. He knew instinctively which was the scariest man, or maybe it was just Olaf’s size. No, I think Peter had a feel for the bad guys. It’s something you either have or you don’t. It can’t really be taught.

“Even tougher than Olaf,” Edward said.

There was a disgruntled sound from behind the rug. The sound of Olaf’s ego getting bruised.

Peter looked at me, and the look had changed. You could almost see him thinking, trying to put my petite female self in the same category as Olaf’s aggressive male presence. He finally shook his head. “She doesn’t look as tough as Olaf.”

“If you mean arm wrestling, I’m not.”

He frowned and turned back to Edward. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do,” Edward said, “and if you don’t, I can’t explain it to you.”

Peter’s frown deepened.

“Part of the problem with the tough-guy code,” I said, “is that a lot of it can’t be explained.”

“But you understand it,” Peter said. He sounded almost accusatory.

“I’ve spent a lot of my time around very tough guys.”

“That’s not it,” Peter said. “You’re different from any girl I’ve ever met.”

“She’s different from any girl you will ever meet,” Edward said.

Peter looked from one to the other of us. “Mom’s jealous of her.”

“I know,” Edward said.

Bernardo’s voice came from inside the room. “Can we lower the rug now?”

“Don’t tell me you tough he-men are getting tired,” I said.

“Lactic acid builds up in everybody’s muscles, chickie,” Bernardo said.

I’d started the name calling so I let the “chickie” comment go. “You need to join your mom and Becca in the kitchen,” I said.

“Do I?” He was looking at Edward, and I realized he was appealing to Edward, asking permission.

“Yes,” I said and looked at Edward, trying to tell him with my eyes, not to do this.

But he had eyes only for the boy. They stared at each other, and something passed between, some knowledge, something. “Drop the cloth,” Edward said.

“No,” I said and grabbed Peter’s arm. I spun him around, so his back was to the door. I’d caught him by surprise, so he didn’t struggle. Before he could decide what to do about me, Edward spoke. “Let him go, Anita.”

I looked at him around Peter’s shoulder and realized he was taller than me by a few inches. “Don’t do this.”

“He wants to see. Let him see.”

“Donna won’t like it,” I said.

“Who’s going to tell her?”

I looked into Peter’s dark eyes. “He will when he gets mad enough at you or her or both.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Peter said.

I shook my head. I didn’t believe him, and that more than anything made me let go of his arm and back off. If Edward showed Peter this little corner of hell and word got back to Donna, it might be enough to break them up permanently. I was willing to trade some of Peter’s innocence for that. Harsh, but true.

The rug fell away on Olaf’s side first, then Bernardo was left holding the rug in his arms like a limp child. He looked at Edward and shook his head, but he stepped back beside Olaf and let Peter walk into the room. I followed behind him and Edward.