…frayed though nearly new, as the shouting from Downstairs continued.  He discovered that holding a stuffed animal against each ear more or less rendered the actual words, even their tonality, indecipherable.

It was usually better when others were over; when the stale, charged air of the house abated when the door opened, admitting both outside smells and some unseen force that made Mommy and Daddy behave differently.  Like other grown-ups, they reminded him in those instances of being in a pageant at school, when everyone dressed as Bible characters, and when Lucas, whose daily pastime was yanking the rug of the Play Area from beneath him, was transformed if only for a few hours into a less loathsome version of himself.  He was learning that there were times when people put on costumes, and those were the times when he felt only tentatively safe.  Because when the pageant ended, and the stage became a worn wooden platform, and the Biblical robes reverted to musty-smelling sheets, the Lucases resumed their yanking of rugs, throwing of pencils, laughing in circles with like-minded little wolf-packs of friends.  And when Company finally left, and the sounds of laughter and clinks of silverware against plates was replaced with the tired clatter of those same dishes piled in the kitchen.  Sometimes, with the sound of shattering.  And the air would thicken, as Mommy and Daddy slowly removed their Having Company costumes, Daddy often retreating into the room that served as their den.

They didn’t think that he could get out, unassisted — a conclusion unsupported by the unfortunate events of one particular afternoon.