leaving him with Mom for a few hours. He seemed completely normal. He talked all the way home about cookies and cartoons. But while helping him get ready for bed, I noticed his shirt was inside out.
“Ben, why is your shirt like that?”
He looked down.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you dress yourself?”
“Maybe.”
I laughed it off. He was five. But the next week, it happened again. His T-shirt was backwards under his sweatshirt, one sock didn’t match the other, and his pants were fastened strangely.
“What do you and Grandma do over there? Forget how clothes work?”
Ben didn’t laugh. He stared out the car window.
“Nothing.”
Something in his voice made me look at him in the mirror.
“What do you mean, nothing?”
He hesitated.
“I’m not supposed to tell you.”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Tell me what?”
“Grandma said it’s
