“I don’t know, Mom. I don’t know. I keep going over it and over it, and I don’t know.”
My mom sat on the edge of the bed and put her arm around me. Evelyn was sleeping between us. My mom reached out and touched her hair, her little copper curls, very gently.
“Well, would you look at that,” she murmured, and for a second something passed across her face. Something like recognition. But then Evelyn stirred, and my mom pulled her hand back, and the moment was gone.
My dad turned around from the window.
“You’re coming home with us,” he said. “Both of you. As long as you need.”
“Dad, I can’t just—”
“Claire.” He walked over and put his big rough hand on my head, like he used to when I was little. “You’re coming home. That’s the end of it.”
