“Can Barnaby have his very own box?” she asked.

“Barnaby rides in your backpack so he stays safe,” I said.

Emma gave a little nod and set the purple rabbit on top of her small yellow pillow.

“I found three green crayons under the bed,” she said, holding up a small cardboard pencil box.

“Put those in the front pocket of your bag,” I said.

She dropped the crayons into her canvas backpack and pulled the zipper closed with both hands.

I sat down on a taped-up box in the middle of the quiet room, pulled my four-year-old onto my lap, and held her close while the evening shadows stretched across the floorboards.