“I promise.” Andrew wrapped his arms around us both. For several minutes there was no other sound inside the house.

Then my grandmother handed me the note. It was written on a yellow pad in my mother’s handwriting. Be good. Food is in the fridge. Mrs. K will check in.

Back Sunday. No phone number. No complete name. No directions for an emergency. Nothing suggesting the note had been written for a child who could barely read complete sentences.

On the kitchen table sat Mia’s drawing notebook. The first page showed a square house with one tiny figure inside. Yellow lines filled every window. “What is this?”

I asked her later.

“The lights.”