“All right, then,” he said.

“Good night, Claire.”

He stepped out onto the porch and let the screen door latch snap shut against the wooden jamb.

Bennett scooted his chair closer to the kitchen island and watched me ladle chicken broth into his ceramic bowl.

“Mom?” Bennett said, rubbing his sleeve cuff between two fingers.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Are we safe in our house now?” he asked, saying the important word again, serious and low.

“Are we really safe?”