It sat propped against the bottom pane of glass, its black bead eyes looking into the room.

Lucy pressed a brown crayon to her paper, drawing a wide square topped with a pointed triangle roof.

“Are you drawing our house?” I asked, pulling out the wooden chair beside hers.

“I’m drawing our house and the big tree by the driveway,” Lucy said.

She didn’t whisper, and her voice was clear and gentle in the warm kitchen.

She added two square windows on the second floor and filled them in with bright sky-blue wax.

In the top corner of the paper, she had sketched a big empty circle in faint gray pencil.