“You won’t be driven out of a safe room because two grown men want a television.”

I stopped myself.

That was a promise about our home, not a promise about Lucas.

I still had to determine whether those were things I could keep together.

I arranged for Mom to rest with our neighbor, Priya, for the afternoon.

Priya had volunteered to help during treatments and lived in a single-story house just three doors down.

She met us at the curb, carrying an extra sweater and refusing to let Marian call herself trouble.

“Trouble is what my boys used to make with glitter,” Priya said.