Hannah stood at the kitchen island, tugging a blue fleece hoodie down over her head.

A bowl of oatmeal she hadn’t touched sat on the counter in front of her.

For ten minutes she’d been pushing the spoon around without eating a single bite.

“You need to eat something,” I told her.

“I’m not hungry,” she said.

She reached for the heavy backpack on the stool and stopped partway.

Her shoulder jerked up, and she let out a sharp hiss of breath.

I set down my coffee mug.

“Hannah,” I said quietly.

She kept her eyes fixed on the granite countertop.

“It’s only a cramp,” she said.

Richard was leaning on the refrigerator with a rolled-up hardware store flyer in his hand.

He smacked the paper against his palm and let out his loud, booming laugh, the one that filled the whole room.

“It’s sophomore algebra,” Richard said.

“Math gives everybody stomach cramps.”

He rubbed the back of his neck with the rolled-up flyer and gazed out the window.

I looked out the window too, beyond the driveway.

His work truck sat on the wet grass by the old oak tree instead of in its usual spot beside the garage.