“It may not,” Kelsey said.

But the question came with us when we left.

By early afternoon we were back downtown, where the boys had turned my dining room into a paper city.

Dozens of buildings folded out of printer paper covered the table.

Callan had drawn the roads.

Connor had labeled everything in careful block letters.

Cormac had appointed himself mayor.

Cillian was under the table with three crayons and half a sandwich.