By four in the afternoon, the sun had moved across the sky, casting long, slanted rectangles of bright light over the blue carpet in the family room.

Kevin was sitting on the floor with his back against the pullout sofa, his eyes closed and his head resting against the cushion.

Brooklyn was kneeling on the carpet by the small square coffee table, her box of twenty-four crayons open beside her.

I lowered myself onto the floor next to her, bending my knees slowly so I wouldn’t pull at my stitches.

Brooklyn was shading the sky on a sheet of white drawing paper with a dark purple crayon.