“Let’s close our eyes.” I considered what must be troubling them the most and began. “Dear Lord, we thank You for all the blessings in our lives, and tonight we ask that You watch over us and those we love, especially Dale Gracey, who is recovering from surgery, and Wendy and Bryce Wainwright, who are far away and missing their daughters.”

I didn’t know what else to say. My problems with prayer had just surfaced. Prayers aren’t always answered the way we want them to be. These little girls were a bit young for theological explanations, so I didn’t want to promise something that might not come true. Dad’s future health was in question. Bryce was at sea in a nuclear sub, and Wendy was running from the sheriff. Keeping them all safe under those circumstances was a tough job.

I did my best. “We know that You see everything we can’t, and so we trust in Your loving care.” I ended by crossing myself and repeating the standard words. “In the name of the Father...”

Noelle was staring at me when I opened my eyes. “Will that work?”

Holly turned over. “Noelle, be quiet.”

I ignored Holly and remembered how a nun from my childhood had answered every question we ever put to her. “We can only ask. The rest is up to God.”

“We want to go to sleep,” Holly said.

The girls were talking to me. It wasn’t a prize-winning conversation, or even a friendly one, but they were proving they had a vocabulary.

“I could read you a story. Or tell you one. Would you like that?”

As if they’d choreographed their movements, both girls turned on their sides. I took that as a no and wished them good-night, but I didn’t kiss them. I wasn’t sure it was safe.

I turned off the light and immediately a night-light by the door, a fairy with gossamer wings, clicked on to keep them company. It was no alligator, but it would do.

When I’d come upstairs to carry my own things into Wendy’s bedroom, I had discovered the play area. At the head of the stairs, a wide loft bordered the bedrooms and the girls’ bathroom. Shelves with colored cloth bins lined one wall, and games and toys peeked out of several. A tall dollhouse with furniture—and grinning fifties-era white people—occupied one corner. A child-size table adorned the other, and a small bookshelf with maybe a dozen children’s books stood outside the bathroom. Everything seemed to be exactly where it should be.

Since I hadn’t found another set of sheets in the linen closet, I stopped by the master bedroom and stripped off the ones on Wendy’s bed. The master bedroom was larger than the one that the girls shared, and unlike the downstairs, orderly, except for a corner desk piled with more papers.

As the sheets washed, I did a final check to be sure everything was locked up for the night. The house was in good condition, but it needed minor maintenance. A light switch cover hung from one screw. Several bulbs were burned out in the great room ceiling. Hinges on one kitchen cabinet needed to be adjusted. And when I got to the front door, I noticed it didn’t close properly. I shoved it hard with my hip and held it in place, but even then, neither the knob lock or the dead bolt would turn. Someone had rigged up a cheap hook latch instead, but one good kick to the door would unseat it.