Mom says that was why family meant everything to Dad: he’d never had enough of it when he was young. And Dad really was a family man. He was never that interested in going “out with the boys” like the other men he worked with. He preferred to come straight home to Mom and his girls.

“Well.” I force myself out of my reverie and look at Sam. “Shall we watch one?”

Sam nods. “The Hobbit. So we can start at the beginning.”

I make the popcorn, though Sam barely touches it. It’s too greasy, he says, and the oil gets on his hands. He likes the movie, though, and I’m enjoying it too, until I accidentally fall asleep about two-thirds of the way in. I wake up to my nephew tapping me politely on the shoulder.

“Aunt G? You fell asleep.”

I glance groggily at the rolling credits, and then at the time.

“Wow. Eleven o’clock. I guess it’s time for you to be in bed, Sam. And me too, apparently.”

Sam complies and starts heading upstairs while I put the DVD away, then I go and check if the dishwasher’s finished its cycle. I decide to leave the unloading for the morning. I have a message from Dennis, I notice—just checking in and letting me know he’s arrived safely. I want to ask him if he’s tried Abigail’s phone recently, if he knows she’s turned it off, but now’s not the time for that conversation.

I plod up the stairs and lie on my bed, waiting for Sam to finish up in the bathroom. He’s not quick about it, and I reflect wryly that our water bill is going to increase considerably while he’s here. I sigh and shift my gaze out the window, watching the moon above the tree line. I think about how Oliver left this morning without waking me and how now I’ll be asleep before he comes home. It’s not great, this new cycle we seem to be getting into.

The longer I lie here, the more my thoughts spiral outward, moving back in time and space. For some reason I picture Abigail and me coming up the drive of our old house after school, pausing at the mailbox. Back in those days I’d fish out the school letters that used to get sent home, complaining about Abigail’s “disruptive” behavior or some fight she’d gotten into—snagging it before Mom could open the mailbox. I was always the shrimpy one, and I’d dig down with my skinny wrists into the locked box, bold with the thought of rescuing my sister.