“Now, remember guys, this is temporary,” he said, his voice rich and warm. “I didn’t rent this place for the house. I rented it for the yard.” He reached over and squeezed my knee. I laid my hand on his. “It backs up to the forest. We’re gonna see deer back there,” he said with the enthusiasm of a man who had “deer in the yard” on his bucket list. “There’s a path back there too, just beyond the trees.”

“Oh, no!” Emily’s high-pitched shriek broke the calm. “No. No. We have to go back,” she said, tears already swelling.

“What is it, Em?” I said.

“Quit it!” Sawyer screamed, yanking down his hood. “Don’t be such a baby.”

She cried harder, tears spilling fast.

“Sawyer, please,” I snapped, reaching back and touching her leg. “What is it, Emily?”

“I-I-I—” she cried.

Christ, spit it out, Em.

“I forgot Lucky!”

Her bear.

Oh, good God, what a relief. This was a problem I could solve. “No, Em. I packed her. We’ve got her.” I exhaled, my heart still hammering.

She calmed, still gulping air, her chest trembling and her cheeks shiny and wet.

“We are only a couple hours away from our condo,” I said. “If we forgot anything, Daddy can grab it on the way home from work.” Trevor worked an hour north of our condo in Chicago and an hour south of Hunther, Wisconsin.

“You can’t let her just scream like that.” Sawyer’s words ratcheted up the stress. His knee bounced frantically. Sometimes he barely talked, barely moved; other times he was like a coiled spring.

I cranked my head and tried to give Sawyer a pleading half-smile. “We’re all tired from the trip. Everyone needs to stretch their legs,” I said. “Please.”

He pulled his hood across his face, not interested in my bullshit. It was bullshit. We’d been in the car for two hours, not two days. Emily should be able to hold it together.

“There she blows, mateys. We’re here,” Trevor said, completely unfrazzled. He slowed and turned into the driveway, which was a long, asphalt incline up toward the house.

I gasped.

“You OK?” Trev said.

“Fine. I’m totally fine.”

It was one of those houses that had a face, and this one was mean. Over the garage-mouth were two windows with upside-down “V” awnings painted black and shaped like symmetrical arched eyebrows. Wood siding, painted tan. Not flesh-colored, but, Christ, close enough.

He parked, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and turned to me. “Should I show you the yard first?”

I laughed. “Is the inside that bad?”

He smiled and shrugged.