Bree wasn’t a neat freak by any means, but she wasn’t a slob either. She maybe went a little too long between regular dustings, and she hated to vacuum, but her house had always been inviting and pleasant.

Renee stared at the photos peppering Bree’s fridge. There was one of Bree as maid of honor in Jill’s wedding, before her husband died in that terrible motorcycle accident. And one of her working at a booth for Castaway Yarn at the Farm, Fiber, and Craft Festival. And the two of them from a long-ago trip to San Francisco. They had their arms wrapped around one another’s necks and were standing cheek to cheek, the epitome of sisterly love.

The photo wasn’t a facade, though. Renee and Bree were close. They loved each other like crazy. What is wrong with my sister? She spritzed the stove top with disinfectant spray, giving the surface a good rub. Since when had she ever popped Xanax or looked so unwell?

“Mommy, too loud! No more.” Lincoln wailed in the living room. He sounded like he was leveling up into hysterical mode, starting to exhale into the sort of sobs that make it hard for a child to breathe. “Want Daddy!”

Renee tossed a handful of frozen berries and a few apple slices into the makeshift sangria and hurried into the living room, the pitcher in one hand and disposable plastic cups stacked in the other.

“Thunderstorms are Ethan’s territory.” Sadie held Lincoln against her chest, rubbing the little boy’s back. “He’s the one who goes into Lincoln’s room when one rolls through in the middle of the night.”

“Want him.”

Sadie stared down helplessly. “I know, baby. Trust me, I know.”

Renee could only imagine how badly her friend wanted to throw her own temper tantrum.

“Do you know what my mom used to tell me?” Dan knelt beside them.

Lincoln raised his head curiously, hiccupping for breath.

“That scary-sounding thunder? It’s only the angels bowling.”

“Hey now.” Sadie pushed aside his hair, gently wiping the tears below his eyes. “Do you remember what bowling is? It’s when we roll those heavy balls like we did at Devon’s birthday party while wearing funny shoes. Wasn’t that loud?”

Recognition flashed across his red face. Lincoln nodded. “So loud!” He paused, sucking his bottom lip. “But why lightning?”

The adults all stared at one another, each trying to piece together some sort of charming anecdote to explain the violent streaks of light.

“That’s all the angels’ mommies taking pictures,” Renee finally blurted out. She imagined the scene in her head, of women with fluffy, white wings snapping photos on their iPhones. It made her smile. “It’s the flash of their cameras. Did your mommy take pictures when you went bowling?”

“Yeah!” Lincoln was appeased.

“That’s right.” Sadie hugged him. “I did.”

Everyone sighed in a sort of happy, amused relief.