Liza sighed. “I didn’t say I was going to pick them up. Can one of the agents go?”

“I’ll go,” Sasha said. “Erin and I need to pick up some groceries and we aren’t on anyone’s hit list. But won’t the glasses need to be fitted?”

“They took our measurements when we picked out the frames,” Mercy said. “And we called them with our credit card information that afternoon, when everything calmed down. I really want to get glasses on Abigail. She’s been getting headaches. Besides,” she added fondly, “we’re going to do a movie marathon later and it will be more fun for Abigail if she can see the TV screen.”

“We’ll leave after breakfast,” Sasha promised while Rafe served the pancakes. “And, once you can see better, we’ll catch a movie on a big screen, like in a real movie theater.”

“When it’s safe,” Abigail said matter-of-factly, and Amos looked stricken.

So did the other adults in the room. No child should ever treat danger like it’s normal, Liza thought, more determined than ever to help put DJ Belmont away forever.

“Yes,” Amos managed. “The minute that it’s safe.”

“What was the last movie you saw in the theater?” Daisy asked Amos, to change the subject.

“Batman,” he answered after a moment’s thought.

“Which one?” Daisy countered.

Amos frowned. “What do you mean, which one?”

“Oh wow,” Daisy breathed when she realized he was serious. “We need to Netflix you up.”

They spent the rest of breakfast telling Amos about all the Batman movies he’d missed during his thirty years in Eden while Abigail listened, eyes wide.

“I think the Batman movies are too scary for me,” Liza said, picking up on the child’s apprehension. “Maybe we’ll look for a new Disney flick.”

“I like Disney,” Abigail whispered, relieved.

“So do I,” Liza whispered back.

Amos mouthed a Thank you and Liza gave him a wink.

Breakfast was finished and they were drawing lots for who would do the dishes when Liza’s phone rang. Her pulse picked up because she knew this number. She’d hoped for a return call and dreaded it all at once.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” she said, leaving Rafe’s tiny studio apartment to sit on the steps in the foyer. “This is Liza,” she answered once she was alone.

“Miss Barkley, this is Portia Sinclair from Sunnyside Oaks. I hope I haven’t called too early on a Saturday.”

“Oh no, ma’am. What can I do for you?” she asked, trying to sound calm and collected.

“We’ve completed our interviews and would like to offer you the nursing assistant’s position.”

Liza didn’t have to fake her enthusiasm. “Thank you! That’s wonderful! When do I start?”

Miss Sinclair chuckled again. “Don’t you want to hear the salary?”

“Oh.” Liza hoped she hadn’t blown the opportunity. “Yes, please.” Sinclair said a number and Liza’s eyes widened. “That’s . . . more than I was anticipating.” It was double what she’d made at the veterans’ home.