He’d packed the book on the off chance that Mercy really was alive and that he’d be able to find her before DJ did. Once she was safe, Amos would give her the book.

It wasn’t anything close to reparation, but hopefully it represented a good memory. Either way, it was all he had to give her.

“What kind of stories do you like, Abigail?” Edie asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“I don’t know. Papa reads to me sometimes.” Abigail was suddenly shy. “My school has a book. It has Bible stories.”

“I’m sure we can find you one like that,” Edie said, “but for now, how about this one? My daughter loved this one and my grandchildren love it, too. I bet you will, too.” She chose a book from the shelf and put it in Abigail’s hands. “It’s called Ramona the Pest.”

Abigail’s eyes shone. “I can have it?”

“Abigail,” Amos warned, and her little face fell.

She dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

Edie slowly dropped into a crouch, grimacing at the audible popping of her knees. “Abigail, you may read this book as long as you’re here. And once your papa gets settled, he can get you a library card of your very own. And then you can borrow whatever books you like. You can take them home, read them, then bring them back for more.”

“Oh.” Abigail’s smile was back and she hugged the book to her chest. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, sweetie.” Edie straightened with a quiet groan. “Standing up used to be easier. Come with me, Amos. Let’s sign in to a computer.”

Amos watched as she went to the desk, showed her library card, and then pointed to him and Abigail, who’d already sat in one of the chairs at the computer table, Ramona the Pest open in front of her.

Edie came back and patted the empty chair beside the computer she’d been assigned. “So . . . this is how you start.”

Within a minute and a half Amos’s brain was already full. Edie was typing so fast that he could barely keep up and she maneuvered the mouse with terrifying ease. He remembered just enough from his high school computer lab days to not be completely overwhelmed.

“We are now online,” she said, with a ta-da gesture.

“I had a friend who had a computer when I was a teenager,” he said. “He had a . . .” He searched for the word. “It had these cups and you put the phone in them. I guess that’s ancient history, too?”

“Oh right.” She laughed. “A modem. I remember those days.” Lowering her voice, she mimicked the beeps and noise the device would make, bring back a whole host of memories. “The modems are all internal now. They plug right into the wall.”

“Wow,” he murmured.

“You’ll get used to it easily,” she promised. “If I can learn this, anyone can. And if all else fails, let Abigail try. Kids are the best at this computer jazz. All right. This is called a browser window. It gets you into the Internet. There are a lot of browsers to choose from, but I use Chrome because it’s what my daughter put on my computer. Then we go to Google. See? That’s the search engine I usually use.”