An earlier conversation with Jonathan Finch came flooding back. Four months ago, Jonathan had told Ethel his son had osteogenesis imperfecta. “You might know it as brittle bone disease,” he’d explained. “It’s a genetic condition. His body makes poor collagen, sort of the girders of bone construction. There are varying degrees of OI, as it’s known, and some can lead to an early death. Davie has Type Four, not fatal, but his physical growth is stunted, and his bones can break like glass. We have to be so careful. So does he. A severe sneeze could break a rib. Davie will always need medical care, but we’re hopeful he’ll be at the high-functioning end of the disease’s spectrum. He’s bright but withdraws into his own world because he’s now old enough to know he looks different from other kids and can’t play like the other kids. His mom and I do what we can to build up his self-esteem.”

Ethel took another step closer to the boy. “Nice designs, Davie. Let’s take one to your mother.”

He turned around and looked up at her. Ethel noticed his head was larger than normal for his frame. Then she rethought that assessment. No, his head was normal, but his body was small and slightly misshapen.

Davie stared at her with brown eyes, the whites of which were tinged with blue. “Not designs,” he corrected. “Molecules. Atoms can come together and break apart.”

“Yes. I see that. Molecules. Come together, then break apart. Davie, your mother wants you to come together. Can you do that for her? Come together? Don’t break apart?”

The boy stopped fixating on the Tinkertoys. She gently laid a hand on his shoulder. Davie flinched. “But I don’t want to see Mommy crying.”

“I know. But your daddy’s not here, so she needs you. Come, let’s go show Mommy how brave you are.”

Davie pushed himself up from the chair and grabbed the handles of his walker. Ethel noticed a medical-alert bracelet on his left wrist. Engraved on it were the words, “Osteogenesis Imperfecta—Fragile Bones.” Davie spun the walker around and moved toward the door, his little bowed legs taking tiny steps as he leaned against the walker for support.

Ethel took a final look around. Molecules and the solar system. LEGO creations on shelves. Jonathan Finch had been right. The boy was bright. But how would he fare without his father, the man who probably sat for hours with LEGOs and Tinkertoys, not only as Dad but also best friend?

She found Davie on the sofa next to his mother. Susan had one arm wrapped protectively around him.

Bradshaw sat in an armchair. “Do you have anyone we can call for you? A relative? A minister?”