I step back a little, allowing for the teenagers and their aunt to process their reunion before moving to reason why we are here.

Ruth beats me to it.

“Where are they?” she asks, pulling back to get a better look at their faces.

Sarah answers. “They went on a trip three weeks ago. Going down the coast. Taking their time. Then ending up at an orphanage we support in Tijuana.”

Ruth’s reaction, an exhale, reveals a level of comfort in the news. “That’s wonderful. Our whole family did that when we were kids. It was a grand time. Working together to help those children. It was a gift from God. How come you two didn’t go?”

“Dad wanted me to take care of the livestock,” Joshua replies. “Sarah has her schoolwork.”

The clouds open up and the soft rain becomes a deluge.

“It’s too wet out here. Can we go inside and talk?” I ask.

Joshua leads the three of us into the house. It’s cozy, though on the minimalist side. Lots of wood and only a portrait of the kids, much younger, adorns a wall. There is no TV. No video games. Nothing of the outside world.

Only Joshua’s graphic T.

Ruth asks for a cup of tea. Sarah goes into the kitchen and turns on the kettle.

“My dad made all this furniture in his shop,” Joshua tells me, noticing my eyes on a massive dining table. It’s made of cherry with a beautiful matchbooked top. It resembles a tiger trapped inside an encasement of wood.

“Does he sell his furniture?” I ask, running my fingers over the glossy surface.

Ruth puts her hand on my shoulder.

“Merritt would never sell anything to the outside world,” she says, nearly beaming.

A source of pride, I think. Tied to their beliefs and their need to unspool their lives from even the most casual encounter.

Joshua offers his aunt some taffy that Sarah made, but she declines.

“Mom’s favorite,” he says.

I decline too. Last time I had taffy it pulled a filling out, and it took me a month of pain and embarrassment before I could get into the dentist. The kids have nice teeth, I think, just then. I wonder how they manage that without the benefit of a dentist.

“When were your parents due back?” I ask.

“We thought they’d be back by now,” Sarah says, entering the room with a tray of mugs and some sugar. “No lemon,” she adds with a touch of disappointment. “We’ve never been able to get citrus to fruit in the greenhouse.”

I nod not because I understand the self-sufficient family’s setback with the lemons, but because I didn’t come for a social visit. I came because a woman freaked out back in my office that something terrible had happened.

I give Joshua a card with my phone number.