Mr. Ryan shakes his head. “No, you don’t have to leave. But,” he says, looking at Mama and Daddy, “until you find employment, you are expected to help out here at the shelter five hours a week each. Mr. Windward—Byron—will give you a list of chores and a schedule.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Mama says. Daddy nods again. Like I said, my dad’s a man of few words.

Mr. Ryan jingles the keys in his pocket and glances out the window. It’s started to rain. “Go ahead and get settled in. We’ll meet next week.” He smiles at me and Dylan. “You two need to get registered for school so you can start making friends, right?”

“Yes, sir,” I say. If it were up to me, I’d start school tomorrow.

Dylan frowns. “I’m too little to go to school,” he says.

“Not anymore, buddy,” Daddy says. He runs his hand over Dylan’s head. “Time to be a big boy.”

Dylan starts to put his thumb in his mouth. He stops, looks at Daddy, and instead sticks his hand in his pocket.

I guess not having a home to call our own is making us all grow up.

After supper, after we take our turns in the bathroom, after Dylan and I crawl into bed and Mama gets in between us, after she reads Where the Wild Things Are twice, Mama says it’s time to do what we did at night back home: list three things from the day we are grateful for.

“I’ll go first,” Mama says. “I’m grateful we are all together again. I’m grateful for kind people like Mr. Ryan and Mr. Windward. And,” she says, “I’m grateful to not sleep on the floor.”

“How about you, Dyl?” Mama asks.

Dylan blinks sleepily. “Grateful for a TV. Grateful for an elevator.” He closes his eyes and rubs his nose against the pillowcase. “Grateful for a nice-smelling pillow.”

Mama smiles.

“Gary, you’re up,” she says to Daddy. Daddy stretches his long legs out on his and Mama’s bed. He looks up at the ceiling. We all wait. Finally, he says, “I’m grateful for Piper, Dylan, and Meg.” Mama squeezes his leg and blinks hard.

“How about you, Piper?” Mama says.

I search my mind. Truth is, so many things about Hope House didn’t turn out like I’d hoped they would. I don’t have my own bed, much less my own room. We don’t have our own kitchen, and the TV barely works. I sigh.

“Piper,” Mama says. “Are you looking at the doughnut or the hole?”

Daddy chuckles. Dylan snores.

I look around the room. Finally, I say, “I’m grateful for our own bathroom. I’m grateful I’ll get to start school soon.” I search my brain hard for a third thing. “I’m grateful Daddy’s here,” I say.