His father stuck his hands into his jeans pockets. “Yes. That was a rough day. I wasn’t thinking very clearly. I never thought that she’d”—he exhaled—“that she’d go that quickly.”

Dodge nodded. “You took Colt with you.”

“That was probably a mistake. You and Ranger were with your grandfather, and I couldn’t leave Colt alone, so I just told him to get into the plane. He . . . saw her die.” He shook his head. “It’s a hard thing, watching death take a person. She fought it. She so wanted to stay for you. You and Larke and Ranger and Colt. All of us. She loved you so much, it was part of her every breath, until the end.

“She wasn’t afraid, you know,” his father continued. “She didn’t want to leave us, but she wasn’t afraid to die. She leaned into God’s love for her, and in the end, she was singing.” He swallowed. “‘Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in his wonderful face. And the things of earth will grow strangely dim . . .’”

“‘In the light of his glory and grace.’ I remember that song. I think I even remember her singing it.” The memory filtered in, faint, and Dodge’s throat filled. He put the picture back. “I wish I could remember more of her. I have snippets—the sound of laughter, and a memory of her reading to me—Goodnight Moon, I think. And I still have one of her shirts.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “I used to take it out sometimes and put the arms around me, just, you know, like she was there.” He didn’t know why he’d said that, and looked away before he did something stupid, like tear up.

His father said nothing.

“I don’t get it. Why does God do that to a kid?”

“Oh.” His father looked down, then toward the wall at the picture of the trio. “The circumstances of our lives aren’t just random, Dodge. There is no such thing as chance when we’re in the hands of God. And that’s a good thing, because it means that we’re part of something bigger, something that has an eternal purpose.”

“I don’t see how my mother dying and leaving you alone to raise four children has an eternal purpose.”

“Of course not. That takes faith, and it’s a hard request of a six-year-old boy.”

Dodge drew in a breath.

“But faith changes things. It gives you perspective. It allows you to breathe through the grief. And, if you let go of needing reasons and let God work his will through you, you might even see joy on this side of heaven.”

“I have faith. I believe in God.”

His father turned, met his eyes. “But do you believe that God loves you?”

Dodge’s eyes narrowed.