The backyard had glittered with fireflies, the sun flirting with the edges of the horizon, holding tight to the day just as Lena, Hallie and Shane were. They ran barefoot through the soft grass, catching those lit-up bugs and scooping them into Ball jars, the metal tops having been poked full of holes by Dad’s awl. It was a contest—who could grab the most fireflies? Colleen was losing because with each capture she felt a twinge of guilt; she didn’t want to trap beauty in a jar, although release would come at night’s end.

Only Dad had joined them in the backyard that night, since Mother volunteered at the library. They were laughing—Colleen couldn’t remember why—when a black police car appeared in the driveway. All three children stood as still as though they were playing freeze tag. A cop car wasn’t good, right? Their gazes flew to one another, as frenetic as the flies in their jars.

Mother climbed out of the back of the car, her arm in a sling and a Band-Aid over her left eye. Panic filled Lena at the sudden realization that the woman who held the family together could herself come undone. Nothing was certain.

The policeman stepped out also, removing his blue hat and holding it over his chest; smiling, he nodded at Gavin and the children. Then Mother bent over, placed her hands on her knees and called for her children, for two of her children. Hallie and Shane bolted to their mother and she gathered them to her while Dad sidled over to Lena and wrapped his arms around her. She shuddered. Something more than an injury was awry in the world that, only moments before, had been warm, safe and secure. Then, as if slapped, Mother gazed up and called for Lena. “Come here, my big girl.”

It had been a minor car accident, a fender bender caused by a teenager driving his daddy’s truck without permission. They’d had a good laugh about how Mother’s car had to be towed while the tanklike truck drove away without a mark. An ambulance had squealed into the town square in response to Mrs. Farley’s 911 call from the post office. The paramedics had justified their presence by giving Elizabeth a sling for the bruise on her right wrist and a Band-Aid for the small cut that had nothing to do with the accident and everything to do with a mosquito bite she’d scratched too often.

All was well, but Colleen never forgot the moment when her mother initially called for two of her children, and not for the third.

Now, standing in Shane’s bathroom, Colleen felt the aftershocks of the memory; a shaking of her internal world. It was like picking up a mended pottery mug that had been glued together, pouring hot liquid into it and watching it break again.

Shane banged on the door. “You okay in there?”