Laughter came from the closet, followed by an overly helpful, “No!”

Somers stomped around some more. “I bet they’re hiding under this pile of clothes.”

“No!” And then one of the closet’s sliding doors opened, and Evie tumbled out, her cheeks red, her dark hair in messy disarray. She crowed with triumph and then jumped a few times to emphasize her complete and total victory in hide-and-seek. Somers hoped she was better at soccer.

Swooping down to grab her, Somers peppered her neck with kisses and then, when she screamed to be put down, let her run over to the Fashionista Fillies caravan, where she immediately began gathering up the fillies and trying to stuff them, one by one, into the pockets of the lab coat.

While she accomplished this important mission, Somers moved to the closet and leaned in.

Hazard sat on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, his head back. He was pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand; his breathing was unnaturally slow and controlled. His other hand was behind him, but Somers could glimpse the butt of the Blackhawk.

“Would you take your hand off the gun, please?” Somers said quietly.

Hazard slid his hand away from the revolver.

“Are you ok?” Somers asked.

Hazard nodded, his hand still pinching the bridge of his nose, his breathing still locked down. He nodded for what felt like a full minute. And then, in a broken voice, he said, “No.”

“What can I do?”

“Just—I just need a few minutes.”

“Ok. I’m going to take Evie downstairs and get her dinner.”

Hazard nodded once.

“I’m going to take the gun.”

He nodded.

Slowly, Somers bent down and picked up the revolver. He spun open the cylinder, counted six cartridges, and emptied them into his palm. Then he pocketed the rounds and stuffed the revolver into the waistband at the back of his jeans, pulling out his t-shirt to cover it. With another roar, he scooped up Evie and carried her toward the stairs.

In the kitchen, Evie worked some kind of magic, a combination of very dark eyes and babbled explanations, and convinced Somers that dinosaurs were an ok dinner. He let her pick the vaguely dinosaur-shaped patties out of a bag, and then they microwaved them. He also got out carrots, broccoli florets, and hummus. Evie played with the vegetables, getting half of the hummus in her mouth and the other half decorating her placemat—the florets worked pretty well as an improvised paintbrush. In between bites of chicken, Somers cajoled his daughter into eating a few of the carrots.

Somewhere around carrot number three, Hazard came into the kitchen. His face was slightly pink, and he smelled a little bit like soap. He filled a glass of water from the tap and stood there, drinking it, staring out at the deepening blue haze of the July evening.

“Let’s talk about some positive things,” Somers said, nudging more carrots toward his daughter. “I’m grateful you told me you weren’t ok. I’m grateful you didn’t go off by yourself after that. I’m grateful you came here, to be with us.”