“I like you, too, honey.” Sarah’s voice was thick with emotion. Auntie Jane was bustling around the kitchen, keeping her hands busy while they waited for the police, brewing a pot of tea, and placing butter cookies with rainbow-colored sprinkles onto a plate. Lilly snuggled in. Sarah bit her lip from the pain of the warm little body pressing on her injured abdomen, but she wouldn’t have shifted her precious daughter for the world. Lilly plopped her thumb into her mouth and sucked contentedly as she smoothed a corner of the dish towel between her tiny fingers. Sarah bent her head and inhaled, filling her lungs and her being with the fresh scent of Lilly’s downy soft hair and the warm wiggling sweetness of her child’s little body. “My child,” Sarah murmured, and suddenly she was filled with awe and wonder and the glory of God. She raised her eyes and met Auntie Jane’s gentle gaze over Lilly’s head, sharing with her the preciousness of the moment, the sheer simplicity and the beauty of the pleasure. Thank you, she mouthed. Auntie Jane inclined her head and placed her hand over her heart.

Lilly’s thumb popped out of her mouth. “What’s that noise?” she asked, her head tipping like an inquisitive baby chick.

“What noise?” Sarah asked.

“That noise,” Lilly said, gesturing toward the ceiling with her wet thumb. And then Sarah heard it, the sound of helicopter blades overhead, getting louder and louder.

Auntie Jane froze, teapot in her hand. “The police,” she whispered, all the color draining from her face. “They’ve come for me.”

“The what?” Lilly asked, looking from back and forth between the two of them.

“Maybe not,” Sarah said, but she knew she was probably whistling in the wind, because the sound of the helicopter was now a deafening roar. “Does one of your neighbors own a helicopter and commute from the city?”