“Dad was so angry.” Karina laughs. “He had to spray the extinguisher and that foam got all over the kitchen, the coffee maker.”

“Yes, two appliances destroyed along with our breakfast.” Jaya smiles.

Karina smiles. “I forgot about that.”

A moment of silence passes between them. “I remember it every single day,” Jaya whispers. “At the time, it was a disaster. But now all I think of is the joy of a boy who loved life so much he couldn’t wait to celebrate his birthday.”

Karina closes her eyes, remembering. “He said he wanted to do something to thank us for bringing him into the family.” A tear runs down her face, past her smile.

“Pain is always there to serve a purpose,” Jaya says, “to teach us something, whether it’s to not reach into a hot oven or to not fall in love with the wrong person.” Karina looks up at her with startled eyes, but of course there’s love involved here. What else could cause such pain? “And once we’ve learned what we’re meant to learn,” Jaya continues, “we are better than before. The wounds will heal.” She lightly touches Karina’s arm. “And that pain inside will help you grow.”

* * *

Keith re-enters the room, confident about what to do next. “It’s too late to drive back, so I’ve booked us two hotel rooms for the night. We can get some sleep and a fresh start in the morning.” Jaya nods in agreement and looks at Karina, who simply stands up, shedding the gray blanket onto the chair.

They stop at the first restaurant they come upon, a family-style spaghetti house where the music and merriment create an ironic backdrop to their mood. It is neither lunch nor dinner hour, and none of them are particularly hungry, but it seems like the right thing to do right now, to nourish their daughter. Keith and Jaya sit on either side of Karina in the half-moon booth and watch her pick unenthusiastically at oversized platters of fettuccine alfredo and Caesar salad.

Keith chooses a blue crayon from a glass on the table and draws a large oval in the center of the paper lining the table. He nudges Karina with his elbow. She takes a green crayon and draws a squiggly line touching the oval with such disinterest, he feels worse than if she’d declined to play along. He tries again, delicately, to start a conversation about whatever has transpired over the past few months. “Honey, you know you can tell us anything.”

But Karina doesn’t respond; she is a worn, watered-down version of herself. Jaya shoots him a warning look, and Keith is so spent himself, it’s easier to numb himself with another glass of bad Chianti. With the red crayon, he draws a flag protruding from the other end of the oval, hoping Karina will recognize the beginnings of a horse and add some legs. He pushes the crayons toward her, hopefully. Karina stares at the image for a few long moments, then covers her face with her hands, and her shoulders shake as she begins to cry. Jaya looks at him in alarm. Neither of them understands what has just happened.