“Everything okay?” I said. I knew it wasn’t, but I didn’t know what else to say.

Even Nonny’s voice seemed stretched. “I just finished feeding her and I’ve burped her and everything. She doesn’t want to stop crying, let alone sleep.”

So I walked over with my arms out and before Nonny could protest too much, took the baby out of her arms, being careful to support Cecilia’s little head like Mom had shown me. I’d had enough practice that even walking around with the baby in my arms didn’t scare me anymore.

“I got it,” I said. “You sleep.”

“That’s sweet, Lib, but…”

“No,” I said. I tried to gesture at the bed with my head. “Sleep.”

Nonny sat on the bed, but didn’t lie down.

Cecilia gave a hiccup in my arms. “Nonny?” I said.

She looked at me, hand in her hair, Silent Question on her face.

“I’m sorry I didn’t win,” I said. “I tried really hard.”

“Win?” she said.

“The Smithsonian contest. I mean, I won the division, but the grand prize was twenty-five thousand dollars, and that could have been for rent or a house or … Thomas could have come home.”

Nonny stared at me. Her hair was messy, but her eyes were bright. I bounced baby Cecilia a couple of times.

“That’s what you…,” Nonny said, then stopped.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t enough,” I said.

Nonny patted the bed next to her. “Come sit,” she said.

I brought Cecilia over, still holding her high and bouncy, and sat next to Nonny on the bed.

“Libby,” Nonny said. “I’m going to say something and I want you to listen, okay?”

I nodded. I thought of another Hard Reading Word: apprehensive.

“There’s really only one thing I want for my daughter. The ways Thomas and I figure out how to take care of our family—and we will—don’t matter. I know I’ve … I’ve been anxious and stressed about money and job stuff, but we’re going to figure it out. But you know what does matter? What I want more than anything for my daughter to have in her life?”

Nonny put her hand on the bed so her arm was around me, and took Cecilia’s fingers in her other hand.

“I want,” she said, “for my daughter to have someone brave to look up to. Braver than I could ever be. Someone so selfless they don’t even realize it. Money has nothing to do with what I care about, as long as my daughter grows up to be like you.”

That’s when something inside me multiplied, expansive and warm, a quiet supernova. I held Cecilia tight to me, and leaned in to Nonny. The three of us sat that way for a long moment in Silent Closeness.

I’d been wrong before. Defending the eagerly defenseless didn’t mean that nobody got hurt, or that you didn’t get hurt. Because hurt was just there, part of the grass and the trees and the clouds and the burning stars. What defending meant was taking in the wounded when the hurt did happen, never budging, never wavering no matter what. Being a constant, bright North Star in a twisting, swirling sky. The scars and bruises given or taken were just part of the star chart.