Shiloh let out another wail, and I set my phone on the nightstand. Poor Mom. I had to help her. I couldn’t do much with the baby, but at least she wouldn’t have to be alone. I hated being up by myself in the middle of the night, because it was so lonely. That was what I hated the most about insomnia. Was she the same way? There was so much I wanted to know about her. I needed to stop being so afraid. I gave myself a final pep talk before getting up and tiptoeing over to her bedroom.

I knocked quietly. Mom cracked the door as she jiggled Shiloh in her other arm.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay,” I said, smiling at her. “You didn’t wake me up. It’s still a little early for me to go to sleep.”

She opened the door wider. “Come in?” Her voice wavered nervously.

“I mean, if it’s okay with you. I don’t want to bother you.”

“It’s okay,” she said. Her eyes were downcast as we walked into her room. The bed was still untouched. I sat on the end and waited for her to sit next to me, but she shut the door behind us and stood in the center of the small room instead, swaying back and forth with Shiloh in her arms. Her eyes were wide open and fully alert as she stared up at Mom adoringly.

“Do you still sleep on the floor?” I asked.

She nodded.

I hated asking her questions when she had spent most of the day getting drilled with them, but there was so much I wanted to know about her. I played with one of the loose strings on the comforter, twisting it around my finger. “Can I ask why? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I mean, I know you’re probably sick of everyone asking you questions.”

“We don’t sleep on beds,” she said matter of factly.

“How come?” I couldn’t imagine sleeping on a wooden floor. I hated sleeping on the floor even with our thick camping sleeping bags.

“We must put the flesh to death,” she said in a creepy robot voice.

I’d never heard her talk like that before. I didn’t want to ask any more questions about the bed. I eyed the room, taking in the dirty coffee-colored tone of the walls that Meredith and Dad swore they were going to tackle on their next home-improvement project. “What’s your favorite color?” I asked.

“Color?” she asked, like I’d surprised her, and she let out a small giggle before quickly slapping a hand over her mouth. Maybe they weren’t allowed to laugh either. “Red,” she finally said. “Red.” Almost like she had to say it a second time to reassure herself.

“Mine too,” I said. I’d been secretly hoping that was what she’d say. I patted the spot next to me. “Sit.”

She shook her head and turned the other direction so I couldn’t see her face anymore.