It’s soon lunchtime and my parents’ house is unusually quiet. Mom and Emily are in the kitchen, Granny is off somewhere talking on the phone with her best friend. Dad and Dylan were sent to the store for some emergency shopping of something or other Mom had forgotten, and Rob is upstairs watching television. So it’s just me and Merry in the living room. We’re sprawled on the floor, playing with her new toys—cars and trucks and other vehicles, because she hasn’t developed a love for dolls yet and prefers playing with the same kind of toys her boy twin cousins do. She’s driving a truck on the rug at car-chase speeds; her gaze is focused on what she’s doing, and her little mouth is pursed as she makes sputtering and vrooming noises. My heart can’t take the adorableness, and I spend more tim