That night, she checked on Matt first. Her son lay on his side curled up in a ball, the long, thin index finger of his left hand hanging limply from his mouth. She reached out and gently pulled it away from his lips, aware that it was probably too late to avoid braces, but at least she. could go through the motions.

She watched Matt root around in sleep for the familiar comfort of his finger-the way he'd done all his life.

Charlotte remembered the ultrasound. She'd been just over five months pregnant when the indistinct gray and white image showed the tiny male human living inside her. He had a tiny head and tiny feet and a tiny penis- and his left index finger stuck in his mouth. She and Kurt had been fascinated by this first glimpse of the life they'd made-the first peek at their family.

She stroked the boy's short brown hair, looked at the outline of his face in the night-light, and let the tears flow. Charlotte only cried when the kids were asleep. And usually only when the effort it took to stay cheerful in their presence had exhausted her to the core. Today had been one of those days.

Like yesterday and the day before that.

She patted Hoover's head on her way out and smiled at the big dog'. He used to sleep in the hallway at the top of the steps, but on the night Kurt died he began sleeping in Matt's room. It was like he knew the boy needed a protector.

She checked on Hank next. Her daughter lay open-mouthed on her back in the narrow twin bed, her arms and legs flung out like she'd stopped in the middle of making a snow angel. The lightweight blanket lay in a heap on the floor.

Charlotte wiped tears from her face and smiled down at Hank. The child had obviously inherited the flaming red hair from Charlotte's side of the family, but everything else about Hank was her daddy. She was round and solid, with a friendly, open face, wide eyes, and a charming smile. People gravitated toward her, just like they'd done with Kurt She was even named after his mother.