Hardy crossed his porch and descended three steps to the cement path that bisected his small lawn. The sun had gone down behind the buildings across the street, although true dusk was still twenty minutes away. As she turned and saw him now, Treya’s legendary composure threatened to break. She was a tall woman-nearly Hardy’s size-and strongly built. Her mouth, expressive and normally quick to smile, quivered, then set in a line.

Hardy came forward, took the duffel bag from her, and put an arm around her neck, drawing her in, holding her for a moment. Finally he stepped back and whispered, “How is he?”

She shrugged and shook her head. Then, her voice as quiet as his, “We don’t know yet.”

Frannie came up, touched his shoulder, and came around to hug Treya.

Hardy stepped to the side and went down on one knee to face Rachel at her level. “And how’s my favorite little girl in the whole world?”

“Okay,” she said. “But Zack got hit by a car.”

“I know he did, hon.”

“But he’s not going to die.”

Hardy looked up at the two women. Treya gave him a quick nod, and he came back to her daughter. “No, of course not. But I hear you’re going to stay here for a couple of days while he gets better. Is that okay with you?”

“If Mom says.”

“And she does. Is that duffel bag your stuff? Here, let me get it. If you put your arms around my neck, your old uncle Diz will carry you inside.”

Then they were all moving up the path and into the house. “Abe went with the ambulance,” Treya was saying. “We don’t know how long we’re going to have to be down there. I don’t know how to thank you for watching Rachel.”