Grace
Later that afternoon, I am home fixing Toby’s after-school snack when there’s a knock at the door. I’ve just put the baby down, Eleanor is heavy on my heels, and I’m sliding the casserole Darcy left on the porch in the oven when the doorbell rings.
It’s exhausting. The constant intrusion. The reporters haven’t stopped calling, though I don’t know what they expect. How can I explain what happened if I don’t understand it myself?
I take Eleanor by the hand and place her on the couch. “Wait here,” I say. “I need to see who’s at the door.”
She hops down and follows me, my new shadow.
Through the curtain, I see that it’s Officer Sloan.
“Hello,” he says, taking stock of Eleanor. “Mind if I come in?”
“I’m a little busy at the moment,” I say, patting Eleanor’s head. “Maybe you can pho
