CHAPTER 12A pale, haggard woman—who could have been anywhere between twenty-five and forty years old—met them at the front door as Sam and his father stepped onto the tiny covered porch, more accurately described as a stoop. The small house, qualifying as a cottage if it were cuter, was well-maintained. Sam wondered, in a world born of people’s thoughts, why this family decided not to think bigger. He supposed, like in other realms, imagination and desire shaped the people who lived here.
Whatever makes them happy.
He hung back a step and watched Dr. Lantern shift his medical bag to his left hand and hold out his right to the woman. “Hi, Alice. How are you holding up?”
“Oh, I’m fine. It’s Mom that needs your help.” She held the door open and waved them into a neat living room with a mar
