CASEY COOTES LAY on her back in the still-strange bed staring at the still-strange ceiling. In her bedroom at home, stars and planets had covered a deep blue ceiling. Mom had painted that space scene. Here, in the spare bedroom in her grandparents’ house, plain white plaster hung above her. No stars. No planets. No blue. She missed her ceiling and her bedroom. She missed her home.
She missed her mother.
Gramma and Grampa kept saying that Mom would be home soon. But they couldn’t tell her when. And they’d look at each other before answering. They did that more and more in past days.
Across the small room, Percy, her younger brother, lay sleeping in the other bed. He’d kicked off his covers and lay on his tummy, clutching his teddy bear with one arm, his face buried into its neck. Percy w
