It was after dinner and your new cleats had arrived in the mail. Dada laced them up and every last one of you spilled out the door to watch you run around the backyard. Dada was laughing, Eloise and Julian shrieking and even Nana and the baby stood on the edge of the grass like some Bill Owens photograph of Suburbia.
I had intended on making the bed. A pile of hot sheets bundled in my arms, straight from the dryer. And I paused for a minute at the sliding glass door to watch the shapes of my family in the darkening yard.
I had intended to make the bed but it was such a rare moment, the house so quiet and everyone accounted for. As the fitted sheet billowed over the bare mattress I crawled underneath and curled up as it came floating down. It was soft, and so warm, and when I closed my eyes nobody at all could find me.