I walked downstairs in my socks, my hair tied up with a pencil, my heart beating so hard I felt it in my throat.
Mr. Gideon was already at the door in his plaid robe and slippers.
He had one hand on the lock and the other on his cane, though he only used the cane when he wanted to look more threatening than necessary.
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“Do you know these people?” he asked without turning around.
I could see them through the narrow window beside the door.
My mother, Maura, looked older than the last time I had seen her.
Her face was pale and tight.
My sister, Elowen, stood behind her with a baby on her hip and a toddler clinging to her coat.
