I wake up to my sister rubbing my leg. “Al, babe, let’s talk.”

I sit up and collapse against her chest. Her strong hands rub my back and she mutters soothing words into my hair. I’m the only one of the Peterson kids to inherit my mother’s curls. Unruly and wild, just like Dad always says she was. “Hey,” a thought occurs to me. “Do you think the baby will have curly hair?”

Amy laughs and I burst into tears again. It starts sinking in that a real ...