Jen, come.

I am standing in the dark of the little room, turning to leave after saying goodnight, when Grace calls. I lean down to find her arms outstretched, asking me to lie down beside she and Lillian, for just one moment before they sleep.

Both girls scoot back to make room for me on the little pallet on the floor, the night’s cool moonlight forgetting to find its way to the one small window letting in the breeze off the field. Grace holds Lillian underneath, Lillian holds me and Grace extends her long, willowy arm across the both of us while I whisper in the dark.

Girls, the day will come when we go together on the plane, just the three of us. Can you understand?

I feel their braids move on the pillow as Lillian whispers back in her everyday quiet voice, “Yes.”

And then you will come and live in America and we will be neighbors and sometimes you will come to my house after school and you’ll open my frig to find something to eat and you’ll sit at my table and do your homework and talk to me and Madeleine. Because she loves you, too.

And you and me–we’ll be friends for a long, long time until we’re all old ladies. Our whole lives. For years and years and years, we will be friends and we’ll remember these days when you were missing your mom, before I brought you home, before we were all together. Do you know what I am saying?

Yes, Grace says, her voice a little stronger than Lillian’s. Yes, Lillian whispers. Yes.

And we stay like that, holding each other, feeling it, imagining Odette, leaning toward the future, sinking deeper into hope for a long, long time.