Ricky carried his favorite book from room to room of the Clarke Estate until he found Hana in one.

  She was sitting in an office, heavy wooden chair pushed up to the window, scrape marks scuffed onto the floor. She was staring outside into the backyard, sun shining through the spotless windowpane and illuminating gold streaks in Hana’s light brown hair.

  Ricky pushed his drooping glasses back up the bridge of his nose and walked up to her, holding out his book in front of her face.

  He knew Hana liked to read, just like him.

  Hana turned from the window and looked at the book title before nodding at Ricky and smiling.

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  They settled on the floor, tummies cushioned by the large and fluffy gray rug. Ricky creaked the spine of his book, stuffing loose pages back in their place.

  They began reading with only a foot of space between them.

  Ricky remembered his father’s request.

  He scooted a few inches closer to Hana.

  Hana continued to read.

  He scooted closer again.

  Hana read.

  And then Ricky read, lost in the pages, until he noticed that beside him, Hana’s head slowly plopped on the right side of his book.

  She was asleep and, Ricky noted with disgust, she was drooling on the pages.

  He quietly tried to pry his book from under her without waking her up.