No Defense - Prologue Continued

The night before, after finally getting my six-month-old twin boys to sleep-no easy task, as they were teething-I'd fallen into bed exhausted but sleepless at the prospect of what the next day might bring. I started to cry. I'd cried plenty lately but had tried hard not to fall apart in front of my four-year-old daughter, Jessie. She must have heard me, though, because she appeared in the bedroom doorway wearing the Star Wars T-shirt my husband, Eddie, had forgotten when he moved out.

The T-shirt was a ridiculous fit, so long the hem dragged the ground with each step and so wide the short sleeves reached her wrists. Still, she'd insisted on sleeping in the shirt every night since her father left.

Jessie stood still and watched me cry. Her golden brown hair fell around her shoulders, and her green eyes were wide open, filled not so much with fear as curiosity.

"Take a deep breath," my daughter ordered, mimicking my advice whenever her emotions got away from her. "Breathe in slowly, Mommy, Slow-ly."

I did as I was told, caught my breath, and somehow controlled my crying. Then I patted the bed, and Jessie ran across the room and jumped up next to me. I gathered her into my lap and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"Are you sad?" she asked. She spread her father's T-shirt over her toes.

"Just a little. Now that you're here, I'm fine." I wiped the last tears from under my eyes and smiled.

"Why were you crying?" She ran a finger along my cheek.

"That's a long story," I said.

"Tell me."

"It's late."

"Please," she begged. She tugged at my nightgown.

"Let's see," I said. I set her on the bed, stood up, and crossed the room to the bookshelves. A sudden wind heralded the predicted early fall burst through the open window as I passed. I slammed it shut, shivering slightly.