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parents had chosen to call me something else.
    After Faith collects Caleb in her arms and we exchange a quick hug, she walks out the back door, and I slip into my parents’ bedroom to check on my mother. She’s asleep, huddled in a ball under the covers. I watch her quietly for a moment, my heart hurting for her. And then I turn around and head back into the kitchen, so I can make sure the little ones are washed up and ready to eat.

 
    4
    â€œRachel, are you asleep?” Ruth’s voice whispers to me from across the room.
    I sit up on my elbows and shake my head no, then hold my finger up to my mouth. Ruth throws her covers back and waits for me to nod, giving her permission to tiptoe across the room and crawl into my twin bed with me.
    â€œDon’t wake Sarah,” I whisper. Our little sister is passed out on her tummy, her arm dangling off the edge of her bed and her sad, little stuffed sheep named Sheepie wedged under her face.
    Ruth slips into the bed next to me, and we both turn on our sides to face each other. Ruth and me, we’re the snugglers and the cuddlers in my family. My dad gives us pats on the head, and my mom doles out brief hugs and fast kisses in quick succession—after all, there are so many of us to hug and kiss. But when Ruth was around two or three and I was six or seven, she’d have a bad dream or couldn’t drift off and I’d roll over in the middle of the night to find her sweet face peering up at me from the side of my bed, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress in hopes that I’d invite her in. I always did, and I didn’t even mind when her ice-cold toddler feet bumped into my shins as she slid under the covers in the middle of winter.
    But tonight, Ruth doesn’t slide under the covers; she kicks them off. It’s hot. The air conditioner in our house doesn’t work too well, but the borrower is slave to the lender, Pastor Garrett likes to remind us. Money has been extra tight lately, and my mind has already jumped ahead to worry about what I’m sure will be Mom’s expensive medical bills. Until we can save up for a new air conditioner, we need to be grateful for what we have, but Texas summers are so brutal it’s hard not to feel at least a little miserable. And frustrated.
    â€œIt’s so sad about the baby, isn’t it?” Ruth whispers. Her mouth smells of mint toothpaste and ChapStick.
    â€œSo sad,” I whisper back. I give her a hug, and we press our foreheads together for a moment.
    â€œMom looks terrible,” she continues. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like that. It scared me.”
    â€œI know,” I answer. “It scared me, too. You know what Faith said?” In a hushed voice, I tell Ruth about Mom’s first miscarriage. I want to share it with someone, to get it off my chest, but I leave out the part about Aunt Marjorie coming to help because I’m not sure Dad would like it if I told Ruth about that. I don’t think Ruth even knows Aunt Marjorie exists.
    â€œSo we have another brother or sister waiting for us in Heaven,” Ruth says, her forehead wrinkling in curiosity. “But Mom never told us that. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
    â€œKind of,” I say. “Maybe it was too sad for Mom to talk about. But we know we’ll see him again. Or her. I just hope that Mom doesn’t need a whole month to recover this time.” That’s selfish, I realize. Whatever the Lord needs us to do as Mom gets better, we’ll do it. And we’ll do it with grace, I promise myself.
    â€œRachel, will Mom be okay?” Ruth whispers, her eyes worried.
    â€œYes, Ruth,” I answer, even though I’m not entirely sure. “Mom will be okay. Everything will be okay.”
    â€œDo you think we should pray?” Ruth asks.
    â€œYes, that’s a good idea,” I tell her. Ruth squeezes her eyes tight and says,