Chapter 4: Paper Crowns

I gave them one Saturday.

That was my whole concession, after four days of three black SUVs parked at the end of my street.

They came at ten, on foot, in jeans, carrying a bakery box and nothing else.

I met them at the gate with my arms crossed.

"My yard, my rules," I said. "You sit where I put you. Nobody touches me. Nobody touches the kids unless the kids ask."

"Understood," said Thane.

"If one of them cries, you're done."

"Understood," said Lorcan.

Gareth just nodded.

I put them on three folding chairs in a row on the wet grass.

My daughter walked down the line and looked each of them over.

"You're too big," she told Thane. "Your chair's making noise."

"I'll sit still," he said.

"You better."

She went inside and came back with a stack of construction paper, a stapler and a fistful of markers.

"Everyone gets a crown," she announced. "It's a party rule."

"Is it?" Lorcan asked.

"It's my party rule."

She made Thane's first, gold, with tall points, and stood on tiptoe to staple it around his head.

He bent his neck all the way down so she could reach.

My younger son made one for Lorcan with eleven points and a smear of frosting on it.

"That's the best crown I've ever worn," said Lorcan, and he meant it.

My older son watched from the steps with his arms folded.

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