SAMANTHA"Ronan," Alisa says again, hiccupping through tears, her small hands fisted in the front of my shirt. "Ronan, Ronan, Ronan.""Where did she hear that name from?" I ask Sharon, my heart hammering, already running through every possible answer and hating each one."I don't know. She was playing quietly in the corner of the sitting room and then just started crying, saying it over and over. I checked the hallway, the windows, everything. There's no one here who shouldn't be."I sit down on the floor with Alisa in my lap, rocking her gently, pressing my lips to her hair the way I've done a thousand times since she was born. My hands are shaking, though I keep my voice steady, the way I've trained myself to do through every crisis of the last five years. "Baby, can you tell Mama what's wrong? Did someone say that name to you?"She shakes her head, still crying, and it takes several more minutes of soft questions before she manages a shaky, garbled explanation, a dream, she says, a
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