Gracie was waiting in her dark blue Chevy when we arrived in St. Louis. Ashton awoke in time to get into the car while I retrieved our bags. No greetings were exchanged as I opened the passenger side door. We drove the forty-nine minutes to De Soto in silence.

It wasn't until Gracie and I were sitting in the hallway outside of the guest bedroom where Ashton slept that I dared to speak.

"It's done," I whispered, fearing that if I spoke any louder the whole world would hear me. "Pippin has closed its curtains for good. A terrible thing happened at our last show, and because of that we...my family...had to run."

Gracie hung her head, "I'm so sorry, June," she said. There was a pause. "Actually, I know what happened. I heard the story on the radio while I was waiting for you."

I bolted upright: a Philadelphia murder mystery was on the radio in Missouri. The story was spreading. "What did it say?" I asked.

"That no one's been caught. At least, that's what they said an hour ago..."

I jumped to my feet and raced down the hall to the television. Gracie followed a couple feet behind. When I turned on the news, the words "murder" and "Philly" scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

"Shit," I said under my breath, "it's gone national."

Gracie stood beside me for awhile before placing her hand on my shoulder and saying "June, you've been up all night. You have to get some rest. Let me stay up, I'll tell you what happened later..."

"No," I told her, not turning from the screen, "I have to see for myself."

She knew she couldn't argue with me, so she left me alone. I heard her walk into the kitchen and turn on the coffee maker.

Hours passed. I didn't look away from the screen, but I restlessly moved around the living room, from the couch to the floor to the rocking chair, and then back to the couch. Gracie would sit with me for awhile, then go to the kitchen or her bedroom, and then return. Ashton remained asleep.

It wasn't until the vermillion sun peaked through the blinds that I became aware of how much my eyes hurt. I could have sworn that I only closed them for a second after seeing, "Philly murder suspects still not found," but I awoke to a warm, soft hand on my arm.

"Mom, are you awake?" Ashton asked me. He had changed out of his pajamas and was wearing a shirt that said in capital letters, "Dream Big."

I nodded, "Ash, what time is it?"

"It's almost noon," he responded, "Gracie had to leave for work about an hour ago, but," he pulled a Post-it note from his pocket, "she left this for you."

The note said, in Gracie's unprecedented bubbly handwriting, "Make yourself at home. Everyone is still fine."

The television had been turned off. My first instinct was to turn it back on, but then I noticed Ashton's countenance. Usually, I woke him up in the mornings, and when I couldn't Molly would. That morning, he woke up in a stranger's home with his mother dead asleep on a couch. On top of that, he still didn't know why we were there.

I gestured for him to sit next to me. "Let me tell you something, Ashton," I said as he sunk into the couch cushions, "We're going to be here for a long time, and I'm not sure what's going to happen tomorrow, or next week, or even next year. However, you should know," I took his pale hands in mine, "that I'm going to do everything I can to make things better. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he said quietly, "but why are we here? And where is everyone else?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure where everyone else is." It was true; I didn't have the addresses of the people Papa, Andrew, and Mom and Molly were staying with. "As for why...a bad thing happened last night at the show. Because of that, we have to stay here with Gracie."

"What bad thing?"

"A bad thing that I'll explain to you another time. For now," I pulled him closer, "don't worry about it."

One day, I did tell him what happened, just so he wouldn't find out somewhere on the ever-expanding World Wide Web. That day, however, didn't come for awhile.