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I’m seven today, but I don’t expect presents because I heard Mommy tell Rachel, ‘things are tough.’ I don’t mind. Thebest present, anyway, would be if my daddy gets better.

He used to be a fireman. He was so strong, he could pick me up and swing me high, high in the air, and I squealed because it felt good but also scary. Daddy used to laugh when I did that, his eyes all crinkly in the corners. He laughed a lot then, but not so much now, and when he does his eyes don’t shine bright like they used to.

My daddy’svery sick, I know, even though no one ever tells me. When I ask, Mommy says, “The doctors are doing everything they can,” but Daddy’s not getting better like I thought.

First, he came home looking very tired, and Mommy told him, “Stop working so many shifts, Rory.” “You worry too much,” Daddy said and kissed her cheek like always when he tells her not to fuss. But he got more tired, and he coughed a lot and couldn’t breathe right. My daddy’s sick because of his job, I heard Rachel say. “They should do more for firefighters; the benefits barely cover your costs,” she said.

“We knew that all along, but for Rory, it was never just about making a living. He wanted to do something to help people, and hedid. Rory saved a lot of lives and property over the years,” Mommy told her.

Last night I heard her tell Daddy don’t give up. “I won’t,” he said, but he didn’t sound sure like before. I think Daddyis giving up, and I don’t know why because he always tells me not to. “Never give up, A Stór. Be positive and keep going, and you’ll get what you want,” he says. I love when Daddy calls me A Stór. It means my treasure in the old language. He and Mommy mostly call me Angel, though, because I’m his and mommy’s special gift, Daddy says. I like that too.

Sometimes, at night, when Mommy thinks I’m sleeping, I hear her cry. Then I also cry also because I’m scared Daddy will die like old Mrs. Jones. She was sick for a long time, just like him. One day, Mandi and I heard Mrs. Morgan tell Mrs. Drummond she died. “Inez is with God now,” she said. God lives in heaven, I know, and it’s beautiful there, so why did Mrs. Jones have to go to heaven in a black bag?

I know she did because when Mandi and I peeked through the window, we saw two men wheeling her away a black bag on a bed. I know it was Mrs. Jones because Mrs. Morgan and Mrs. Drummond crossed themselves and said, “Rest in peace, Inez.” Now, every night, I pray for my Daddy not to die, and I cry because I don’t want those men to take him away in a bag.

Anyway, it’s my special day; Mommy always says that when it’s my birthday. Sheand Daddy woke me this morning. I loved it because, since he’s been sick, Daddy doesn’t wake me much anymore. They sang happy birthday, well, Mommy did; Daddy tried, but then he coughed, so he just clapped while Mommy sang. And Idid get presents—new red shoes, and Mommy made me a dress from her white one with the big red flowers that I liked to play dress up in. Ilove it!

Mommy wore the dress on their first date, Daddy told me. “No, I didn’t; I wore blue,” Mommy said.

“You were wearing that dress when I plucked up the courage to ask you out,” Daddy said.

“That wasn’t a date!” Mommy laughed.

“It was to me,” Daddy said and kissed her cheek. I like it when they’re playful like that, specially when Daddy’s happy and smiling like before.

Mommy cooked her buttery scrambled eggs with sweet corn that Daddy and I love for breakfast.And we had cupcakes that Mommy baked. She put white frosting with colored flowers on top. I had one with a red flower because it matched my dress, and Mommy also put a sparkler in mine. She lit it and sang happy birthday again.

And, now, Mommy’s packing cakes for me to share with Mandi, Bronny, and Sammy; they’re my best friends. I counted eight, two for each of us—one for before class and one at lunch, Mommy said.

There’s one cake left over, and Mommy says I can save it for after dinner.

“Daddy can have it,” I say because he likes cake.

“It’s your, birthday, Angel, not mine,” Daddy laughs and shakes his head.

“We canall share,” I say. “Sister Lily says we should because we’ll be rewarded one day.”

“She’s right,” Daddy smiles like he does when he’s proud of me and kisses me on the head. “Cut the cake, Grace,” he tells Mommy.

Mommy does, and when Daddy picks up his piece, he holds it to me. I smile and lift mine because I know what he wants, and when Mommy picks up the last piece, we make a toast like people do with glasses. “Happy Birthday, A Stór,” Daddy says.

I loved my birthday breakfast. It was the bestever.

It’s after school, and I’m skipping rope at the park with my friends. Mr. Jamieson, from across the street, is watching us for Mommy like he sometimes does. He was a firefighter too, but he doesn’t work now. He’s not sick like my daddy; he’s retired.

“Girls,” I forgot my glasses. I’ll be five minutes,” he shouts. “Stayright here until I get back,” he says and leaves his newspaper on the bench.

“Okay,” Bronny yells back.

“I’m tired,” Sammy says, rolling up the rope and lies on the grass. She and Mandi guess cloud shapes. “That’s a dog,” Mandi says, but Sammy says no, it’s a bear. I don’t play because I don’t want to lie down and get my new dress dirty. Bronny and I play Have You Ever Ever.

“Jamie Drury kissed me,” she says and stops clapping. Jamie goes to school with us. Bronny thinks he’s nice, butI think he’s silly andannoying. He follows us around and, sometimes, he even pulls her ponytail—that’s annoying, not nice.

“What?” Mandi sits up; her eyes are so wide, Mommy would call them saucers.

“When?” she asks, but Bronny doesn’t answer; she’s looking at something behind me. I turn my head and see the man with black hair, the one I sometimes in his car in our street.

“Well, hello girls,” he says, looking at me. He says vell, not well. I don’t know anyone who talks like that, not even Mr. and Mrs. Tucci, who came from Italy to live with their daughter, Mrs. Donati. People from other countries have differentaccents, Daddy told me when I asked why they don’t speak like us. “People come to this country from all over the world,” Daddy said, “just like the Bains did.”

Our family is from Ireland. “God’s own country,” Daddy says my great grampy called it. I love when Daddy tells stories about Ireland. He’s never been, but he promised we’d go one day. I really want to visit Ireland and see if it’s really green like an emerald like Daddy says.

“You are Angelique, yes?” the man asks.

“Ye…Yes,” I answer because Mommy says to always be polite—but she also said not to talk to strangers, so I don’t know if I’m going to be in trouble. He’s smiling, but his eyes don’t. They’re blue, not dark and shining like Mommy’s, or bright like Bronny’s. His eyes are cold like winter. I don’t like them, and I don’t like him.

“Happy birthday, beautiful girl.” He holds out a white box with a yellow ribbon, but I don’t take it.

“What’s that?” Mandi asks.

“It’s a present, Angelique,” he tells me, even though I didn’t ask. I want to know how he knows my name, but I don’t ask that either.

“I…I can’t take stuff from strangers,” I say because Mommy told me that too.

“We can be friends; we won’t be strangers then, will we?”

“Go away, Mister, you’re not our friend.” Mandi grabs my arm “Come on, Angel,” she says, and Bronny and Sammy stand too.

“Go away!” Mandi yells, loud this time.

“My name is Dieter, and wewill be friends, Angelique!” he says.

“Run,” Mandi yells, and we do.

The next week, I hear Mommy tell Daddy to put his mask on. “We shouldn’t be wasting money on me,” he says. “I hate that you have to work so hard.”

My mommy does work hard. She used to work in a bookshop and then pick me up from school, but since Daddy’s been sick, she stopped working there because she wanted to stay home with him. Now, she sews and mends people’s clothes. Sometimes, she makes curtains or even cushions; whatever people need, she says. My mommy’s very clever, I think, but she says her grandma is the one who knew everything about sewing. “I’m just lucky she taught me,” Mommy says.

Some nights, she works ‘til very late. I know because I hear when she goes to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Daddy doesn’t like when Mommy works late...