Beatriz fastens off the last stitch of her blue-and-red crochet blanket, then carefully spreads it on top of her bed. This is her second winter in New York, and she’s slowly getting used to the rhythm of a new city and a new country.

My mother didn’t have any brothers or sisters. I think that was part of the problem, why she didn’t know what to do with three children so close together. She’d never been a sibling, so she didn’t know how to handle it.

Six feet inside the Glenn Street police station, Janice Newland jumped as a burst of red light blossomed in the air above her. A half-dozen pairs of red lips manifested, speaking in synch, which reminded her of the opening of Rocky Horror. “Welcome, exalted volunteer!”

“The youngest kids’ swimming lessons always take place during the hottest part of the day,” Jess says while rubbing sunscreen on Chloe. She’s working on that little girl’s legs as if she’s the only thing standing between her and an early death. Oh, no one does sunscreen like ol’ Jess.