"Kennedy. Robert Kennedy. They've killed him."

"Oh my G.o.d. Oh sweet G.o.d." She could only stand and stare, horrified.

She remembered when the American president had been killed, and the

shocked world had mourned. Now his brother, his bright, young brother.

"We were rehearsing for the alb.u.m," Brian began. "Pete came in.

He'd heard it on the radio. None of us believed it, not until we'd

heard it ourselves. G.o.dd.a.m.nit, Bev, just a few months ago it was King,

and now this. What's happening to the world?"

"Mr. McAvoy ..." Alice started down the stairs, her face as white

as her ap.r.o.n. "Is it true? Are you certain?"

"Yes. It should be just a nightmare, but it's true."

"Oh, that poor family." Alice wrung her ap.r.o.n in her hands. "That poor

mother."

"He was a good man," Brian managed. "He would have been their next

president. He would have stopped that b.l.o.o.d.y war, I know it."

It disturbed Emma to see tears in her father's eyes. The adults were

much too involved with their own grief to notice her. She didn't know

anyone named Kennedy, but she was sorry he was dead. She wondered if he

had been a friend of her Dad's. Maybe he'd been a soldier in the war

her father always talked about.

"Alice, fix some tea. Please," Bev murmured as she led Brian toward the

parlor.

"What kind of a world have we brought our children into? When will they

understand, Bev? When will they finally understand?"

Emma went upstairs to sit with Darren and leave the adults to their

tears and tea.

They found her there, in the nursery, an hour later. She was singing

one of the lullabies Bev often sang at bedtime while she rocked Darren.

Panicked, Bev started in, only to have Brian catch her arm. "No,

they're fine. Can't you see?" It eased some of the rawness inside him

to watch them. Emma rocked with her feet dangling far from the floor,

and the baby carefully supported in her arms.

Emma looked up and smiled beautifully. "He was crying, but he's happy

now. He smiled at me." She leaned over to kiss his cheek as he gurgled.

"He loves me, don't you, Darren?"

"Yes, he loves you." Brian moved over to kneel in front of the rocker

and wrap his arms around both of them. "Thank G.o.d for all of you," he

said as he held out a hand for Bev. "I think I'd go mad without you."

BRLm KEPT HIS FATLILY CLOSER during the next weeks. Whenever possible,

he worked at home, and even toyed with the idea of adding a recording

studio onto the house. The war in Southeast Asia preyed on his mind.

The horrible and useless fighting in his homeland of Ireland tore at

him. His records soared up the chart, but the satisfaction that

had rushed through him in the early days paled. He used his music both

as a projection of his feelings and a buffer against the worst of them.

His need for family kept him level.

They were sanity, he was certain.

It was Bev who gave him the idea to take Emma to the recording studio.

They were about to lay the first tracks for their third alb.u.m. An alb.u.m

Brian considered even more important than their debut. This time, he