I am a little girl, old enough to watch my younger brothers and sister, but too young to drive.  I stand by the front window, the one in the dining room where I have a clear view of the driveway and the road in front of my house.  I’m trying to quell a fear that my parents won’t come home. Not because they don’t want to, but for some reason outside of anyone’s control. Like a car wreck.  I leave the window, with a knot in my stomach, only to return every few minutes to look down the road.  Worry.  It turns out they did come home, every time they…