“Let me know when you’re done. I want to know exactly what’s missing.” Mason turned to the college professor. “How about we set up a time for you to come talk to us at the office?”

Mason enjoyed watching the color drain from the man’s face again.

Trinity tugged on her hood to protect her face from the rain. She followed in the slow-moving procession of foot traffic outside the memorial at the church, feeling a bit like a cow in a cattle drive and fighting the urge to moo. She’d decided to attend the public service for Glory McCarthy and be thankful that it wasn’t a service for Brooke. Not yet.

When Brooke coded at the hospital yesterday, Trinity thought she was dead. She’d fallen into her foster mom’s arms and bawled like a baby, the stress of the previous forty-eight hours catching up with her. Instead, Brooke had pulled through. But would she ever wake?

Was she going to have brain damage? Would she remember Trinity?

She griped Katy’s hand tighter. Her foster mom had agreed they should attend even though Trinity hadn’t known Glory. They came to show Glory’s family that people cared. And they came to pray for Brooke’s recovery. It felt like half the city of Portland had turned out. They slowly moved into the huge church. It was one of those megachurches. They didn’t have pews; they used folding chairs, and it could hold thousands of worshipers at one time. Trinity pushed back her hood and stared at the huge images of Glory flashing on the screen at the front.

She had the same long dark hair as Brooke, but her eyes were a deep green. Trinity stopped in place as she watched the slide show. Glory and her three siblings, Glory as a baby, Glory and her parents. Trinity felt Katy glance at her. She knew Trinity longed for a tight-knit family.

But right now, Trinity was simply content to be healthy and holding hands with an awesome foster mom. She squeezed Katy’s hand. She didn’t want to trade places with anyone. A rumbling behind her made her realize she was holding up the line, and she looked for a place to sit. The chairs were all full; it was standing room only.

“Let’s go stand over there.” Katy pointed to the right, pulling her that way, and Trinity followed.

A tall figure stood out in the packed masses and made eye contact with her.

Jason. Her heart gave a mini double thump.

Did he go to Glory’s school?

She hadn’t heard from him since his texts about Brooke at the hospital.

Jason was good-looking. There was no getting around it. She’d always thought Brooke was lucky to catch his attention.

He raised a brow at her and smiled. Her heart continued its tiny dance. He’d acknowledged her! The kid standing next to him elbowed him in the side. Trinity tried to see who he was standing with, but the other teen wasn’t looking her way. Three more steps and Jason was lost in the crowd. She craned her neck, unsuccessfully searching for him again. The crowd was dense. She and Katy squeezed between groups of mourners, searching for an open spot.

Katy reached a small clearing near the far wall and let out a sigh. “Let’s try here. We can still see pretty good.”

Everywhere Trinity looked, she saw strangers. There were tons of teens, but she didn’t know them. Groups of crying girls and stoic guys. Parents who wiped at their eyes and grandparents with small children on their laps. She suspected most of the people didn’t know Glory nor the other girls. She was witnessing a community in pain, leaning on one another for support.

She noticed the police who stood at the edges of the room. There were several different uniforms. Trinity recognized the Portland police and Multnomah County, but she couldn’t make out the others. A dozen different police precincts were represented. Another sign of the public coming together. Everyone experienced pain when young people died.

“Trinity?” She felt a light tap on her shoulder and turned to see the brown eyes of Dr. Campbell from the medical examiner’s office. “I knew that was you.”

“Hi, Dr. Campbell.”

“Call me Lacey,” the pretty blonde said. She gestured at the tall couple with her. “This is my friend Michael and his fiancée, Jamie.”

The couple smiled, and Trinity tried not to stare at Jamie’s amazing pale green eyes as she introduced them to her foster mom. Michael seemed like an intense type of guy. He had an arm tight around Jamie, but Trinity noticed he often touched Lacey’s shoulder in a sisterly sort of way. Lacey’s eyes were red, the lids puffy. Sorta like 80 percent of the other people around her.

“It’s nice you came, Trinity. How is Brooke doing?” Lacey asked.

“The same,” Trinity whispered. An image of Brooke in her hospital bed filled her mind. Every day she looked thinner and thinner. She was being fed through a tube of some sort, but Trinity didn’t think it was enough. She looked away from the sympathy in Lacey’s eyes.

“I can’t stand this,” muttered Michael. “Children shouldn’t die before their parents.” Jamie nodded and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

His words struck a chord with Trinity. Was anything more true? Parents shouldn’t bury their children; it should be the other way around. That was how life was intended to be. Yet, her own mother had walked away from raising her daughter. How does a mother do that? Didn’t it go against their chemical makeup?

In therapy she’d learned her mother was mentally ill. Drugs and alcohol made her problem worse. She understood why her mother had acted as she had, but that didn’t make it hurt less. Her grandmother was also an alcoholic. Trinity’s therapist and she had spent hours discussing whether alcohol would be an issue for her.