The only way I would’ve stayed the entire hour was if one of my parents went in with me, and I knew that wasn’t happening. Deep down, they were about as fond of counseling as I was. So, no, it wasn’t working. After a few missed appointments, the counselor called my parents, and I don’t know what they discussed, but something shifted. I bargained down to one session every other month. That was the most I’d agree to, and anyone who thought it wasn’t enough could suck it. It wasn’t their twin who died.

“Nan Jensen was telling me about the Portside Country Club,” my mom replied. “They have programs that Mackenzie could attend. Her daughter goes to them with her friends. She says they’re very beneficial for her daughter, teaches her respect and how to act like a lady.”

My dad’s snort told me his thoughts on that suggestion. “What about back home? That’d be more beneficial, wouldn’t it?”

“You want to fly her back and forth the rest of summer? I don’t think that would be helpful. Besides, you can’t push her Arizona friends like that. I talked to Emily and Amanda.”

“Who are Emily and Amanda?”

“You know, Emily Christopherson and Amanda Green. Their daughters are Mackenzie’s friends in Arizona—”

“The ladies you had your wine walks with?”

I almost smiled as I imagined Mom bristling. Dad thought the wine walks were stupid. Mom thought they were the next best thing to going to church.

“Yes. Those ladies.” Her voice dipped low, almost a growl. “But I talked to them about Zoe and Gianna. They said they want to be there for Mackenzie, but you know how it is. Teenagers don’t know what to say, so they hold off.”

“Isn’t that the same with adults?” Dad griped. “We haven’t heard from Tony and Danielle since the funeral.”

Silence.

A sniffle. “Well, we’re talking about Mackenzie’s friends right now—”

“If they don’t want to support their friend, then that’s on them. We have to deal with the here and now, and getting her into some form of activity is the best idea. She needs to be busy. She needs to be . . .”

I leaned forward, my hand wrapping tight around one of the stair posts. What was he about to say?

“What?” More sniffling, but she sniped back. “She needs to be gone? Away from us?”

“Tell me who Nan is again.” He was resigned.

This was fight number I’d-lost-count. This was what they did. They thought Robbie and I were sleeping, so the checkered flag dropped, and off they raced. They couldn’t get to fighting fast enough.

They assumed too much.

While they made sure Robbie was tucked in bed with his lights off, I got only a gentle tap on the door and a “You in bed, honey?” The term of endearment was on a rotating schedule. Every fifth night was honey. Others were sweetheart, baby girl, my sweet daughter, and Kenzilicious, and to answer their question, I never was. My light was always on, but they left after I replied with a loud and clear yes.

I shouldn’t complain. We’d spent a week with Grams and Grandpa, and it was a week too long. Our parents had been busy while we were away.

I didn’t know the specifics, but they got a new house. Then there was the funeral. It was in Portland because they’d buried Willow where we could visit her. We flew back to Arizona for a memorial service, though. It was more for everyone there—Willow’s friends, my friends, our parents’ friends, and relatives.

When we came back, we’d gone straight to the new house. I called it the new-new house since it was the second one we’d had in this town. Everything was already there for us, which was weird. In the new-new house, I didn’t share a bathroom with anyone. There were four bedrooms. My and Robbie’s were upstairs, and we each had our own bathroom. Our parents’ room was on the main floor, and we had a guest room in the basement.

There was no room for Willow.

She’d been the only one who’d already decorated her room in the first new house. No one else had completely unpacked.

Willow . . .

An image of Willow in her casket flashed in my head—no, I wasn’t going there.

My phone beeped.

I grabbed for it, silencing it so my parents didn’t know I was eavesdropping. Again.

Unlocking the screen, I saw the text was from Ryan. A warm fluttery feeling spread in my chest.

Ryan: Going to the movies with friends tonight. Want to come?

Movies? I checked the time. It was after nine. I typed back.

Me: Late movie?

Ryan: Yes.

Me: What movie?

Ryan: It’s the new superhero one. You in?

I didn’t care about the movie.

Me: Yes.

I wanted to see Ryan, even if I had to sneak out.

We’d emailed at first. That had progressed to him calling our hotel room. Once I got a new phone, we texted daily.