I’m calling on Dad’s old phone, lying on my bed with the lights off and wondering if this was a good idea.

“I’m fine,” I say, because it’s what I always say. “I just wanted to talk.”

“What’s up?”

We could speak about the texts. We could discuss the show. But I need something different tonight.

“I miss her,” I whisper. “Every single day.”

Ross doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, his voice sounds closer somehow.

“You always will,” he says.

He doesn’t add anything else, like, “That’s a good thing,” or, “She’s always with you.” He has heard it all before. That’s why I called him.

“I feel empty,” I say. “My dad gave in to it, and I don’t even blame him anymore. It’s so fucking hard to keep living.”

“But we do it,” Ross replies, and I smile into the darkness.

“We do.”

“You know the worst thing for me?” he says. “It’s all the firsts you have without them. I came out without her. I graduated without her. I got married without her.”

Ross was eighteen when his mother died, older than I am now. He had eleven more years with her, and it still wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close.

“If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what I’ll do,” I whisper. “I’m tired of being the girl with the murdered mom.”

“That won’t change, Jess. But you can be more than that. You can be the woman with a soul mate, the woman with kids, the woman with a job she loves—whatever you want. A life worth living.”

The tears come silently, but I don’t wipe them away.

“I’ve made some progress connecting with the other families,” he says. “Your show is making others want to talk. It shouldn’t be long now.”

I smile and imagine a time when this will be worth it, when I can look back on the show and be proud of our efforts. Whatever happens, it’s already helping, because I’ve found some light in the darkness.

“Tell me about your mom,” I say, and for the next hour, I listen to Ross remembering his life before it was broken, telling me stories that calm my fears.

Chapter 38

After theology class, Mr. Humphries asks me to stay behind while he talks to Bernie.

During class, at opposite sides of the classroom, it’s easy to forget we used to be best friends. But as I wait for our teacher to talk her through last week’s homework, it feels awkward how we knew each other before we really knew ourselves.

Bernie smiles as she walks past, polite rather than friendly, and I hope she loves her new friends as much as I love Emily and Hanna.

“Jessica,” Mr. Humphries says, pointing for me to sit down. “I won’t keep you long.”