It’s not until we are about to walk through the gate that Bernie, still with her face away from me, says, “Fuck you, Jess.”

Chapter 66

That night, after dinner, they take us down a new hallway we haven’t seen before.

At the end, a ladder leads into the ceiling, and we climb until we’re sitting side by side in a loft space bigger than we imagined. Andrea sits in the middle with her eyes closed, a small table in front of her and a candle flickering in the darkness.

How quickly none of this feels weird—that is the power of Mayfield Lodge.

When my eyes get used to the darkness, I can make out framed pictures along the walls, group after group of smiling school kids.

When we are settled, Andrea clears her throat and says, “Welcome to the prayer room. Anyone who does not wish to pray outwardly may, of course, keep their reflections to themselves. But please, if you have anything to share with the group, do so. There are no strangers here. Not anymore.”

I look over at Bernie, but she has her head down, and I wonder if she hates me or just what I said. Things escalated quickly, and I feel guilty for not being honest and for using the dead mom card when it had nothing to do with that.

Next to me, Emily squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back. Then Andrea lifts the candle and passes it to Saffron, and we listen to her pray.

“Please watch over our new visitors,” she says. “Let us learn from one another and end the week better than we started it.”

She probably says the same thing every time, but when she passes the candle to Mr. Humphries, I forget everything else and listen to him whisper into the darkness.

“We had a son,” he says. “His name was Oliver. We lost him to cancer.”

This isn’t like any prayer I’ve ever heard. Mr. Humphries isn’t asking for something. He’s telling his story the way I told mine, and I hate myself for not knowing sooner. But then most heartbreak doesn’t make it on to the news.

There are sniffles in the darkness, and when I feel a tear creeping down my cheek, I realize I’m not crying for myself. I’m crying for my teacher and his lost son.

When I get the candle, I don’t speak out loud. I talk to the ghost in my head. I tell my mom how much I miss her, how sorry I am, how I will always love her and keep her memory alive.

Before I pass the candle to Emily, I make a promise to do this more often. Because she was with me, right there in the patterns the candle made. My mother: the trick of the light.

Chapter 67