We go to the dog park—Splints loves it here, but we haven’t been since Monday, since the man—and we walk around the fence line. I don’t need to talk because Oscar really does not stop. His family, his teachers, what he’s watching and reading. But it’s what he doesn’t talk about that tells me the most. He doesn’t say anything about friends.

Not that I care.

It must be hard for a person like him to have no one to talk to. He’s talking about gardening now. The backyard he designed himself. “My parents helped, of course. But I planned it out. You should come see it.”

I don’t want to see his garden. I’m only walking with him to keep him from—

“I could help you with yours, if you like? No offense, but it’s a real mess. And you’ve got a really nice old shed there and a lovely brick wall that would be perfect for climbing plants. A bit of trellis—”

I stumble.

“Rae, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I stubbed my toe.”

He looks at the path. “But there’s nothing there.”

“I gotta go, okay? See you round.” I whistle for Splinter and we run, and leave Oscar standing there on the edge of the park.

LETTIE’S SITTING ON her front porch like I knew she would be. I brace for the comments but she just waves as I scurry past with Splints. I fall through the front door and just make it to the kitchen sink in time to vomit.

I’m sweaty and my jaw aches. Maybe I am sick.

I know that’s not it. I shouldn’t have let him in.

I concentrate on breathing, counting in for five, out for five, like in mindfulness at school. Like we used to practice together outside in the sun, the grass crushed beneath us. In—two, three, four, five. Out—two, three, four, five. I can feel your hand in mine. I can see your hands clenched into fists, your feet off the ground. I shake my head and stare at the kitchen floor. Concentrate on what you can do. I focus on what I’ve done. The house is clean. The porch is clean.

I lift my head and look out the back. He’s right. It’s starting to look as bad as Lettie’s. It’s the only thing that doesn’t fit.

I sniff and tip some eucalyptus on a tea towel and leave it sitting folded next to the sink. No more smells and death. I glance at the eggs on the kitchen bench.

I am not her.

I need to fix the backyard.

DAY 35

SATURDAY