He pressed his hand flat against the lid of the box, as if the shell’s presence in the bottom of the box could summon more of her back to him. But all he felt was rough cardboard against his palm, spongy carpet under his bare feet, and a vast emptiness pulsing in his chest.

“Get it together, Roby,” he muttered. “She’s moved on. Now it’s your turn.”

Reaching for his running shoes by the sliding glass door, he pulled them on and headed outside, into the evening’s soft rays.

* * *

They showed up in the morning, while the sisters were both still in their pajamas on the back porch. Trudy hadn’t progressed much from a silent apparition watching the river day after day, but at least she left her bedroom now for portions of the day. She still hadn’t said a word, though, in the almost three weeks since the night on the dock.

Violet had just made some tea and toast when they heard the knock. They both froze, Trudy’s mug halfway to her mouth, Violet’s mouth full of buttery toast. Then in what felt like slow motion, Violet set her plate on the table next to her and rose from her chair. As she turned to walk back through the house to the front door, she paused with her hand on Trudy’s shoulder. Tried to infuse her sister with some measure of strength Violet wasn’t even sure she herself possessed.

She doubted that strength again when she saw through the front window the police cruiser sitting on the curb outside the house. Her knees nearly buckled and she grabbed the back of the couch to steady herself as the knock came again. Short, rapid bursts on the wood. A soft murmur of male voices. Violet smoothed her unbrushed morning hair and tightened the belt of her thin robe around her waist—I have to protect her—then opened the door.

Two male officers, one near to her own age, one much older. She recognized the older one as the officer she’d spoken to the day she’d gone to the police for help, well over a year ago. She pressed her lips together in a firm line. It was hard not to think about how things might have been different now if he’d listened to her that day. If he’d believed her.

“Good morning, Ms. Figg,” the younger one said. “I’m Officer Lawson and this is Officer Hutchins. Are you Trudy Malone’s sister?”

Violet hesitated. “Trudy is my sister, yes.”

“Is she here? We need to ask her some questions.”

At a rustle behind her, Violet peeked over her shoulder. Trudy was standing just inside the door from the back porch. Facing the officers again, Violet asked, “What is this in regard to?”

“Her husband,” Officer Hutchins said. “Jay Malone.” His gaze bored into hers, then slipped over her shoulder. He’d spotted Trudy. “If you can just spare a few minutes to answer some questions. We won’t take up too much of your time.”