As her gaze fell on a piece of paper lying in the middle of the white kitchen table, dread slid through her like a faint pulse of electricity. The night before, after Violet had gotten out of the bath, her mom had called her onto the back porch. Her mother, Deena, sat on the love seat with her knees tucked in, her nightgown pulled down over them, and a wineglass at her elbow, a rare moment of relaxation that only happened when Violet’s dad was out for the evening. Violet sat and her mom pulled her close.

“You’re a good girl, Violet.” Mom smoothed her hand down the back of Violet’s head. “I know I can always depend on you.”

“Of course you can.”

“Good, good,” her mom murmured, more to herself than to Violet. “If I asked you to take care of Trudy after I’m gone, could you promise me you’d do that?”

“After you’re gone? Where are you going?”

“I just mean . . .” Her mom sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. The sleeve of her nightgown slipped off her shoulder, exposing a stretch of pale skin. “I won’t be around forever, Little Bird. When I’m gone, will you look after Trudy?”

Her mom hadn’t called her Little Bird in years, and Violet would agree to practically anything when she heard her favorite nickname. “Sure. I’ll take care of her.”

“Look at me, Violet.” Her mom’s voice was suddenly firm, insistent, and she pulled Violet’s face toward her. “You have to promise me you’ll take care of her. You’ll protect her.”

“I don’t understand why you’re asking me this.” Perspiration prickled behind Violet’s knees and under her arms.

“Just promise me.” The words came out as a whisper, but everything in her mom’s face was shouting.

“Okay, I promise. I’ll protect Trudy.”

Her mom’s shoulders sagged. “Thank you.” She leaned down and kissed Violet’s temple and pulled her closer against her side. Violet inhaled her mom’s powdery scent and pressed her cheek against her shoulder.

Standing in the kitchen now, Violet reached for the note on the table, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She already knew what it would say.

Girls, I’m sorry, but I have to leave. You two will be fine—you have each other. You always have and you always will. A cord of two strands is not easily broken.

It’s three strands. Violet remembered it from an old Sunday school lesson. A cord of three strands, not two.

She turned the note over in her hand, searching for more words, an explanation, something. But that was it. I have to leave.

Leave where?

But she knew. Deena Figg was gone. Hadn’t she just said it last night? “I won’t be around forever, Little Bird.” Honestly, Violet was surprised her mom had lasted as long as she had.

Violet walked back to her bedroom, and the electricity humming under her skin blinked out when she saw the second piece of paper. It sat on her favorite pillow, the one with the yellow ruffles at the edges. What now?