“This is going to come back to kick you in the ass,” Tasha said. “You need to talk about it.”

“I don’t have anything to say.” I was blank inside, erased.

I went to the studio, where I pulled down the unfinished painting and stared at the bare wall beneath it.

I went back to bed. The sheets were cool against my bare legs. I hadn’t opened the curtains and sunlight glowed around the edges. I remembered being here with Steph, the warm skin of her body against mine. Her mouth on my breasts, between my legs. Her fingers in me, curved like an invitation.

My feelings had shut off, but my body had not. My hand slid beneath my underwear. She was with me, her face a ghost above.

Chapter 49

Guilt is a shape-shifter. It can fester like a sore, burning for attention, or it can lurk like a beast in the dark, always there but never clearly visible. If you don’t look at it directly, it can seem as if it’s gone, and the only proof that it remains is the shadow it casts in the corner.

My guilt comes out late at night or early in the morning, a specter that hovers over me as I drift into or out of sleep. Sometimes I like to see it. It can be seductive if it wants to. It knows exactly what I like. It knows precisely which memories to recall.

Sometimes I hope it will never go away.

Chapter 50

I called Mel. When she answered the phone, it sounded as if she had done so reluctantly. “What’s up?”

It had been one week since Lisa found me and Steph at the garden center.

“Steph won’t take my calls,” I said. My voice was cool, as if I were an aggrieved secretary.

Mel knew what I was talking about. “You’ve got to give her some time.”

“I’m leaving soon. We have to talk now.”

“I can’t make her do anything.”

“You’re her best friend.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not her boss. Look, I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

“Why not?”

Mel sighed. “Because I was Steph’s friend first.”

I played my last card. “Tell her my grandma’s memorial is on Saturday at two. At the Fairfax Women’s Club. Please tell her. Joan would’ve wanted her there.”

Mel didn’t respond at first. I didn’t push her. Finally, she said, “I’m really sorry this happened.”

I knew I should be sorry, too.

Chapter 51

My mom called again the night before the memorial service. I took my phone into my room and closed the door, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“How’s your father?” she asked. “Are you watching out for him? I know he takes things hard.”