Olivia made him breakfast—an omelet with fresh avocado and mozzarella—and they’d sat sipping coffee, both of them marveling, smiling like fools, ignoring the fact that Marley would be between them. That this bubble of happiness would be pierced. It was inevitable.

Early that afternoon, Conrad left, giving her a kiss and a promise to come back that night.

Then she’d found her phone wedged into the cushion of the couch. Marley had called three times, each message more and more mumbled, more and more alarming. Conrad had been correct—Marley wasn’t okay—and that made Olivia feel both guilty and angry. She was finally happy, finally with the person she’d always loved, and, of course, Marley was going to take that away from her. And really, Olivia should have known better than to think Marley was turning a corner, no matter how determined her sister had sounded last time.

Marley’s last message ended with “I’m sorry, Liv. I wanted to forget, and it doesn’t work. Don’t hate me. Please don’t.”

Olivia had thrown her hair into a ponytail, tugged on some sneakers, and driven to the apartment Marley shared with two other actresses. When she knocked, dragging both of Marley’s roommates out of bed, she’d discovered that Marley hadn’t been there in four days. One of the roommates mentioned a motel down by the beach, and Olivia recalled how much Marley had loved the bungalow they’d rented for a week one summer when their house had to be fumigated.

The drive to Venice Beach had taken longer than she’d expected, and by the time she arrived at the Beachcomber Inn, the sun had started to sink into the Pacific. The early spring day had tugged on its finest golden robe over the sapphire sea edged in lacy sea-foam. The seagulls dipped and swooped, their cries urging her toward the run-down motel rather than the beauty of the water crashing onto the hard sand.

After threatening the motel clerk with a made-up law regarding endangerment of a guest, Olivia procured a key to Bungalow 8. She’d stared at that silent door, knowing that what was on the other side would not be good. Pressing a hand against it, she let her forehead fall beside it, a silent prayer released to the heavens above, one that would not be heard.

When she’d entered the room, she’d found her sister lying beside the bed in a pool of vomit, clutching the matching linked hearts necklace their mother had given each daughter one Christmas, calling them the treasures of her heart. Olivia had sunk onto her knees with a wail, knowing that her sister had been dead since the night before. While Olivia had been screwing Conrad and making plans for a life she’d never have, she’d missed her sister’s calls.