It was an island gang of girls, so to speak. We spied on boys. We went on hikes with our moms. We played in the ocean. We went out on other parents’ sailboats. We played in the lake and jumped off the dock. We had picnics. When it rained we read books together and made tents with blankets. We did not play with dolls. We did not pretend we were princesses, hoping to be rescued. We played Island Warrior Women and we fought off bad guys and zombies and King Kong with homemade swords and pretend bombs.

We were tough! We were brave! We were the Island Girls Gang.

And one day, one of the members of the Island Girls Gang betrayed the other by forgetting to help. Forgetting to prevent. Forgetting to save.

There was a disastrous, tragic consequence that was all my fault.

I betrayed my friend and her family, and her life fell off a cliff for years. She left the island. Then she disappeared. My guilt has never left me. I manage it, I forget about it sometimes, but it’s still there, lurking.

I laid my head on the steering wheel, guilt, remorse, and unbearable sadness whipping over me like a wave, drowning me.

* * *

I fought my depression that afternoon. I could feel it coming on like a black thing. I knew how to handle it. I left my bookstore and drove to a lake in the local state park and walked around it until my legs ached. I breathed. I ate bananas because for some reason bananas help me with my anxiety. I had chocolate milk in the bath and ate strawberries. I washed my sheets and cleaned up the house. Organizing helps me get my mind off my depression.

It was late when I went to bed. I read for two hours, slipping into fiction so I could slip out of my dark mind-set. Sundance stayed up with me for most of the night with an expression that said, “Can we go to sleep now? Are you okay?” Sundance was so in tune with me and my feelings. His head was on his pillow, his pink blankie beneath him, Lizard in his paws. Finally I could no longer keep my eyes open.

“Good night, everyone,” I said to the dogs and cats. And I whispered, “Good night, Emily.”

* * *

“What’s it like, Evie?”

“What’s what like, Sally?”

“To see the future.”

“I don’t see the future.” The bookstore was busy today. Partly because we were selling six-layer Chocolate Cake Ecstasy.

“You ran over to my house yesterday, coming out of nowhere, and stood under my tree right as Ellen was falling. You don’t expect me to believe that you can’t see the future.”