“I planned her memorial service and funeral. Four hundred people showed up. She’d been a teacher at the high school for thirty-five years. She taught English, and she lived in the same house that whole time. Her students would pop by and see her. She was well liked in our neighborhood. She volunteered at the library and the homeless shelter. After the funeral, after everyone came to our house to talk about her, I drove back to the cemetery and stood over her grave. There were so many flowers everywhere. She was buried right next to my mom.

“I stood there, right in front of both of them, and I told them that I would never touch drugs or alcohol again. Even though I was grieving for my grandma, which had triggered grief for my mom, I didn’t. I haven’t. My grandma left her house to me and her money. She had a lot, actually, because my granddad had worked for forty years for the railroad. I went to rehab, and this time I committed to it and dealt with losing my mom. I got my GED, then I went to college and became a teacher, and I met Eric at the beach one day in California, where I’d moved to get away from all my memories, and that was it. Eric is the kindest, most generous person I’ve ever met. His background is messy, too, but we decided we would give our kids a safe and happy life.”

“And now you have five beautiful kids.”

She grinned. “And . . .” She leaned in. “I’ve got a bun in the oven again.”

We laughed and clicked our coffee mugs together. “But tell me, Evie. I can see something in you, something’s troubling you about my moving here. Don’t deny it. What’s going on?”

“Oh!” I hesitated. “I feel so guilty, Emily,” I whispered, gutted. “Ever since your mom was killed, this guilt has stalked me. I forgot to check what she was wearing the night she was killed. It was my fault. I let my excitement about the Halloween dance get to me and your mom died because I wasn’t watching carefully enough.”