“They make you smile when you go to sleep at night,” my mother said.

“This has been a surprising and entertaining conversation, and I’ve learned a lot about you three,” I said. There is so much that we don’t know about our own mothers and aunts. They were younger, they were us, and yet . . . we know only what they’ve chosen to share with us, to talk about.

“No one is who you think they are,” Aunt Camellia said. “We all have different sides to us, and some sides we hide from everyone. We’re different people at different times in our lives, too. Plus”—she winked—“there are the secrets.”

“All women have secrets,” Aunt Iris said. “Some juicier than others.”

“Let’s talk about . . .” I named the rocker she slept with. “Was he . . .”

“Oh yes.” She rolled her eyes. “He was heavenly. Totally worth it. I still have his records. You know that song ‘Iris on the Wind’?”

I nodded.

She raised her eyebrows at me.

Oh, my goodness.

* * *

Torrance needed more books, his surgery keeping him housebound, so I had to go by the house with all the memories again. On my way to Torrance’s, I turned my head away so I wouldn’t have to see that abandoned, falling-down home, but on the way back to town, it was as if I couldn’t not look. I felt my eyes fill with tears, and I stopped across the street.

The yellow was faded, the white trim dirty, the green door tilted. I wasn’t surprised that no one new had bought the home. What happened there couldn’t be erased, it was part of our island’s history. More tears spilled out as if they’d been waiting for me, waiting for a weak moment so the grief could sneak out. Because that’s what grief does. It sneaks out on you when you’re having a weak moment.

So much laughter in that house, so much fear, so much violence.

So much blood.

My fault.

* * *

Early Wednesday evening, after a busy day at the bookstore, the summer sun headed on down amidst soft pink and orange streaks, I checked on all my furry family members. I was in a light blue summer dress that stopped mid-thigh with eyelet trim and blue earrings made from silver hammered metal. I had matching silver hammered metal bracelets on. I like to dress nice in case I run into Marco in town or at my bookstore, oh, be still, my foolish beating heart.

I slipped off my sandals and pulled on my red boots to take care of the animals.

Jane Austen and Shakespeare hurried right on up to the fence for their apples, but the goats, Mr. Bob and Trixie Goat, were outside of their pretty goat home, staring at me, wagging their tails. They were between two rows of black-eyed Susans and sunflowers. They grinned, the bells on their collars ringing.

“How did you get out, Houdinis?” They are insufferable. I have no idea how they escape their pen and leap the fence. None. They wanted to be petted, and I gave them some alfalfa, then I tried to get them to go back into their home. They refused. I chased them. They outran me, then turned to taunt me. I grabbed the alfalfa and a handful of hay, threw it in their yard, and they scampered in and I locked the gate. They’re not that bright, just bright enough to escape.