I painted all day. Noah texted, asking me if I wanted to come to his house that evening, and I told him yes, I had some really exciting news and couldn’t wait to see him, but had to have dinner at my mom’s first to talk about Dad’s progress.

I’ve been thinking about you all day, he wrote, and my heart melted.

Same here, I texted. Debated saying, I love you, even though he knew already, and kept on painting, with a little more depth, deeper color.

Noah was good for my art. He always had been. I hoped I was good for him. I made him laugh. I knew him in a way that started in the very center of my heart. I had always believed in him, his goodness, his kindness, his talent at what he did. Also, I gave him the chance to save me from a collapsing house and the opportunity to save a dolphin.

I loved him. I loved him. I loved him so much. Small wonder that I was singing as I painted.

— —

“So, girls,” Mom said. “Sit down.”

Jules and I had been cleaning up after dinner. We’d eaten Caro’s delicious chicken and salsa verde casserole, and Dad had been settled in front of the TV with Pepper.

We sat, exchanging glances. Juliet looked spiffy as always in her chic, tailored clothes. I had paint on the back of my hand and wore stained leggings and a T-shirt with Bill Murray’s face on it. The fact that Oliver and the girls weren’t here struck me as ominous all of a sudden. So did the fact that Caro had stayed.

Shit.

“The news isn’t good,” Mom said. “I’m sorry.”

“What news? Dad’s news?” I asked. “How could it not be good? He’s been doing great!”

“Could you let her talk?” Juliet snapped.

“Yes! Fine! I’m just . . . Go ahead, Mom.”

She glanced at Caro, who gave her a little smile. “Well, girls, your dad’s not progressing, I’m sorry to say,” Mom said. “He’s had two more smaller strokes, and he’s likely to have more.”

I jerked back. “Okay, first of all, when were these other strokes?” I asked. “I think we’d notice. And secondly, he’s talking now! How can they say he’s not progressing?”

Caro covered my hand. “This is hard news, I know, honey.”

“No, it’s not! It’s just wrong news.”

“Calm down, Sadie,” Juliet muttered, and I wanted to bite her.

“He can say a few words, but there’s more weakness on his left side,” Mom went on. Juliet scootched her chair closer and put her arm around her. “So he’ll keep needing care. That’s the long and short of it. Our insurance will cover an aide for when I’m at work, and we’ll figure the rest out as we go along.”