But I would not cry. So many times I’d said—to myself and to Taylor—that we had met for a reason. I’d thought it was so that I could have closure with my past, but sad stories had a funny way of ending the way they’d begun, and the irony of our situation wasn’t lost on me. I had given up my child and couldn’t have more. Taylor was going to stay with me anyway, and by a snowball of events that had started with me, Taylor would have a child of his own after all.

The streetlights were buzzing, flickering as they reacted to the dim light. Stars were beginning to poke through the twilight sky, and I still had a long way to go. The cars whizzed by, a few full of kids, blaring music and honking as they passed, and I walked alone with the reality of what Alyssa’s pregnancy meant sinking in with every step.

Summer was in full swing, and it hadn’t rained in weeks. The world was still green but dry. The intermittent wildfires had brought Taylor’s crew to the area.

The walk to downtown took longer than I’d thought, and I was out of shape. A dark Mercedes G-Wagon slowed next to me, and the tinted passenger window rolled down, revealing Blaire behind the wheel and no one else in the car. I began to walk again, but she honked.

“Falyn?” she called. “Where are you headed, dear?”

I sighed. “No one can hear you.”

“Are you going home?”

“Yes.”

“Please let me drive you. We don’t have to talk.”

I looked down the road and then back at Blaire. “Not a word?”

She shook her head.

As much as I didn’t want to get in that SUV, my feet were already hurting, and all I wanted was to crawl into my bed and cry. I opened the door and got in.

A victorious smile lit Blaire’s face, and she pulled away from the curb.

After just a quarter of a mile, Blaire sighed. “Your father hasn’t been well. I don’t think this campaign is good for him.”

I didn’t respond.

She pressed her lips together. “The car is still parked in the garage at the house. Your father drives it sometimes to keep everything in order. Still changes the oil. We would like you to have it back.”

“No.”

“It’s dangerous to walk around alone in the dark.”

“I rarely venture out,” I said simply.

“But on the off chance that you do …”

“You said we didn’t have to talk.”

Blaire parked in one of the many empty spots in front of the Bucksaw. “You have to come home, Falyn—or at least let us move you into an apartment and your father can get you a decent job.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” she snapped.