Aus, she thought, hasn’t let me down. But he’s going in another direction, and it feels the same. I’m alone.

Mom patted herself in front of an invisible mirror, putting herself back together. “What is it you really want, Macey?” she said.

That was easy. She wanted Aus. She wanted Venita to have a real copy of Shakespeare. She wanted the crayons to be new.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes to darken the star-bright image of Aus. She said, “I want to know who set the fire. I will not be able to look at Nana and Papa unless I know who lit the match.”

“Oh, Macey!” said her mother, her tiny store of patience exhausted. “I don’t know! Nobody knows! Of course you can still look at Nana and Papa! I can’t stand it when you get overly dramatic.”

Macey occupied herself with straightening the edges of her photographs.

Would she be as distant from Mom and Dad one day as Austin’s mother was from her parents? Would Macey live in a faraway place, visit for a week in the summer, e-mail now and then, send a Christmas letter?

Her father clumsily tried to hug her, but he was standing and she was sitting and it didn’t work. She did not do the things required to improve the hug—stand, turn, reach, cuddle.

On top of everything else, thought Macey, I have to find another research project and get it done by the end of the week.

Austin’s father did not wait till Friday. He flew in the following morning. And Austin went home with his father.

Macey and Aus had to say good-bye in front of four deeply angry grandparents; in front of her own mother and father, who were treating her like a stranger; and in front of Austin’s father, who was a stranger.

It stung that Aus had not managed this better.

But his face was lit up, his step bouncing. She had never seen Aus so happy, his head tilting back because the laughter was so complete. He loves his father, she thought.

She wanted Austin to have that: a love whole and solid, the kind where they came on the plane to get you.

Macey pulled her neighbor close and touched her lips to his cheek. “I’m happy you’re happy, Aus.”

The thing was not to cry.

“We’re coming back in July,” said his dad cheerfully. “Like always. I’m going to stay this time. We’ll be here for two weeks. Austin’s grandfather is going to give us both sailing lessons. Pray for good weather and lots of wind.”

July was not a windy month. And how could it be like always? Would Austin’s mother come, too? What family was he going back to? Did he know? Did either of them know?

But who knows a family? thought Macey. I didn’t know mine.