She didn’t even have her cell phone. Her mother had taken it away, fearing—rightly—that she would use it to phone Sam and Bree and hatch some sort of escape plan. Not that she couldn’t use any old phone, but the absence of her cell did make her feel adrift. It just seemed too much effort to actually dial, and she couldn’t remember the numbers anyway. Speed dial had reduced her memory for such things to nothing.

“Fuck,” she said loudly.

“Watch your mouth,” said Carol rotely.

“Whatever,” Caddie said, equally without enthusiasm. They were, both of them, too tired even for the most basic of skirmishes.

Carol turned the Lexus from the highway, exiting into Monterey. The scrubby pine trees and sand dunes were replaced by actual grass, and a town materialized seemingly out of nowhere. Caddie gazed at it hostilely, daring it to welcome her.

“It’s prettier than I remember,” Carol remarked. “Almost quaint.”

“Welcome to Mayberry,” said Caddie.

“It’s historic,” Carol said.

“It’s tired,” said Caddie. “Old and tired.”

“Like me,” Carol said before Caddie could. “You really need to get some new material, sweetie. I’ve heard this act before.”

Caddie retreated into silence and watched the town unfold before her. Small, boring houses. Sidewalks jammed with gift shops and used book stores and restaurants indistinguishable from one another. Nothing to entertain or entice her. Nothing surprising. Like her mother, she’d seen it all before, and she wasn’t impressed.

Kayak rentals. A Safeway. Signs for the famous aquarium her mother had tried to present to her as a reason for being excited about her enforced stay in Monterey. They passed in and out of her vision, forgotten in an instant, leaving behind a sour taste and mounting resentment.

“You could have just sent me to summer camp,” Caddie said.

“I could have,” agreed Carol. “But this way, you’ll have some time with your father.”

“He doesn’t even want me here,” Caddie said. “Does he?”

She looked at her mother, who didn’t answer immediately. “Of course he does,” she said after a moment.

“Now you’re the one who needs new material,” said Caddie. “Or at least acting lessons.”

“Look in my purse and see if the directions to your father’s house are in there,” Carol said.

Caddie unzipped the big leather bag and peered inside. It was filled with the odds and ends of her mother’s life—an address book, business cards from her real estate office, a lipstick. Caddie pawed through it. She found an orange prescription bottle. Valium. She tucked it into her hand. Beneath it was a piece of paper folded into quarters. She drew it out along with the pills.

“Here,” she said, holding out the paper while she tucked the Valium into the pocket of her sweatshirt.

“Read it,” said Carol. “I’m driving.”

Sighing, Caddie unfolded the paper. “Where are we?” she asked.

Carol looked for a sign. “Lighthouse,” she said. “It should be near the bottom of the directions.”

Caddie read. “Turn right on Clipper,” she said. “Lighthouse. Clipper. How goddamn nautical.”