The corner of her mouth tilts up. “Okay, sure. Pennsylvania may technically be what people call a burned bridge. So we’ll drive straight through town and head down the coast to Connecticut instead. You liked Hartford, remember?”

“Too many murders, too expensive. We lasted five months and got evicted.”

“We could go farther south. Maryland?”

“Or we could just stay here in Rhode Island and do what we planned. Live in Grandma’s apartment rent-free for a year and save up money for Florida. It’s your dream, remember? Palm trees and white, sandy beaches? No digging cars out of snow?”

“Palm trees and white, sandy beaches … ,” she murmurs.

“And you promised I could finish high school here. Henry said—”

“Oh my God, Josie. Seriously? Don’t bring up your father when I’m in the middle of a panic attack.”

“Fine,” I say, protectively crossing my arms over the soft leather of my camera case. One of the few gifts he’s ever given me, the Nikon is my most prized possession … and a point of contention between Mom and me. My parents hooked up in college, when she was enrolled at a prestigious state art school for a couple of semesters. He was a thirty-something photography professor, and she was a rebellious nineteen-year-old student who did some nude modeling for him that turned into a one-thing-led-to-another situation.

I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I try not to think about it too much.

Regardless, they never lived together, much less married. And now Henry Zabka is a famous fashion photographer in Los Angeles. I see him every year or so. I think Mom wishes I would forget he even exists. “Look,” I tell her diplomatically. “There’s no need for panic. This is easy. It’s not a viper’s pit. Besides, even if it is, Evie is counting on us. She’s alone. Support Evie. Save money. Let me finish high school. Then you can head down to Florida, just like you’ve been dreaming.”

“I’m not going alone.”

I let out a nervous laugh and hope she doesn’t notice. “Both of us … Florida … yep. That was implied.” Wow, that was close. Gotta be more careful.

“Okay, you’re right. We can do this,” she says, calming down as gabled buildings and picket fences appear up ahead. “And Beauty is just a town, right?”

“Like any other.”

Only it isn’t. Not even close.