Tucked into a crevice in her cave was an old issue of Rolling Stone. Nola sat on driftwood and leafed through damp, curled pages. There was one story about the Captain and Tennille and one about the Bee Gees, who bought their parents homes and cars. That’s what she was going to do. She couldn’t wait to grow up. Just as it was awful to be old for so long, so it was awful to be little for so long.

The day the kids came to set up the Easter egg hunt around the estate, Nola’s parents were out on gigs in New Jersey. That was better than being embarrassed by Mom in her weird long dresses, with her talk about loving the world, and her showing off her stupid stuffed shoes.

Happy at having something to give that no one else could—the gardens, the woods, the view from the cliff—Nola had a million ideas. The best was to create a maze for the egg hunt. The old man’s gardeners had brought to the mansion many new shrubs but hadn’t yet planted them, so she instructed the two biggest boys in the class to move shrubs and block the regular driveway. It would be more fun if people had to take the trail leading to the cliff, then cut back through the woods where they could hear the birds. Nola painted large arrows to direct the hunters.

This was going to be quite a different egg hunt, said Ms. Cutter, and Nola felt she would burst with excitement. And tomorrow, Mini-Nazi would bring Jenna over, and there would be awe in her four-year-old eyes. The old man had his caretaker buy goodies for all the kids. It would be Nola's special day, better than her twelfth birthday three weeks before that no one remembered because Dad wasn’t home.

Hours after Nola had fallen asleep alone in the cottage, she heard the roar of Dad’s approaching motorcycle. She heard Mom’s laughter, bell-like and raspy at the same time. There was a hesitation, probably when they noticed the blocked driveway. Nola giggled as she saw in her mind’s eye Dad lifting the front wheel of the motorcycle and taking the detour. She heard the roar gathering power, and then receding. Then there was silence; probably they were cutting through the woods. Happier than she had been in a long time, Nola fell back to sleep.

Her parents’ bodies were found on the beach the next morning. The motorcycle had flown off the cliff, the cops told Nola when they came to the cottage, and at first she was sure it was a mistake, because the sun was shining and it was a going to be a beautiful day, her day. At the same moment she also knew it wasn’t a mistake. She had always expected something awful to happen.