“You don’t have to eat it,” he said, stealing his drink back, and leaning in for a kiss. His lips were wet, his kiss slow and open.

Sawyer’s voice cut through the moment. “There’s a small monarch caterpillar under this leaf.”

I hadn’t seen the kids come out, but Emily and Sawyer were in the yard. Em was chasing a squirrel, and Sawyer was inspecting the milkweed patch that wrapped around the side of the house.

Trevor smiled at me, kissed me on the forehead, and said, “Can we see?” We walked over. I stepped beside Sawyer, so close my shoulder brushed his. He smelled of mint and deodorant.

He gently flipped a leaf, revealing its underside. The caterpillar was tiny, its beautiful striped pattern barely visible. “I never would have spotted that,” I said. “You’ve got sharp eyes.”

He didn’t acknowledge my compliment. “It probably won’t survive,” he said, sounding fascinated. “Most get eaten by ants and garden spiders.”

“My sister used to bring them inside,” I said. “The funny thing is, you don’t need a mesh cage because all they do is eat nonstop, so they stay on the milkweed.”

“Which sister?” Emily said, suddenly under me.

“Becky, my oldest sister.” I’d told Emily I had two brothers and two sisters, but they weren’t alive anymore. It wasn’t true. Holly was still around, but pretending they were all dead made things easier.

“How did Becky die?” Em said.

“She got sick,” I said, heat washing over me. “I don’t remember what was wrong with her, I was too little.” It wasn’t completely untrue.

I remembered Becky dying. That was one tree in my memory forest that hadn’t been chopped. That tree had grown sharp barbs and taken on an eerie radioactive glow.

“Where you going, Momma?” Emily said.

“I’m going to get a water bottle and some scissors. We’ll bring the caterpillar in.”

In one short week, this house had brought about changes in each of us.

Emily no longer asked permission or told me when she was headed outside, she just went. Something inside her compelled her to wander out. She would creep along the edge of the woods, catch small white butterflies easily, and let daddy longlegs walk up her arm. Her knees were often brushed in dirt, and she didn’t want me to wash her hair. She claimed the pool water was a sufficient cleanser.

Even Sawyer was spending time outside. Granted, he usually sat on the deck, his neck bent, eyes on his phone. But sometimes he wandered to the edge of the forest. He’d gone hunting today for the first time in his life.