“Doctor Baker is a friend. She’ll see you if I tell her it’s an emergency.”

Landry looks terrified. “But it’s not an—”

“Landry.” My mother takes her hand, and now she’s wearing her no-nonsense face. “You gave birth a week and a half ago. You have to see a doctor. And we are not waiting until after the holiday. So it’s Dr. Baker this afternoon, or we spend Christmas Eve in the ER.”

“Fine. Dr. Baker.”

“She’s nice,” I assure Landry. But I get why she’s scared. My first gyn appointment—just yesterday—was terrifying. I can’t imagine going through that postchildbirth. Though I guess most women would have had a bunch of those appointments by now if they’d just had a baby.

Mom’s phone beeps, and she looks relieved when she reads the text. “Go put your shoes and your coat on. She’s going to meet us at her office in half an hour.”

Landry stands, wringing her fingers so hard they look like they might break off. “But what if someone sees me there?”

“No one will see you. Her office is closed.”

Landry reluctantly heads to her room, and my mother grabs her mug. I follow her into the kitchen, where she dumps the coffee into the sink. She stands there for a minute, leaning with both hands on the counter, staring out the window. Then she hangs her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it. I can’t believe I wasn’t watching her.”

“You were grieving.”

“We were all grieving!” she whispers fiercely as she turns from the window. Her eyes are ringed in bright red, yet despite the tears standing in them, she looks angry. “She lost her father. You all did, but she was just a kid. And instead of being there for her, I disappeared. She basically lost both parents, and I let her stumble into the biggest decision of her youth, without a single word of caution or advice. Without telling her she was too damn young. Without even knowing she was thinking about sex. Or that she was hanging out with Fletcher alone. And then … For seven months …”

She’s angry at herself.

“You worked. You had to work. No one blames you for this, Mom.”

“Well, they should. You all should.” She turns back to the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “I should have been there.”

Yeah. She should have.

I tap her on the shoulder, and when she turns, I hug her. A full embrace. I can’t remember the last time I did that. Not since Dad died, anyway.