“She’s fine,” Mom says as she closes the door. “Physically, anyway. She has a follow-up with Dr. Baker in a month and a referral for counseling.” She crosses into the kitchen and sets her purse on the counter, then pulls off her coat. “You haven’t gone for food yet, have you?”

“No, we didn’t want it to get cold,” Penn says as we follow her into the kitchen.

“Okay, good. We’re going to need to wait a couple of hours, I think.”

“Wait for what?” I ask.

Instead of answering, my mother digs her phone from her pocket and makes a call. After three rings, an unfamiliar voice answers. “Hello?”

“Hello. Mrs. Anderson?” My mother’s frown lines are deeper than I’ve ever seen them.

“Yes?” the other voice says.

“This is Julie Bergen. I got your phone number from my daughter, Landry. I’m not sure if you know her, but she’s a classmate of your son Fletcher.”

“Yes, of course, Landry’s been over here several times,” Mrs. Anderson says, and my mother looks like she’s just been slapped in the face by this new bit of information. “She’s a sweetheart. What …? Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Bergen? It’s Christmas, and we’re about to—”

“I’m sorry to bother you on the holiday. Please understand that I wouldn’t be calling if this were not very important. That said, would it be possible for you and your husband to bring Fletcher over. We … Well, we really need to speak to all three of you.”

“Right now? Are you serious?” Mrs. Anderson says. “We were about to sit down to dinner. What is this about?”

“I— I would really rather discuss this in person, and I think you’ll understand why …”

I head into the living room and fold up the snowman-themed throw blanket, and when I turn off the television, I hear quiet sobs echoing from down the hall. I follow them to Landry’s room, where I hesitate for a second before knocking.

The sign on her door rattles. She sniffles from inside. “Go away.”

Instead, I open the door. “Hey.”

Landry is lying facedown on her bed, still wearing her coat and shoes. “I said go away,” she mumbles into her rumpled comforter.

“And I can’t do that, because I love you.” And because this is my fault, at least a little.

Please watch your sister.

Landry and I shared a room for years. We aren’t just siblings; we’re sisters. If there was anyone she would have listened to about sex, it was me.

If there was anyone she should have felt comfortable confiding in … Anyone who should have noticed the changes in her …

“Beckett. Get out.” Finally Landry sits up to show me her tear-streaked face.

“Nope. Give me your coat.”