Claire took the flashlight back to the storeroom and put it on the shelf where she kept candles and battery-powered lanterns. The electricity from her frustration caused the portable radio on the shelf to crackle to life as she passed it, and she jumped in surprise. She immediately turned it off, then leaned against the wall. This couldn’t go on. “He’s not a constant,” Claire said from the storeroom. “The apple tree is a constant. Honeysuckle wine is a constant. This house is a constant. Tyler Hughes is not a constant.”

“I’m not a constant, am I?” Sydney asked, but Claire didn’t answer. Was Sydney a constant? Had she really found her niche in Bascom, or would she leave again, maybe when Bay was grown or if she fell in love? Claire didn’t want to think about it. The only thing Claire could control was not being the reason Sydney left, giving her reasons to stay. She would focus only on that.

Claire took a deep breath and walked back out to the kitchen. “So how’s work?” she asked brightly.

“Oh, my God, so busy. Thanks to you.”

“I didn’t do anything. You did.”

Sydney shook her head. “People look at me now like I’m a teacher or something. I don’t understand it.”

“You’ve just learned the secret to my success,” Claire said. “When people believe you have something to give, something no one else has, they’ll go to great lengths and pay a lot of money for it.”

Sydney laughed. “So you’re saying, if we’re going to be strange anyway, we might as well get paid for it?”

“We’re not strange.” Claire paused. “But exactly.”

“You have cobwebs in your hair from the basement,” Sydney said, walking over to her and sweeping them away with her fingertips. Territorial about Claire’s hair now, Sydney had taken to simply walking up to her and tucking some strands behind Claire’s ear, finger-combing the bangs across her forehead, or fluffing up the back. It was nice, like she was playing, like something they would have done as girls, if they’d been close.

“Where did you cut hair before?” Claire asked, watching Sydney’s face close up as she smoothed out Claire’s hair. She’d grown up so much while she was away.

Sydney stepped back and tried to get the cobwebs off her fingertips, where they were sticking like tape. “It’s been a few years. But in Boise, for a while.” She gave up on the cobwebs and turned away. She grabbed the rose geranium wine off the table and hurried out the back door, a curious smell of men’s cologne trailing after her. “I’m going to say hi to Bay, then I’ll just take this over to Tyler.”

Ever since that day Sydney mentally returned to the town house in Seattle when she remembered she’d left the photos of her mother there, the scent of David’s cologne would appear around her without warning. Ceiling fans downstairs would turn on by themselves when the scent was particularly strong, as if to chase it away. When it hovered in the upstairs hallway at night, away from fans and night breezes, it paced, hot with anger. Those nights Bay would crawl into bed with Sydney and they would whisper about what they’d left behind. They’d talk in code, saying how happy they were to be away from there, how nice it was to be free. When they said this, they would cross their thumbs and make butterfly shadow puppets on the wall in the purple light coming through the window from Tyler’s yard.