Kristof accompanied me as far as Lucas and Paige’s backyard. I stood in that yard for a while, looking up at the house, remembering what it had smelled like, what it had felt like to be there, really there, committing it all to memory. Then, slowly, I released Kris’s hand and headed for the back door.

When I stepped inside, Lucas and Paige were in the kitchen, Lucas’s back against the counter, a dish towel over his shoulder, Paige leaning against him, holding his hands, face raised to his as they talked in murmurs.

“Hey, guys,” I said softly. “Just came by to say thanks. I know you can’t hear me, but I wanted to say it anyway. Thanks for everything. You’re doing a great job with her. An amazing job.”

Lucas chuckled at something Paige said, and brushed a curl off her cheek.

The back door banged open.

“Anybody home?” a voice shouted, loud enough to shake the rafters.

I turned to see a young man with light-brown hair, broad shoulders, and a broader grin. A familiar face, at least in this house.

“Adam!” Paige disengaged from Lucas and turned as Adam caught her up in a hug, being careful not to jar her injured shoulder. “This is a surprise. I didn’t expect you until Monday.”

“The real surprise is yet to come.” Adam winked over her head at Lucas. “So are we ready for Monday’s meeting? Jaime’s coming, isn’t she? Recovered from her ordeal?”

As they talked, I slipped to the doorway.

“Bye, guys,” I whispered. “I wish you all the best. You deserve it.”

I found Savannah in her room, dressed in jeans and a bra, talking on the phone as she surveyed a bed covered in shirts.

“…taking Paige away for the weekend,” she said. “Romantic getaway, big surprise and all that.” She paused, then snorted. “Yeah, I wish. I can’t stay overnight by myself until I’m eighteen. Can you believe that? So they called in Adam.”

She lifted two shirts and held them up, one after the other, peering at her reflection in the mirror, then tossing both on the floor with a lip-twist of disgust.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s cute, but he’s even older than Paige.” Pause. “Twenty-six.” She pulled a face. “That’s sick! No way.”

She grabbed a T-shirt from the bed, mumbled “Hold on,” then pulled it over her head. It was at least two sizes too small. She looked in the mirror, checking it out from all angles, then gave a nod of satisfaction and reached for her hairbrush with one hand and the phone with the other.