Maisy had to stay in the hospital longer as she had damage to the tissues in her throat and lungs as well as burns on her hand. I was excited to see her, but when she did come home with Gran she barely looked at me. Wouldn’t say a word. Every time I came into a room she’d slip out. “Remember she’s only little,” Gran told me. “It’s been an ordeal for her too.” She told me Maisy had rushed into our burning house. They found her unconscious by the door to the basement.

I kept thinking about that. I couldn’t stop myself from imagining what it was like. Over and over again. Chicken barking and circling. Maisy’s yanking at the lock. Gloria screaming in the background when she couldn’t stop the firemen from rushing in. Swooping Maisy off the floor. Smashing off the lock and hurrying down the stairs. Breaking down my door. Finding me in the dark bathroom, pressed into the corner, gasping.

Thank you, Turtle. Thank you for sticking your head out.

“Rowan?”

“Yeah,” I said. “She’s good, too.”

Detective Aiken cleared his throat. “So you’re adjusting all right?”

“Sure,” I said. I ran my finger over the white island growing on my lower arm. There was a main mass and a northern peninsula. I wanted to show Maisy so we could guess what island was forming.

“You look healthy.”

I shrugged.

“I know you answered many of our questions in the hospital.” He adjusted his tie. It was navy and covered in small red apples. I thought it might be better suited to a teacher than a detective. “But I’d like to confirm some things you said. Get a clear understanding of who was involved.”

“Who?”

“Yes.”

“My mother,” I said.

“Yes.”

I tried to tell him what I remembered. Standing outside in the storm. Lightning zinging just overhead. Running away to the bridge. Girl. The two losers who tumbled down the embankment, and the one who held the knife to my neck. The cottage. The late-night boat ride. Dot’s tinfoil hat to keep good thoughts in and bad thoughts out. Stumbling home through the woods and the pressure building in my skull until I couldn’t stand or see. My confusion in the backyard. How Gloria must have grabbed me and hid me away. How I thought it was— I stopped. “Not Carl, mister. It had nothing to do with Carl. I mean, Howard Gill.”

“We understand that, Rowan.” He leaned forward, squinted. “Mr. and Mrs. Baxter, the folks who owned the cottage, are not pressing charges for the damage. Mr. Gill has already been released.”

“Good,” I said. “He didn’t force me. I went with him. I don’t even know if he thought I was real.”

“If it’s any consolation, he did receive treatment while he was in care.”

“So he’s better?”