Cyrus had said, “It’s those encyclopedias you read for fun. And just the way you look at things. Your dad didn’t teach you that. That’s who you are.” Being adopted by parents like Jody and Del, Cyrus believed more in nature than nurture anyway.

“When’d you start that up?” Izzy asked, taking the butt from between Leanne’s lips. Leanne, her hands in dishwater, didn’t try to resist. Just kept staring through the lace curtains at the bottle cap wind chimes in the juniper tree outside.

“You should have told me you were coming.” Leanne looked around the trailer. “I’d have cleaned up.”

In spite of the smells, the place appeared orderly as ever—Leanne still dealt with her stress by cleaning. That was one thing Izzy had inherited from her.

“I’m looking for Cyrus. Jody says he was by the other day.” Izzy snuffed out the cigarette on the sole of her shoe and tossed the butt in the trash.

Leanne gazed yearningly after the cigarette. “Tea party?”

“No, thanks.” Izzy held up her canteen of water. She’d had enough of Leanne’s secret fairy tea parties for one lifetime. “Did Cyrus stop by here recently?”

“Come outside and we can chat.”

Izzy took a breath. On the way out of the trailer, she passed a framed photograph of herself with her parents on her thirteenth birthday. Larry had his arm around her a little too tightly, she thought now. Leanne’s smile was almost a grimace. Larry—raw-boned, grizzled even then. Izzy stood between them, towering above her plump, fair mother, wearing a hoodie with too-short sleeves and a flowered sundress Leanne had made her. She had hated that dress and would start wearing all black a few months later. Her brow was furrowed with worry, her eyes anxious, shoulders tense, shirking from Larry’s touch.

Now, she followed Leanne into the yard. Izzy’s mother toddled along in socks and sandals. Everything with her took time and patience—neither of which Izzy felt she had at the moment.

A mannequin with a mermaid’s tail lay in a child’s swimming pool. Leanne stroked the mermaid’s blonde wig under the intricate crown of tilapia bones she’d collected from the shores of the Salton Sea. Crazy as she was, it was hard to deny that Leanne was an artist in her way.

She picked up the plastic baby doll from a large chair upholstered with pale blue fabric. The chair looked surprisingly clean for something that lived outside, even though the elements had gutted it. Leanne sat and placed the doll in her lap.

“So, has Cyrus been by?” Izzy asked again. The air around her head felt ready to combust with heat, and when she sat, the plastic slats of the lawn chair ridged her thighs.

Leanne’s mouth seemed to have caved in on itself, and Izzy wondered if she’d lost another tooth, poor thing. Izzy had tried to give her money for dental work, but Leanne wouldn’t accept it—said one less tooth didn’t matter. “Haven’t seen him.”