“Your gram was timid, too, when she first recovered,” Gloria says. “But she had a love for, well, just about everything. The river. The meadows. People, most of all. She had a gift with people. But Madeline, she wasn’t like that.”

“She was afraid of people more than anything,” says Ruth.

“I suppose nowadays, she’d have been diagnosed with something,” Gloria says, shaking her head. “Sent to a doctor, gone to therapy. Perhaps she could have been helped. But in those days— Well, after school, we saw her less and less until she just sort of—”

“Disappeared,” Ruth finishes.

The word sends a chill through me. I think of how I ended the last chapter of the story, with Ivy lying alone in the snow, waiting to disappear.

Is that what happened to Madeline?

And if I didn’t have Fina, could I have ended up the same way?

Then I realize: Madeline did have a Fina. Gram.

But if they were really such good friends, how could Gram have let Madeline fade away? Why hadn’t she fought for Madeline like Fina fought for me?

I feel like my grip on Gram is slipping away faster than ever.

“Now, my old bones need a break,” says Gloria, clutching the small of her back. “I have a pot of tea in the hall. Would you like to come in?”

“No,” I reply. “We have to get going. But you guys have been really helpful. Thanks a lot.”

“Nice to meet you,” Fina says.

“Emma, dear?” Ruth says before we can turn away. She juts her wobbly chin forward and squints at me. “What’s all that white stuff on your face?”

I hesitate a moment, glancing at Fina. “Skin,” I say. “It’s just my skin.”

37

If I had my way, we would run to Briar Hollow Lane right now to pound on Madeline’s door. But when we get back to Morning Glory Cottage, Ms. Ramirez’s car is already parked outside.

She’s inside having coffee with Mom, who, embarrassingly, is in her Pilates clothes for her class later today. Except Ms. Ramirez doesn’t seem to notice how embarrassing she is. She’s laughing at something Mom said. Like they’re friends or something.

I’m just about to ask if Fina can stay longer—another night, even—when Ms. Ramirez drains her cup and stands to go.

“We’re volunteering with some of my students to help clean up the highway adopted by the college,” she says. She checks the time on her cell phone. “And we are officially late.”

“I’ll go get my stuff,” Fina says.

Once we’re upstairs, she grabs my hand. “Don’t go see Madeline without me, okay?”

I hesitate.

“Seriously, Emma,” Fina says. “I know she’s your pen pal or whatever, but it sounds like she’s kind of strange. You shouldn’t go by yourself.”

“And also, you’re curious to meet her.”