No, I mean an actual fog sails in off the river and settles over Lanternwood, like a giant ghostly ship dropping anchor.

The fog doesn’t stop me from spending most of my time outside, though. Morning Glory Cottage is just too full of emptiness, even with us all living there now.

So I take Boomer for long walks, from the cornfields on one end of the village to Briar Hollow Lane on the other. Briar Hollow Lane is a little gravel road just before the bridge that marks the town limits. There’s a No Trespassing sign at the top of the road because it leads to a water-filtration shed or something like that. Gram told me once when I asked why we couldn’t walk down there, and the answer was boring enough that I quickly lost interest.

Somehow, life in Lanternwood has carried on pretty much the same as it did before Gram died. Boomer chases Old Joe’s tractor and tries to attack it as it chugs down High Street. Ruth stands by her gate, groaning about her old bones, or else hovers over Gloria as Gloria prunes the garden for her, complaining loudly about everything she’s doing wrong.

Boomer and I walk along the river, too. I throw his ball in and laugh when he belly flops into the murky water. He runs through the last summer picnickers, who come despite the fog, and I pretend to be angry with him when he steals a block of cheese or a bag of Goldfish.

I can almost see Gram beside me, twisting her parasol overhead, wearing one of her old-fashioned long dresses and a frown on her lips that doesn’t quite match the mischief in her eyes. “Now, Boomer. Manners, please.”

The Thursday before school starts, Mom creeps into Gram’s room and wakes me up. Boomer grumbles at her. He still thinks Mom, Dad, and Lily are intruders in his house.

I don’t blame him. I hate the way Lily complains about the shower going cold and the noises the house makes at night, and how Mom walks around with a measuring tape, eyeing pieces of Gram’s furniture like they’re naughty children. Sometimes I wish they would all just pack up and head back to our old house. Though I guess it would be okay if Dad came to visit on the weekends.

I pull the covers up and shimmy down beneath them.

“Come on, Emma,” Mom says. “We’re going into town today. Just you and me. Special treat.”

I peek out at her. As usual, she’s already dressed nice with her hair done and lipstick on.