She sighs. “It’s so easy to take what you have for granted, so damn easy,” she says, and looks up at me. “Promise me this, Nova, that you will enjoy every piece of wonderful as it comes along, because you can’t go back, not for all the money or effort in the world—sometimes, when something is over, it’s over for good.”

I stare at her, not sure what to make of the weightiness of her tone. “We’re not talking about your date anymore, are we?”

She gives me a small sad smile. “I didn’t know when I had coffee with your mother the day she was in the car accident that it would be the last time. No one tells you it’s the last time. The air doesn’t feel different, your heart doesn’t pound, and there are no warning signs. Everything just changes in a single moment.”

I twist my glass between my palms. “Do you think about her a lot?” I ask, not meeting her gaze.

“Always,” she says. “And I will never stop.”

I sigh at the happy memory of me and Em, realizing that Aunt Jo was right—that you must enjoy every piece of wonderful as it comes because you can’t go back. I pry the baggie open, pulling out the lined paper, which I instantly recognize as coming from the notepad in my kitchen. I unfold it slowly, like it might crumble in my hand if I’m not careful.

There in the center of the paper, in my dad’s handwriting, are three words:

Old Jack’s dog

There’s no “Dear Nova,” no “I know you must be confused right now and upset with me for everything that’s happened,” and absolutely no contact information.

I turn the note over, my heart thudding and my breath short, but there’s nothing more, not a suspicious indentation or even an erased scribble.

Ash waits as I stare at the paper, which I grip too hard, crumpling it a little between my fingers. My mind swings into motion. Old Jack’s dog’s name was Angus. And Jack was the Pembrook fire chief for most of my childhood before he retired. He used to sit outside the firehouse every Sunday morning with Angus, the paper, and a hot cup of black coffee. We said hi when we passed, like everyone did, but we didn’t know him particularly well. In fact, he was kind of cranky. And what on earth does Angus have to do with any of this? I run through my memories of Jack and Angus, scanning them for anything that might connect to this situation or might tell me what to do next, but nothing feels right.

I look up at Ash, my face scrunching in concentration. “Does Old Jack’s dog or the name Angus mean anything to you?”