The way her wings cut into the sky—she makes me want to pray. The angel on Mom’s Judgment card is in the sky, too, hovering over three open caskets with a mom, a dad, and a child. She’s woken them up with her trumpet. In front of them is a body of water, but it’s not scary, not the wave.

“Wake us up,” I whisper to her.

From this nightmare of them being gone. Of me being here, buying more diamonds.

“Tell me not to do this.”

But she’s silent.

I sit on the stone lip of the statue and, because no one’s looking and because I can’t help it, I pull out my Sharpie and write a little acorn.

I slide to my knees when I’m through, stare up at her like she’s one of the icons in Gram’s church. I wish I could light a candle. Or conjure my mother’s ghost. Read her death yoga like cards or tea leaves. I don’t know why she hasn’t visited me in Boston. Maybe it’s too cold here. Or maybe Mae’s right, about how disappointed my parents would be if they saw me now. Maybe Mom knows, and she can’t stand the sight of me.

At some point, Drew kneels down beside me.

His eyes slide over my face when I turn toward him. “Does she talk to you?”

Everyone is always trying to figure me out, but for some reason, it doesn’t bother me when Drew does it. Maybe because I’m trying to figure him out, too.

“No.” I look back at her. “Maybe someday she will.”

He hands me a cup of coffee from Dunkies. “Thought you might need this.”

“You go the extra mile like this for all your customers?”

“Just the pretty ones.” He stands and reaches out a hand to help me up. He doesn’t let go right away. “You’re freezing. Again. Where’s your coat?”

I shrug. “Forgot.”

He sets down his coffee and starts to take his off. “Drew, I don’t need—”

“I’m only doing this for the favorable review,” he says. “Five-star dealer service.”

He lays it over my shoulders and, oh God, it’s so warm. He’s so warm.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He picks up his coffee. Takes a sip. Watches me out of the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry about … I’m not trying to be a dick. About you running out.”

“Okay.”

“It’s just, I sell them for recreational purposes and, I don’t know, I feel like maybe—”

“Did you just come here to lecture me? Because if that’s the case, you can take your coffee and—”

He rests a hand on my arm. “Consider what I have to say the warning label on the packaging. I know it’s hard, with your parents and—”

“I’m leaving,” I growl.