Hannah comes to his side and loops her arm through his. A surprised smile flits across his face.

“Let’s leave the brainiacs to the pumpkin carving,” Nah says. “It’s going to turn into this whole engineering project and—”

My phone rings, and I don’t hear the rest of what she says, because when I turn to look at the screen, I see it’s an unknown number.

Ben notices. Grins. “Think it’s Annapolis?”

“I don’t know why it would be—but I better take it, just in case.”

Nate throws me a towel and I get as much goo off my hands as I can, then grab the phone.

I turn away, into the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Hi, yes, I’d like to speak with Mae Winters?”

“This is she,” I say.

That’s how Mom answered phones, and I always thought it sounded very professional.

“Hello, Mae.” There’s a pause. “This is Marilyn Cole from the Red Cross.”

All sound fades. There is just the pounding of blood in my ears. The ocean in my body. Surging. A wave. The wave. In me.

“Miss Winters?”

“Yes. Yes?”

Someone touches my elbow. Ben. He looks down at me, concerned. Perhaps I am not hiding the panic in my voice very well.

“I see here that you’re still a minor and that your guardian is … Nora Russo—your aunt, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Nate is there now, saying something to me, but I wave him off.

“Would it be possible for me to speak with her?”

“Anything you have to say, you can say to me.”

There’s a pause.

“I’d really prefer if there was an adult present.”

I look at Nate. “My cousin’s here. He’s an adult. Is that okay?”

“All right. Can I speak with him?”

Now Nah is in the doorway, the guy—Drew—just behind her.

I hold the phone out to Nate.

“It’s the Red Cross. They want to speak to an adult. I don’t know why they won’t just let me—”

He takes the phone. “Hello? Yes. Yes, I am. I understand.”

I watch my cousin’s face as they talk. It goes from concern to a collage of hurt.

“Hold—can you hold on a moment? Thank you.”

I grip Nate’s arm. “Did they find them? Did they?”

Nah walks farther into the kitchen. Stands on the spot she’d been lying in a few weeks ago. A pool of bourbon. Grief whiskey. “What? Who is that?”

“It’s about your mom,” Nate says.

“They found her,” Nah breathes.

Nate’s eyes flick to mine. He nods.

“Dad?” I ask.

He shakes his head.