“It wasn’t just one time,” Uncle Tony says. “You already admitted that at the hospital. You’ve relapsed, and we have to—”

“Let’s see both of your parents die in a tsunami and see how you cope, Tony,” she says.

He gives her a hard stare. “Let’s see you watch your daughter die of leukemia and see how you cope.”

All of us flinch—Nah included.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Do you see what this shit turns you into?” Uncle Tony says. “Do you know how lucky you are to be alive?”

“Tony.” Aunt Nora gives a slight shake of her head, and he stands and crosses to the far side of the room, stares out the window. His hands are shaking. He’s not mad, I realize: He’s scared.

He doesn’t want to go to another funeral.

Nah’s hand floats to her stomach. I can see my sister retreating to wherever she goes when she thinks about the clinic.

“It helped last time, when you did the outpatient program,” I tell her. “People often have to go more than once. When I was doing research—”

“I don’t want to hear about your goddamn research, Mae!”

“Hannah, you have a serious addiction,” Aunt Nora says. “You’ve already been in detox and outpatient group therapy this year alone. On top of that, you’ve suffered enormous trauma losing your parents, and the move, not to mention—”

She stops, uncertain, and Hannah stares at me.

“You told them about the clinic?”

“I had to, Nah. The secrets aren’t helping.”

“That wasn’t your story to tell. Mom and Dad said that all of this was my story to tell!”

“When they were HERE,” I yell. Then I remember that I have to be calm under pressure. I take a breath. “They said that because they knew and they could help. But now they’re gone, and Aunt Nora and Uncle Tony have their job.”

Aunt Nora’s face softens. “Honey, your parents were right not to gossip about you. But they also had to hold a lot on their own, and I’m not sure that was such a good thing. Your mom especially, what with everything we all know now about your father. If she’d told me about this earlier, about everything you were dealing with, I could have helped.”

I burst into tears. All of it coming up, like the wave: the truth about Dad and how hurt Mom must have been, her holding so much inside her, and Nah being so sick and me loving Ben but being too scared to tell him, and not going to Annapolis.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t know what I’m apologizing for. I don’t think it matters.