She clasps her hands together, tight, like she’s praying, but there’s no one to pray to.

“And I tell myself, I have to tell myself: Lila is dead. My sister is dead.

“Sometimes I’m angry at her. I told you, Li. I told you not to go. Because I did, and she went anyway. Stubborn as hell. Hannah, you’re just like her.”

Aunt Nora starts to cry, and Uncle Tony sits on the couch near her, his own face crumpling. Nate comes over, too, kneels beside her, his hand on her arm, the bangles from India he’s wearing jangling quietly.

“It does something to you, being furious with your dead sister first thing in the morning.” Aunt Nora shakes her head, wipes her runny nose with the back of her hand. “It’s hardest around nine at night, though. That was our time. I would call her and she’d be making dinner. I’d be cleaning up. Sometimes the old grandfather clock downstairs chimes and I reach for the phone. Isn’t that strange? I still reach for her.”

She takes in a shuddering breath. Looks from Nah to me.

“When the sky is dark and the moon is out, I’m not angry at her anymore,” she whispers. “I just want her help. I don’t think I believe in anything—an After. But I still tell her, every night: Help your girls, Li. Help them find their way back to each other.”

She grabs our hands. “It’s not good when sisters don’t stay up together late at night. When they stop giggling and having secrets together. It’s not good when they don’t knowingly catch each other’s eyes or borrow each other’s clothes or do each other’s makeup. I would give anything to be able to walk down a hallway, open a door, and see my sister’s face. You both lost so much. But you have each other. Don’t let the wave take that, too.”

Hannah lets out a shuddering sob, her shoulders caving in. I wrap an arm around her and she falls into me, her head in my lap, like she did with Mom. I rub slow circles over her back, my palm against her thin shirt.

Aunt Nora stands, kisses us both on the head, then motions for Nate and Uncle Tony to follow her out of the room.

I run my hand through Nah’s hair, just like Mom used to. The fire Nate built crackles, the sound a soothing background against Nah’s broken heart.

“I tried,” she sobs. “I tried to quit, but then they found Mom’s … Mom’s body, and I … I just couldn’t, Mae. I can’t…”

“That’s part of why I didn’t tell you,” I say. “About Micah. I should have. I just didn’t want to make it worse.”