I fall back down, and Mae’s hand reaches across the rug and grasps onto mine.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I was trying to use the most efficient way to explain the process.” She takes a breath. “We have to find them, Nah. We can bring them back.”

In a cardboard box, probably. Ashes.

I close my eyes. Imagine Mom floating on a calm sea in corpse pose.

Dad floats beside her, and he even managed to keep his glasses on. They could be the illustration for the Two of Cups in one of Mom’s tarot decks, love and harmony.

When there’s no … body, it’s hard to know when to stop looking. I don’t ever want to stop—but this kind of looking, only looking for a dead body. No. I can’t. I can’t.

I keep my eyes closed, shake my head.

“We have to do this, Nah.”

I am so tired.

“Fuck the Red Cross. It won’t bring them back.”

She sighs. “I’ll do it myself. I don’t want them to be so far away.”

I’m such a selfish piece-of-shit junkie. Why couldn’t I think of that? Of doing right by them.

“Jesus.” I groan. “Just help me up.”

We get me vertical, and when Mae’s out the door, I slip another pill in my mouth before following her into my parents’ room.

“They said hair is good. Toothbrushes. Stuff like that.” Mae holds up two ziplock bags, and I take one, then follow her into the master bathroom.

“I’ll do Dad’s,” she says.

For a second we stand there, staring. At the rug I puked on when I drank too much vodka at Julie Cirna’s party, back when we were thirteen. The shower curtain with the kitschy Paris theme that Dad hates—hated—and Mom loved. The orderly row of Dad’s bottles of cologne and aftershave and shaving cream. I can see him, running the razor down his skin, Mom brushing out her long, witchy hair. Talking about the book club they didn’t want to go to or if we should grill out for dinner or just get tacos.

“This is fucked up,” I say.

Mae squares her shoulders. “We’re gathering data. That’s all we’re doing. Okay?”

Mae World must be really nice.

I open the drawer between the two sinks and grab some of Mom’s hair out of her brush. It’s darker than mine. I hold it up to the light and notice strands of gray that twist through the black. That bit of silver is like a switch that turns off any bit of light inside me. It’s so dark in here.

“I feel bad about teasing her,” I say.

Mae looks over from her search through the cabinet on Dad’s side of the counter. “What about?”