When he’s not, he suggests alternatives, and Nia laughs and says, “Whose story is this?”

There’s not enough room for all of us on the bed, but we manage anyway.

Aaron listens, wide-eyed, to every single word while I close mine and think about Mum.

She used to tell me stories in bed, then fall asleep next to me, not by mistake but because it was our safe place. I knew she was protecting me, but I didn’t always know why.

Sometimes I have to remember that Jane was a mother, too, turned desperate by tragedy. I don’t think I can ever say that out loud because of what she did to Logan and to Aaron. But that’s what I think as Nia finishes her story and kisses her brother good night.

“Are you coming?” she asks, and I look at Aaron and imagine what might have been.

“Not yet.”

98

“Are we nearly there?” Aaron moans because we’ve already walked past the lake and the cafe and the playground, and his excitement slipped a notch with every, “Not yet.”

“Soon,” I tell him.

As we turn right, Jay looks at Mum and says, “I didn’t even know this was here.”

The trees are in full bloom, now, and there are people sunbathing and having picnics and playing with their kids. When we find a space, Mum lays out a blanket while Jay and Nia unpack the food.

“This is nice, mate,” Zak says. “Thanks again for the invite.”

“No worries.”

“Look!” Aaron yells, pointing at the squirrel running over at full speed. It stops right in front of us and waits.

I crouch next to my brother and say, “He’s not the only one.”

Aaron looks to where I’m pointing and we see more of them dashing between other groups and racing up and down trees like they own the place. I realize, now, that they do.

“This is brilliant,” he says.

“Do you want to feed them?” asks Nia.

“Yes!”

I think of the day Amy brought me here. She said she used to visit with her brother, but I was imagining the wrong one. I wish I’d known the truth, then. And I wish she was here now.

Aaron laughs as more squirrels bound over, and Nia looks happier than I’ve ever seen her. Zak is feeding them, too, watching as they grab things, then scarper.

“They’re like furry ninjas,” he says, but I don’t join in.

I feel grateful and sad and heartbroken because we’re happy, but not everyone can say that.

Amy’s family shattered, and what was left was a lie and then a horror story.

I’m still thinking of her when Jay touches my shoulder and says, “How are you feeling?”

“This was her favorite place.”

Mum is watching us, smiling, and Jay says, “Maybe it can be ours now.”