All this I grasped with my head. If anything, I should be angry at her betrayal. But in my heart, in the deepest, most desperate part of my soul? I still miss her. I remember the good times. And I yearn, with every cell in my body, for just five more minutes of her time. So I can understand why she left. So I can figure out what was so bad that she couldn’t call us, even once, to wish us a happy birthday.

I wrap my arms around my torso. I don’t know how long it’s been since my brother left the room, but surely he’s almost dressed by now. Surely it’s almost time to go.

I trudge up the stairs, wondering for the millionth time what Archie discussed in his therapy sessions.

Did he find a way to live with the loss? Or is he, too, still trying to fill the hole of Mom’s absence?

…

The lobby is teeming with people: women in sparkly dresses, men in elegant suits, and teens who tug at their hemlines and neckties as though they’re wearing their first formal attire.

A beautiful chandelier, spilling diamonds like fountain water, hangs from the ceiling of the two-story hall. The carpet is plush, and even the air smells fancy, like it’s been lightly scented with a floral perfume.

I make my way through the crowd. The bile rises in my throat, and I push it back down. There will be plenty of time later to think about the spindle. Such as next Saturday, six days from now. The anniversary of Mom’s abandonment. For now, my focus has to be keeping Dad, Archie, and Zeke away from the cocktail reception—and Charlie—while keeping an eye out for hints about the person I have to kill.

I timed our entrance perfectly. A steady stream of people flows from the double doors opposite the grand ballroom. The cocktail reception must’ve just concluded, right before the awards banquet as scheduled.

The three men walk in front of me. Dad’s eyes search the room for either his lab partner or a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes. Archie, who looks rather dapper in an actual suit and his chemical elements tie, appears uncomfortable in this room full of people, but Zeke has his hand on my brother’s shoulder, seeming to guide him through the throng. Every ten feet, Zeke looks over his shoulder, checking to make sure I’m still behind them, and sends me a smile or nod.

I smile back. I can’t help it. I don’t need anyone to look after me. But it’s nice that he cares. Nice that he pays attention. Doesn’t hurt that he fills out his navy suit so well, either.