“Isn’t that how you got started?”

She didn’t answer.

“I’ve already booked our flights. It is all arranged.”

“No, it’s not all arranged. You can’t just make arrangements without me. Papa. We can’t go.”

“Oh my God, Mom.” Julie’s voice sounded taut with exasperation. “That’s your answer to everything: No. We can’t. Every. Single. Time.”

“It’s risky and irresponsible.” Camille got up and started clearing the table, her movements swift with irritation. The prospect of a trip, even one her father yearned for, was terrifying to her. “Listen. We can’t just take off. Our passports are probably expired.”

“No, they’re not,” Julie said. “Mine’s still good. I’ve kept track.”

“Then you already know mine is going to expire next month,” Camille said. Shortly before Jace died, they’d gotten a new passport for Julie so they could take her to Jamaica for Christmas. That trip had never happened, and the passports had been retired to a junk drawer.

“We can get yours renewed,” said Julie. “How hard can it be?”

Eight

Camille went to the library and fetched an armload of books, placing the stack on a long wooden table. The town library had always felt like a home away from home to her, a place of safety, filled with a comforting, insulated quiet, and the strangely appealing scent of books. It was located near the town center in an old Federal-era brick building, proudly maintained by a generous community.

After her parents had divorced, she used to come here to lose herself among the pages of books that transported her far from the strange new world of two households. In the wake of Jace’s death, there had been no comfort, but she came to the library looking for signs that there was some kind of life for her on the other side of grief. And after Papa’s cancer diagnosis, she had found books here that had taught her the unexpected grace in helping a loved one through illness. Today she needed something else—a way to navigate the rocky shoals of adolescence.

She was trying to decide which book to dive into first when a gaggle of high schoolers pushed and shoved their way through the door, earning a shush from the librarian in charge. For the most part, they settled down, slinging backpacks into study carrels or at computer stations. Camille spotted Vanessa Larson and Jana Jacobs among the kids—Julie’s two chief tormentors. Great. She tried to ignore their presence, but a few moments later, she heard the hiss of a scathing whisper and saw movement out of the corner of her eye. The girls were settling themselves at a table on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling shelves.

“They are so checking us out,” Vanessa whispered.

“Who?”

“Travis Mundy and Dylan Olsen. No, don’t look now! Be cool.”

“They’re seniors. They aren’t checking us out,” Jana whispered back.

“Are, too. Keep watching. Just don’t let them catch you. I bet I could get them to give us a ride to the Shake Shack.”