“They were filming a video,” Sefina says. “Young guy was skiing down the stairwell and crashed. Broke his hand, I think.” Sefina’s eyes are big, bright. News in Whittier is limited, so I’m sure this has made the circuit a number of times, perhaps with a few refinements along the way.

“That’s right,” Ruth adds. “He said he saw a ghost.”

Maree’s eyes get wide. They are a beautiful deep blue, ringed in green. “Ghosts?”

Harriet laughs so hard she wheezes. “No, Maree, not ghosts. Just a bunch of kids who think skiing inside an old building is adventure. Hah! I’ll give them real adventure. Try summiting Annapurna or living for a year with Buddhists who’ve taken a vow of silence.”

Ruth groans and Harriet grins—amused, I know, to have irritated Ruth with her larger-than-life and very likely made-up adventures. This is a game the two of them have played for years.

We finish dessert and everyone cleans up together in a companionable silence, even Maree, who scrapes plates into the trash bin. Afterward, we play Pictionary, and Maree quickly teams up with Ruth and Sefina against Harriet, Mom, and me.

“No offense,” Maree says to me. “But I think this team might remember more stuff.”

I can’t help but laugh. I enjoy a little bit of smack talk. “None taken, kiddo. But you should know, I haven’t forgotten my competitiveness.” I wink. “I still like to win.”

When the game wraps up, I tell Maree to brush her teeth while Mom helps me make up a bed on the couch. Mom’s the last to leave. She hesitates at the door, and we both look at Maree, who is curled up on the couch, her feet tucked under her, a book spread open on her lap. Her eyes droop as she reads. Outside, the snow obliterates any light from the harbor, making it appear as though BTI is a ship out at sea. The windows creak from the wind.

“I’m nervous,” I say. “What if I forget? What if it scares her?”

Mom’s face softens. “You’ll be fine. Besides, she looks pretty comfortable here. But if you need anything, you know where to find Ruth, and I’m just two floors away.”

I smile and nod, comforted to know she’s near, surprised I feel this way. When she’s gone, I sit on the couch across from the girl and notice that she’s wearing cat-eye glasses that are taped in the middle. “What happened to your glasses?” I ask.

The girl looks up from her book, crosses her eyes to see the glasses on her face. “Oh, well, you broke them.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. Hey, I added more pictures to the photo album I made for you. Want to look through it later?”

“Sure, but I’m sorry I broke your glasses.”