And to confirm that this had been her aunt’s room, four photos sat on the ledge next to the mer-girls. The first was of Eve and Lucille “marching” together in the Mermaid Parade—Lucille had pulled mer-Eve in a wagon, tails being not quite the thing for marching. She remembered how hard they had worked on that costume, painstakingly sewing sequins onto the tail Lucille had made. The next photo was of Eve in Paris, where she’d done a semester abroad—another lifelong dream that Lucille had planted in her mind. “When else in your life are you going to get to try out another place like that?” Another was Eve’s formal university graduation portrait.

She moved on to the last picture, and her breath caught. She and Sawyer were picking raspberries. Eve was showing off for the camera, grinning and holding up red-stained fingers. Sawyer was smiling, too, but he was looking at her. Adoringly. He was looking at her adoringly—there was no other word for it.

She felt anew the empty space inside her, the shape of what she had lost. She had dated in the last ten years, even had a couple genuine boyfriends in there. But she was pretty sure none of them had ever looked at her like that.

But, she reminded herself, the space inside her wasn’t empty anymore. It was filled with anger. Powerful anger. Satisfying anger.

She turned a more analytical eye on the photo. Unlike with the others, she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when this one had been taken. They’d had so many days like that, so many Raspberry Festivals. She scooched the edge of the photo up from where it was tucked into the frame. Lucille had had one of those old-school cameras that printed the date on the photo. It told her this shot was from her last summer here. The summer they’d started sleeping together.

Everything between them ratcheted up several levels of intensity that summer. The fun, the love, the loyalty. The sense that it was the two of them—often with Clara in tow—against the world.

She turned the picture to face the wall. Her eyes burned.

She was a little disgusted with herself. Was she really getting all weepy over a teenage betrayal? She was a big girl. She’d had ten years to get over it. She was over it.

It was just that she had loved him so much.

And now, she reminded herself, she was angry at him so much.

She set down the photo. She didn’t have time for this. She had a roof to fix and a funeral to plan.

Sawyer was surprised to find his sister in the kitchen when he got home, which was inconvenient on account of the meltdown he was about to have. Normally he’d be glad to see Clara, but he was barely holding it together at the moment.