“Hey, my girl,” my mom said, quietly, too. My heart felt like it’d been filled with warm water, hearing her voice. I could see she was at the four-person kitchen table in the cottage by the inn, white cabinets behind her, café curtains blowing in the ocean breeze. “I’m glad you called. I’ve been missing my Tess.”

I’d talked to my mom on video chat only once since I’d been here; Charles had been on, too. It’d been cut short because a guest had fallen down in the lobby. Mom had checked in over text every day, not that our short strings were like a real conversation.

Not that I was real with her.

“So, how are you?” Mom asked, looking concerned. Her dark, straight hair that matched mine except for the gray in hers was up in a messy knot, and she had on her fluffy gray bathrobe. “Aunt Maureen is worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” I said automatically. My mom tilted her head to the side like she didn’t believe me and waited for me to say more. “Camp is cool.” Except for the jealous Barbie. “I’m learning to take pictures.” Including one with a stalker in it. “It’s fun being back in Pinedale.” Except when I go under the overpass or have nightmares every night.

“Well, all that sounds great,” Mom said, looking relieved. She hesitated, then asked, “How are your fingers?”

I shrugged. “Okay. I mean I get nervous about meeting new people.” And the internet says I have anxiety, which you somehow refuse to see.

“I know you do,” she said. “But have you met some nice new friends?”

“A few, yeah.” None who could ever come close to replacing Colette. “How are you guys?”

“Oh, things are pretty normal around here,” Mom said before taking a sip of the coffee in front of her. “We’re booked solid this weekend because there’s a beach wedding, so of course your sister chose yesterday to become hyperirritable and start . . .”

I stopped listening.

A door slammed nearby; I looked around at the neighboring houses: a well-maintained trailer house on the left; a long, single-story house with a horse barn behind; and a pristine, two-story house on the right that was made of the same type of interlocking logs as ours but could never be considered a cabin.

There was no one outside but three hunting dogs, an obsidian cat, and a chestnut horse. Oh, and the horseflies.

I smacked at one on my leg, but it got away. I must have missed that spot with the repellent.

“Speak of the devil,” my mom said, seconds before Frankie appeared behind her, putting bunny ears on our mom. Mom turned around and said, “Would you like to say hi to your sister?”

“Are eggs ready?” Frankie asked.