“I get it, Tess, I really do,” she said. “I always felt unheard as a kid. I was the classic middle child, always feeling like your perfect mom and our clown of a younger brother were the kids my parents loved most.” She paused, then added, “It’s hard when the others have bigger personalities.”

“It is,” I said, my eyes still on the landscape. It’d rained earlier, but it was clear and sunny now, the sagebrush greener than brown: more fern than moss.

“But knowing your mom like I do, and being a mom myself, I can tell you that we had it wrong, you and me,” she said, putting her right hand back on the wheel.

“What do you mean?”

“Moms love their kids differently, but in equal amounts,” she said. “I don’t know if that makes sense to you, but it’s true. Sometimes Kane is the easier kid to love. It doesn’t mean I love him more than Kennedy. I love that girl fiercely.” She paused. “Moms love their children. Your mom loves Frankie—and she loves you . . . both of you, fiercely. You’ll understand someday when—”

The animal darted in front of the car without warning. It sprinted, right to left. Or right to middle, before I heard the thunk thunk of the van tires rolling over it at seventy miles per hour. Aunt Maureen didn’t have time to swerve or stop or react at all.

We both gasped, then she checked behind us and slowed down quickly. She pulled the van onto the shoulder. “Did you see what it was?”

I shook my head, nail between my teeth, trying not to look at the lump in the road behind us in the side mirror but failing, staring at it anyway. It wasn’t moving.

“I need to go make sure it’s . . .” She pressed the button to make the lights flash. “Not suffering.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” I asked, hoping she’d say no.

She shook her head. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

I inhaled and realized I’d been holding my breath. Three cars raced by, one right after the other, making the van shake with their momentum.

“Be careful,” I told my aunt.

“I will.”

After checking for more cars, Aunt Maureen jumped out of the van and started walking toward the animal, careful to stay as far away from the highway as she could. She waited on the shoulder for an RV to pass, then stepped out and hovered over the lump for a few seconds, shaking her head. I already knew it was dead. I’d had my eyes on it since we’d hit it; it hadn’t moved.