She had never seen Matthew this way. He had always been the ghost baby, his little feet kicking her heart, his chubby fists grabbing for her mother, and she was the one who had trapped him there, stuck him forever in that moment. It had all happened so quickly. She remembered. Someone called from downstairs, and her mother answered and waited a moment, but then turned and walked away, and Josie, wanting to be extra careful, kept Matthew quiet even after he lay still, until she was sure they were alone. Then she took the blanket away and saw the vomit—milky white, marshmallow white—around his mouth. She called him softly, shook his little shoulder, and when he lay silent and unmoving even when she wiped his mouth and tickled him under the chin, she knew that something bad had happened. She remembered the way her chest felt full of wet sand, the way she knew—knew deeper than she had ever known anything—that this was very, very bad and that she should keep this secret, nestled deep inside her heart.

She stood there—trying to see where she had jumped from the crib, where she had tripped over the plastic truck, where she had dropped her blanket—and felt a deep and powerful sadness. She understood that if she had stuck him forever in that moment, then she had also stuck herself. Josie slid down the wall to the floor and cried. This was who she was. And now she knew.

Still, it wasn’t until she was standing in front of the Griffins’ house that Josie realized that the rest of the world had not changed. The house stood huge as always, its white double doors still draped with the Halloween garland she and Tyler had hung, and she walked down the Griffins’ pathway, up the steps, and knocked on the front door. When no one answered, she knocked again. She had talked to Mary on the phone only once from Santa Barbara, just long enough to say she would pack her things and leave when she returned. Josie had hung up quickly, and now she stood wondering if Mary would let her in the house at all. She shoved her hands in her pockets. She had brought the giraffe back for Tyler, and she was fingering its thin neck softly between her fingers when Mary opened the door.

“Josie,” she said. “You’re back.”

Josie stood very still and waited, but Mary just brushed her hair out of her eyes and mumbled something about the house being a mess.

“Well,” Mary said, “come in.”

Josie followed Mary into the living room and stood awkwardly.

“You want some coffee?” Mary asked.