She sat cross-legged in front of it. The ground was dry. Her Thunderbird was parked twenty yards away. A truck passed on the lonely highway, and the driver gave her a short toot of his horn. Paying respects.

Alison Garner. Fourteen years old. She was two years older than Peach had been that night, but two years was nothing.

‘My name is Peach,’ she said. ‘You don’t know me, but I was there. It was my brother who hit you. I mean, wherever you are, you probably already know that. I guess I knew it, too, but I never wanted to admit it to myself. It’s funny what the brain can do. Anyway, I wanted to say I’m sorry. You should have had a life, and you didn’t.’

Peach waited. She wasn’t expecting an answer, but it was polite to let your words sink in. She’d always done the same thing with her mannequins. Talk to them, and then let them think about it. Annalie – Lala – would have said she didn’t need to worry unless they started talking back.

‘I saw your parents,’ she went on. ‘They miss you a lot, but they seem happy. I was afraid they would yell at me or something, but they cried and hugged me, and I started crying, too. They said I should stay for dinner, but I didn’t want to impose. I asked to see some of your things, though. They still have a lot of them. You were a Britney fan, huh? I saw you had a concert program. She was never one of my favorites, but I could see where you would like her. They had a video of you, too, singing in church. You had a pretty voice. Me, I can’t sing at all.’

Peach looked up at the sky. Birds flitted and called to each other in the trees. A month had passed, and the storm was a fading memory.

‘I’ve been trying to decide whether my brother was a bad person,’ she went on. ‘I mean, I know he was. You probably hate him, right? It was weird talking to your parents, because I figured they would hate him, too, but they said Christians believe in forgiveness. They told me how sorry they were for me and how I must miss Deacon. They said they know how hard it is to lose someone you love, no matter how it happens. And the thing is, they’re right. I do miss him. I still love him. I hope you won’t think badly of me for that.’

She brushed a tear from her eye. Another one followed, and then there were too many to wipe from her face, so she let them flow.