“Yeah, I never understood that. Why wouldn’t you want to stay in the fantastical world with the talking lions?”

Kringle chirped at this.

“Do you want me to put ruby-red glitter on your Docs?” Miriam teased.

Noelle moved away in horror. “Her slippers were silver in the book, and you wouldn’t dare.”

“Are you sure? I have a lot of silver glitter.”

Noelle laughed, and Miriam had a moment of fierce, pure joy. Here, surrounded by the detritus of a life lived to its absolute maximum, she knew she needed to stop keeping secrets if she wanted to be an heir of Cass in any real way. She couldn’t really be settled here, for good, if she didn’t start building bridges from her island to the Carrigan’s mainland.

“I have to tell you something,” she said. Noelle must have heard the gravity of her tone, and she turned her whole body to Miriam, all her attention focused. “I found some paintings in the attic, yesterday. Some Mimi Roz paintings.” Her voice stuck. She couldn’t figure out how to continue.

“Who’s Mimi Roz?” Noelle prompted.

“I am. Or I was. I, wait, I’m starting in the wrong place. I have to tell you more about my dad.” She took a deep breath, rubbed her hands on her legs to center herself. “He raised me to follow him into business, marry well, be a jewel in his crown. He started out owning a car dealership, then bought rental properties, invested in local businesses, served on a bunch of boards.” She waved dismissively. “He’s a big name in Scottsdale but not a national presence. Don’t tell him that, though. He likes to imagine himself as a power broker.

“During college, I started painting,” she continued. “I didn’t show anyone at first. I was so scared of how much I loved it.” She swallowed. “When you grow up with someone who has a very specific idea of who you are supposed to be, it’s terrifying to have anything that’s all yours. After college I moved to New York for a couple of years, ostensibly to work for a friend of my dad’s and gain some business experience, but really to try to make it in art. I was pretty good, I thought, and I had a friend from high school who was interning at a gallery in New York. My friend agreed to show some paintings to the gallery owner. He loved them and gave me a spot in a show.”

“That’s huge, Miriam. You must be incredibly talented, which isn’t surprising, considering your other work,” Noelle told her, squeezing her hand.