I reach for my glass of wine.

“Cole still isn’t speaking to me.” She smiles a little. “He thinks I pushed you too far. That I asked too much of you. That’s why he reacted the way he did.” Willa pauses. “He was scared for you. So he lashed out at me.” I can’t move. I don’t know what to say. “Avril. Look at me.”

I make myself turn to face Willa. My hands are shaking. The wine is sloshing in my glass. But Willa’s eyes are so calm. So clear. Looking at her instantly makes me feel better.

“I think Cole’s wrong. I think you can handle it,” she says. “Because I think there is greatness in you. Great talent. Great strength. And a great capacity for facing what scares you.” She looks at me. Takes a sip of wine. “You remember that.”

We settle onto the couch and Willa picks up the remote and pushes play.

My mother is alive again.

There’s some kind of party happening on the great lawn behind the farmhouse. A big white tent has been set up. There’s music and dancing.

“We had a big fundraiser,” Willa says, and she nods toward the television. Her voice sounds far away, not in distance so much as time. “That last night. Before Nicole died.”

I tighten my grip on the wineglass. Finally take a drink. It’s not sweet like the wine Lex and I drank on the sea porch. This tastes expensive. I take another sip. Then I lean forward and study the video. I’m watching my mother weave in and out of the crowd. She’s smiling and laughing. Pausing to hang on Brody Culver’s arm and beam up at him. I watch her bat her eyelashes, and I’m wondering how Willa didn’t see it. How she doesn’t know.

It hits me that I’m watching the last scene of my mother’s life. Right before she made her exit.

But then I remind myself that’s not right. There was another scene. A curtain call. High on a cliff overlooking the water. In the dark. Behind a house with a big porch full of flowers.

This house.

My mother’s final bow.

Whatever happened to her—to us—it happened not long after this video was recorded. And not far from where I’m sitting now.

“Tell me again what you remember,” Willa says. And I freeze. “About that night.”

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “It’s just a jumbled mess.”

Willa gets up and moves into the kitchen. She comes back seconds later with the wine bottle. The little tray of cheese and crackers. I watch her fill up my glass. She sets the bottle on the coffee table in front of us.