“Sometimes our brains play tricks,” she says. And I nod as I swallow more wine. Because I know she’s right. But I feel so sure about what happened that night. Every minute it feels more like the truth. “It’s so easy to get lost inside our own minds.” She frowns. Refills her own glass. “Did Cole tell you he went away for a while last year?”

“No,” I say. I don’t tell her that Glory mentioned it.

“He got lost. Inside himself. He was confused. All turned around.” Willa takes a deep breath. “Cole will tell you he’s a musician, not an actor.” She shrugs. “But it doesn’t matter. He feels deeply.” She smiles at me. “Creative people like us always do.”

The wine is making my head feel fuzzy. Sleepy. Willa takes my wineglass. She sets it on the coffee table and puts a pillow in her lap. “Come on,” she says, and I slip off my flip-flops to stretch out. She pulls the blanket off the back of the couch to cover me. Willa’s hand is in my hair. She strokes my head as I watch my mother spin across her television screen. “Whatever you remember, Avril, let it come. I’ll help you face it. You don’t have to do this alone. We can make sense of it together.” She pauses. And when she speaks again, there is something about her voice that breaks my heart. “I owe Nicole that much.”

And being with Willa makes me feel so safe. So taken care of. But if I do what she’s asking me to do—if I let those memories come—I’ll lose her. And Cole, too.

I can’t think about that anymore, so I watch my mother spin and smile. I let myself sink into the softness of Willa’s couch. Her hand in my hair.

The comfort of a mother’s touch.

It’s everything I’ve always wanted.

“I love you,” I murmur as I float away. But I don’t know if I’m talking to my mother, or to Willa.

And I’m not sure which one of them whispers it back.

ACT III: SCENE 2

Eden’s melody wakes me up. It drifts into my ears like fog. Each familiar note vibrates against a thought that’s buried so deep inside me. Some memory that’s just out of reach.

I open my eyes, and someone is at the piano. Bent over the keyboard. Dark hair falling across his face. I listen to him play. And I ache.

That song.

Those fingers moving across the keys.

It’s more than I can stand.

“Cole?” He stops. Turns around to look at me. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight.”

I’m so confused. Groggy. My head hurts.

“I fell asleep,” I mumble, and I try to sit up. But it’s so hard. “Where’s your dad?”

“He went up to bed.”