“The funny thing is, I didn’t even know that about her when I started. Dad didn’t tell me until later.”

Willa frowns at the mention of my father, but it doesn’t last long. Just a brief slip. So small I might have made it up.

Except I didn’t.

“Well,” she says. “The stage is clearly in your blood.” She tilts her head to one side and gives me a long look. “You have an awful lot of your mother in you, I think.”

My heart swells and I can’t talk. My throat has closed up, and I’m blinking back stupid tears again. Because nobody’s ever told me that before. I mean, I know I look like her. I can see that in the few photos I’ve found. But being like her is different.

Deeper.

It means more.

Willa’s eyes are sympathetic. She nods like she understands. “I’d like to get to know you, Avril. Really know you. The way I knew your mother.” She stops. “If that’s all right with you, of course.” There’s a slight quiver in her voice, and now I’m worried maybe she’s going to cry. But she doesn’t. She just takes a deep breath, and when she speaks again, that quiver is gone. “Nicole was the best friend I ever had.”

“Okay,” I tell her. “I’d like to get to know you, too.”

And I’d like to get to know my mother.

Willa beams at me. She reaches up to tuck a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear. Those steely silver streaks catch the afternoon light, and I hear the jangle of bracelets. “It’ll be a summer of discovery, then.” She nods. “For both of us.”

We eat the rest of our lunch punctuated with little bits of sharing. She asks about school. What classes I enjoy. What subjects I’m good at. My friends. My likes and dislikes.

But she never asks about my dad.

“Nicole was fierce,” Willa tells me. “That’s what drew me to her in the beginning. She was tough as nails. And I admired that so much.” She looks over my shoulder, out toward the sound in the distance. “I knew she was destined for something truly extraordinary. And, God, whatever it was, I wanted to be part of it.”

Even though Willa doesn’t really tell me much—she loved black-and-white movies—she always had cinnamon gum in her purse—she cried when she was angry—it’s more than I’ve ever known about my mother. In the two days I’ve been at Whisper Cove, she’s already becoming real for me in a way she never has been before.

I’ve always felt like the child of a ghost. Two ghosts, really.

And now I know my mother was fierce.

She loved gum.

She was destined for something extraordinary.