Blinding light. I cover my eyes. Close them tight.

Something goes around my wrist. Something cold. I want to scream, but I can’t. I’m frozen. Someone is tugging on me. I grab for something. Anything. But my mother is gone and there’s nothing in the whole world to hang on to.

And then I’m falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

I don’t hit the ground this time. Because someone catches me. I open my eyes, and Cole’s face swims into focus. His eyes are dark. More the color of heavy storm clouds than fog. “Hey,” he breathes into my ear. “You almost passed out.”

I untangle myself from Cole and take an unsteady step back so I can breathe. My chest heaves. I’m panicking. Everyone is watching me. Lex is on his feet in the second row.

“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice sounds funny. Like it’s coming from deep inside a well.

“Avril . . .” Cole takes a step toward me. I feel myself start to fall again, but this time I’m tumbling toward his eyes.

“Let’s take ten,” Willa says. “Avril looks like she could use a break.” She glances around the theatre. “Everyone step outside. Get some fresh air.” The way she says it, it’s clearly more than a suggestion. The others all file out, but Lex and Val are looking over their shoulders at me even as Jude is leading them away.

“Come on,” I hear Jude tell them. “She’s good. Willa has her.”

The barn door creaks closed, and Willa turns to Cole. “Give us a few minutes,” she says, but he doesn’t move.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Cole asks me, and I nod. Because Willa has me. He doesn’t look convinced, though.

When he’s gone, Willa leads me over to a couple of chairs in the first row.

“How are you?” she asks, and I can see the concern in her eyes. “Tell me the truth.” Her voice is firm, but gentle. Motherly. And suddenly I don’t want to hide anymore. Not from Willa.

“Something weird is happening to me,” I admit. I almost tell her about the woman in the fog and the lavender on the front porch, but I don’t. Instead, I start with the pieces I might be able to make sense of. “It’s like my brain is trying to remind me of something. But I don’t know what it is.”

Willa sighs. “What do you remember?” she asks. “About the night your mother drowned.”

“Not much,” I tell her. “Not anything, really. Just bits and pieces. But it’s all out of order.”