“Can I come in?” she finally asked. Emma blinked. She hadn’t realized her grandmother was waiting for an invitation.

“Of course! Sorry, I . . . of course. Come in.”

Mrs. Mercer opened the door and entered the room, sitting carefully on the bed. She was wearing a neat black suit, and her bobbed hair had been combed sleekly back. If not for the creases at the corners of her eyes, she could have been Becky’s older sister. She crossed her ankles and looked around the room, the ghost of a smile playing around her lips.

“It feels so strange in here. It’s like she’s just around the corner—in the bathroom, or in her closet. And then you’re here, looking just like her.”

Emma wasn’t sure what to say. In the past few days, she and the Mercers had been tentative and polite with one another, like they were approaching each other slowly from a great distance. Emma knew that they needed space to grieve for Sutton, and she’d tried not to intrude. But at the same time they seemed to want to get to know her. Yesterday Mrs. Mercer had asked what her favorite meal was, and that evening at dinner a chicken pot pie had sat steaming in the middle of the table, along with a leafy side salad and a carafe of sweet tea. Mr. Mercer had invited her to go on a walk with him and Drake, and as they’d walked he’d asked questions about her life before Tucson. They all seemed to be gently avoiding the topic of Sutton or Ethan—Emma assumed their grief and anger were still too fresh—but their overtures were sincere, and it was a start.

The one holdout was Grandma Mercer, who’d flown in the night before for the funeral. When she’d come in, she’d stared at Emma for a long time, her eyes red and glassy, before heading up the stairs to the guest room with cold dignity. “She was fond of Sutton,” Mr. Mercer whispered to Emma. “This is all a shock to her. But she’ll come around.” So far, though, Grandma Mercer hadn’t shown any signs of “coming around.” She referred to Emma only as “that girl” and had made a point of sitting as far from her as possible at dinner. Emma tried not to take it to heart, but it was hard.

“I know this is difficult for you, too,” Mrs. Mercer said now, meeting Emma’s eyes. “You have no idea how much I wish we’d known about you before all this happened. We would have come for you a long time ago.” She smiled sadly. “But there’s no sense in wishing for what can’t be changed.”