Her grandfather nodded. “Why don’t you come down to the living room first, Sutton? I think it’s time to have a family meeting.”

“Family meeting?”

Mr. Mercer nodded. “Laurel and Mom are already waiting.”

Emma bit her lip. She’d never been to anything like a family meeting before and didn’t know what to expect. She stood unsteadily on Sutton’s black wedges and followed Mr. Mercer down the staircase and through the bright entryway. Crisp, early-afternoon light flooded through the high window.

The Mercers’ living room was decorated in luxe Southwestern colors—lots of earthy reds and tans paired with Navajo chevron prints. Paintings of desert flowers hung on the walls, and a Steinway baby grand stood gleaming beneath one window. Mrs. Mercer and Laurel were already there, sitting close together on the wide leather couch.

As with Mr. Mercer, Emma could see her own resemblance to her grandmother now that she knew to look for it. They had the same marine-blue eyes, the same slender frame. Mrs. Mercer looked nervous, her lipstick torn where she’d been biting her lip. Next to her, Laurel sat with her legs crossed, jiggling one foot up and down anxiously. Her honey-blonde hair was twisted back in the exact updo Emma had been trying to pull off. She’d chosen a black pencil skirt and a button-down blouse for the occasion, and she wore a tiny gold bracelet with a charm shaped like a tennis racket. She was pale beneath the light freckles across her nose.

Emma sat down carefully on the suede wing chair across from Laurel and her grandmother. From the entryway, the clock gave a single resonant bong.

“The funeral starts in an hour,” Laurel said. “Shouldn’t we get going?”

“We will, in just a minute,” said Mr. Mercer. “Your mother and I wanted to talk to you first.” He cleared his throat. “Nisha’s death is a reminder about what’s really important in this life. You girls are more important to us than anything.” His voice caught as he spoke, and he paused for a moment to regain his composure.

Laurel looked up at Mr. Mercer, her forehead creased in a frown. “Dad, we know. You don’t have to tell us that.”

He shook his head. “Your mother and I haven’t always been honest with you girls, Laurel, and it’s hurt our family. We want to tell you the truth. Secrets only drive us apart.”

Emma suddenly realized what he was talking about. Neither Mrs. Mercer nor Laurel knew that she and Mr. Mercer had been in contact with Becky. Laurel didn’t even know Becky existed. As far as she knew, Sutton had been adopted from an anonymous stranger. As for Mrs. Mercer, she’d banished Emma’s mother from the household years before. Emma shot a panicked look at Mr. Mercer. He clung to the back of the chair as if bracing himself.