“Yes,” I said while buckling my seat belt.

“You know, your dad’s feelings would be really hurt if you got into any more trouble while you’re there. I know he’s been very cool about you coming to stay with us, and I don’t want you to feel unwelcome—we’re both glad to have you here—but he trusts you, McKenna. You promised him there wouldn’t be more problems, and I’m counting on you. I mean, you don’t owe me anything, obviously. But I like to think that we’re, like… friends?”

We’d stopped at a red light, and I stared out my window at a busy taco restaurant where people were eating outside on the patio. “I know,” I said quietly. I couldn’t promise that there wouldn’t be any more trouble, but the thought of getting hurt, getting killed—doing anything more to upset and disappoint my parents—did weigh heavily on my heart. “I’ll be back on Tuesday.”

Dad was—not surprisingly—distant and quiet when we got home. Throughout dinner, he only seemed to want to talk about the cost of property damage in Willow due to the tornados, as if it were of any real interest to him when he hadn’t set foot in the town since my eighth-grade graduation ceremony. As I expected, when I announced that I needed a ride to the airport in the morning, he simply asked if Mom had given me permission to fly back to Wisconsin.

I set my alarm for five a.m. and climbed into bed. Already knowing that my night would be sleepless, I pressed my earbuds into my ears. “So,” I said. “The house.”

As I’d hoped, Jennie’s response came through immediately. I felt a little burst of joy at the sound of her voice again, now reassured that I actually would be able to communicate with her whenever I wanted. But her words were as vague as everything else she’d told me so far. “That’s part of it, but not all of it. And it’s not the whole house. I don’t know how to explain it, but what I see is half of the house. I don’t know what that means.”

Violet hadn’t told me that she’d booked me a first-class ticket, and it was a nice surprise when I checked in for my flight at six thirty the next morning after Dad dropped me off at the airport.

I’d arrived with almost an hour to spare, which gave me plenty of time to browse magazines, as well as low-key freak out about the situation awaiting me in Willow. As I stood in line to pay at Hudson News, Johnny Cash’s lyrics, “I fell into a burning ring of fire,” drifted over the sound system. It struck me as an odd song to hear at that hour of the morning, but then again, it was a strange time of day to be buying Twizzlers and a paperback.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a sold-out flight, so we ask that if you’re unable to stow your luggage in an overhead compartment, please allow one of our flight attendants to assist you with checking your baggage.”