Thomas steps back, absorbing the blow. I take Eve’s hand. The skin is parchment-thin. “You keep living it, over and over again. Rain. Bad tires. The crash. Their panic as the water level rose. The questions never stop: Could you have kept them from going? Should you have gone yourself? What if you’d been less stubborn and had dessert in the freezer instead of only buying it for special occasions? But there’s no answer to any of those questions just like there’s no reason for a tragedy.”

A sob rips free from deep in her chest. I want to stop, comfort her, but she needs to hear this; they both do. “The bigger tragedy, for them and for you, is that you can’t let go. Instead, you’ve tried to pull Matthew and Deacan back, again and again. But they can’t come back, not in any meaningful way. They want you to know that they were more than those terrifying minutes. They lived full lives, both of them. And they’re at peace.”

The old radio appears again. Gordy’s spirit forms a question mark in the air. I ask Eve, “Why did you break your father’s radio that night?”

She draws a ragged breath. “I was mad with grief—the unfairness of it all. Matthew was the love of my life. Deacan didn’t even get to have a girlfriend, go to college. He was going to be a journalist and was such a gifted writer. I just know he would’ve won a Pulitzer.”

I recall what Thomas told me about his mother when I asked if she was proud of him. He said that she’d had bigger dreams. They were for his brother, not him. Thomas has retreated to the window. Hands pressed to the glass like a prisoner behind bars, he watches rain fall in sheets from a lead sky. You’re better than good enough. I wish I could tell him that. But he’s not, for his mother, and he probably never will be.

Eve begs, “What is Matthew saying?”

I turn from Thomas. “That he wants you to move on so that they can, too, and—”

. . . Thomas grips my shoulders so hard that pain spirals beneath my skin. I look around to get my bearings. The pin is on the bed, marker clenched in my hand. Beneath the fluorescent lights of the hospital room, I read the message scrawled on the inside of my palm. I still believe in you, kid. The look in Thomas’s eyes is equal parts pain, accusation, and betrayal. He’s out of the hospital room in three strides.

“Bring him back,” Eve begs.

At first I think she’s talking about Thomas. But she holds the pin out, begs me to take it, call Matthew and Deacan back from the other side. What about Thomas? “They’re done. Now you have a choice. You can either continue to live in the past, pour your heart into that bottomless pit, or you can love the son who is still alive.”