“And, uh—I need to get something from my truck,” Cam says, making Taylor wonder if he’s just trying to keep from getting caught in the crossfire. Especially when the next thing Willa says is, “You’re bringing your cat?”

Taylor’s teeth clench as she says, “Looks that way.”

Her family has a mess of outdoor cats that live in the barn and prowl the fields for mice, but Pumpkin is their only indoor cat, a calico that Taylor chose from the shelter when she was eleven. They’ve grown up together, and Pumpkin sleeps wherever Taylor sleeps, usually curled in a ball against the back of her calves. Taylor couldn’t bear the idea of leaving her cat behind. She’s taken by surprise when Willa tickles Pumpkin behind the ears and smiles.

“She’ll be good company.”

Taylor wonders if Willa means the cat will be better company than her, but she decides not to overthink it. She doesn’t want to fight before they’ve even left the dock. “I thought so too.”

“You have to deal with anything that comes out of her butt, though.”

Taylor laughs, and a twinge of guilt pings her heart. It seems too soon for laughing, even though Finley probably would have found it funny too. “I, um—I shouldn’t have called you a bitch. She wanted us to do this together, and I need your help.”

“I shouldn’t have left you hanging until the last minute.” Willa looks around. “So . . . what’s the plan?”

It’s not lost on Taylor that neither of them actually apologized, but it was close enough. “Maybe get everything arranged first? So I—so we know where to find things when we need them.”

Willa nods. “Good idea. That gives us time to remember what we forgot. There’s always something.”

Taylor’s dad built some shelves inside the empty engine compartment under the stairs, creating a makeshift pantry for their nonperishables—ramen noodles, cans of soup, granola bars, instant mac and cheese, and a giant Tupperware of her mom’s homemade snickerdoodles. They have no oven or refrigerator, only a built-in cooler and a small propane camp stove, and the toilet is little more than a glorified Porta Potti that will need to be emptied regularly. It will be like living in a floating camper for the next two and a half months.

“God, this boat is tiny.” Willa stashes a couple of textbooks in the hatch beside her bunk. “Three of us would have been stepping all over each other.”

Taylor bristles, until she realizes Willa is just making conversation, not pressing a bruise. They haven’t spoken to each other since the funeral. Taylor’s mom sent Willa an invitation to Taylor’s graduation party, but Willa never showed up.

“Finley would have figured it out,” Taylor says. “Remember that time she crammed six people in her Fiat to go looking for Gore Orphanage?”