Marina wipes her eyes and quietly moves through to the living room with her dad as I step up to the door.

Delta takes my hands, bringing me inside the house and then wrapping her arms around me so tight that for a moment, a moment so brief that it won’t betray my dad, I wish she were Liz. Is this what moms do? They wrap you in a blanket of their arms when the world becomes too much to handle?

Her breath is shaky for someone who looks so composed . . . as if she’s been dreading this visit as much as I am. She says, “I’m so sorry, Lark.”

Reality hits hard with a boom kick to my heart.

Why is she sorry?

I start to push away, but she holds me tighter. “He loves you so much.”

It’s funny how the mind plays tricks on you, making you think that you’ll live, that you’re somehow strong enough to survive your heart being broken in two and your soul ripped from your body. Tricks . . .

The birds are singing, and the sky is so blue—my favorite shade or used to be—on the drive over. Tricks . . .

As my tears fall on the silk, I can’t help but think her floral blouse was perfect for a springtime graduation, but here we are, crying on it instead. What an odd thing to notice. Tricks . . .

My eyes start to dry, but I’m left drained from the flooding emotions. I could cry for hours, but at this point, that’s just my heart weeping.

“Let’s get something to drink,” Delta says, taking my hand and leading me into the kitchen. I see Noah and Marina outside at a table by the pool. Both look troubled. Noah with his slumped shoulders as he rests his head in his hands and Marina with her large sunglasses that may hide her crying eyes but not the red of her nose.

The only two missing are his dad and eldest brother, Loch. I’ve seen his dad, and I imagine Loch is around here somewhere. The Westcotts seem to be a family that comes together in an emergency.

Is that what this is?

An emergency?

A crisis to get through?

Did they gather when Lucas died? Or when Harbor was accused of letting him? Where were they when he shouldered the burden of that death to save his cousin’s reputation? Or when his aunt leaned over a coffin to threaten him? To guilt him into living Lucas’s life instead of his own?

I stand there with my heart lacking a beat in an empty shell of a body. Yet somehow my muscles are intact and tense. Every ounce of what remains of my being becomes protective, barricading me as if I’m standing among the enemies who betrayed me. Harbor would tell me otherwise, that they’re operating on limited information.

But as I choose between sitting on a barstool or standing, I choose to stand with truths, his secrets, I shouldn’t know.