“Thank you for cleaning up, Amelia,” said Louise. “I’m going down to check the kiln.” She gave Casey a long look and patted his shoulder. “You know where I am if you need me,” she said as she left.

After a little silence, for the third time that morning, Amelia asked, “What happened?”

“My parents are marriage retreat dropouts,” said Casey. “Failures. They’re on their way home. They’re picking me up today. ‘We need to talk,’ my mom said. ‘We need to work out a plan.’” He shrugged and turned away, looking out the window for several seconds. “They’re going to get divorced.”

“That’s awful,” said Amelia. “I’m sorry.” Now she understood why the Eiffel Tower had been in pieces on the floor. She inched closer to Casey. He was blinking. Blinking back tears, she thought.

“When I found out, I smashed the Eiffel Tower and the heart,” he said. He shrugged and blinked again. “I wanted to smash everything,” he added, his voice squeaky.

Amelia didn’t know what to say.

“At least you still have Epiphany,” said Casey.

“Well, no, I don’t,” said Amelia. “More bad news.”

“What?”

“As it turns out, Epiphany is not my mother,” Amelia began tentatively.

Casey tilted his head and seemed to shrink. He looked as if he might collapse under some invisible weight, under the strain of more disappointment. He almost looked angry. “How do you know?”

“She came to my house. I saw her on my porch. She was talking to my dad.”

“What?”

“She’s my dad’s girlfriend. Sort of. Who, apparently, looks like my mother. I haven’t yet, but I guess I’m going to meet her.”

Casey’s mouth made a circle, then thinned to a line. “But why was she by the clay studio and the coffee shop, like she was looking for you?”

“I don’t know.” Amelia shrugged. “I have to figure that out.”

“Will you call her Epiphany?”

“No. Her name’s Hannah. Hannah Barnes.”

“I like Epiphany better,” said Casey. He spotted a shard under a chair. He picked it up and threw it away. “I think my aunt is going to be finding those for months.” He nudged the garbage can with his foot and gave it a little kick. “Hey, maybe you’ll call her Mom.”

“I don’t think so,” said Amelia. She had the sudden urge to shout: I will never have a mother—she’s dead—and, to top it all off, my father never tells me anything. “Not likely,” she said. “No.”

Casey sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Then he looked right at Amelia and said, “You’re lucky. Life is so unfair. I have divorce in my future, and you have a wedding in yours.”

The comment startled Amelia into silence.

They were both entering uncharted territory as far as parents were concerned. Her mind raced forward, a crazy rush of improbable, pointless possibilities, but there was nothing she could think of to say.