“It did,” I say. “But you’re not my mother. My mother died when I was nine years old, and I let her go into the ocean because that’s what she wanted. That’s what she asked of me, and for her, I would have done anything. And she taught me… well. She taught me that family’s not always defined by blood. It’s those who make us whole. Those who make us who we are.”

“Who was she?” Izzie asks.

I smile at my little sister. “A kick-ass old lady named Mrs. Paquinn, who thought Bigfoot was real, drove an oversized Caddy the color of shit, and loved us all with everything she had.”

“She sounds epic,” Izzie says.

“The most epic there ever was.” I look back at my mother. “She’s smart,” I say, nodding at Isabelle.

“Reminds me of you.”

“Thought so. Why?”

She knows what I’m asking. “I had nothing left that was mine,” she says. She holds Izzie tighter. “She’s all that’s left.”

“Would you let her see me again? Us?”

The fear returns. “You can’t have her!”

“And I’m not going to take her. She deserves to know where she comes from. You owe her that.”

“Get out,” Julie says.

“She’s—”

“Get out!”

“It’s okay, Tyson,” Izzie says. “I’ve got your address and—”

Ah, kid. You should’ve kept your mouth shut.

She holds up the scrap of paper. Julie takes it from her. Looks down at it. Lets Izzie go. Tears the paper. It falls to the floor. “If you ever try to contact my daughter,” she says, voice low, “I will make sure the police know you broke into my house and tried to take her from me. You came here when I wasn’t home. For all I know, you touched her in a way no little girl should be touched.”

“Mom!” Izzie cries, sounding shocked. “That’s not—”

“Not now, Isabelle. Go to your room. Now.”

She looks at me. I shake my head as I struggle to keep my rage in check.

“Now!”

Izzie looks like she’s going to say something, anything, but then a look of such defeat comes over her that I almost can’t stand it. Her shoulders slump and tears fill her eyes, angry tears. She wipes at them furiously and walks toward me. She walks toward me and then stops at my side. Tugs on my hand. Gently. Playing with my fingers, really. Just like… like….

Before Julie can say anything, I scoop Izzie up and hug her tight. Her little arms go up and her little hands go into my hair and her face is in my neck. She’s breathing heavily, and I know she’s trying not to lose control in front of her mother. In front of me. Julie looks like she’s about to speak, but the look I shoot her makes her subside. For once.

“It’ll be okay,” I tell Izzie quietly. “One day.”

“You promise?” she whispers, her voice muffled.

My heart breaks. “I promise, kid.”

“It hurts,” she says. “Can’t breathe.”