“To be honest, I think that’s why he works so much. He doesn’t have to. Before Agatha got sick, I thought they were going to get a divorce. That’s why he spends so much time at the office and in the city. Sometimes he’ll be gone for a week at a time. Mom pretends it’s because he’s a legal superstar, but it’s because he feels like an animal in a zoo when he’s here.”

I thought about John’s wiry tension, the way he never, ever seemed relaxed or happy. And suddenly his long stretches away from home—which Laura never even mentioned—made sense.

He let out a huge sigh. “When I inherit this place—if I do—which I hope I don’t—but if I do—I’m going to sell it as fast as I can. I’ll use the money to make sure Agatha’s taken care of, and then I’ll go live my life for real somewhere else.”

“You can’t tell your mom that,” I said.

“I know.” After a long pause, he asked, “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“No, I don’t,” I said. “I don’t even know what it means to be a bad person. People definitely do bad things, but maybe it’s because they’re scared or sad or hurt.”

“But I’m not those things.”

I looked at him, and wanted to ask: Are you sure? “But it’s not bad to want to live your own life. If this place isn’t right for you, then it’s not right for you. Your mom should want you to be happy.”

“I’m not sure she knows very much about happiness.”

“You make her happy,” I said. Although even as I said it, I wasn’t sure it was true. I thought about the way my parents used to talk to my sisters and me. They liked us. They thought we were fun. But Laura seemed to see her kids as part of a preplanned existence. Her version of happiness looked more like being satisfied by a job well done.

“I don’t want to leave you here,” Barrett whispered.

“I can hide in your suitcase,” I said.

He sat up. “I’ll talk to Dad. They can send you to Camden. They have plenty of money, and—”

“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t leave Agatha.”

His shoulders sank.

A huge yawn shook my body.

“You should go back to sleep,” Barrett said. “Do you think you can?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s not the problem. The problem is more bad dreams.”

“I can stay here. Wake you up if you seem to be having a hard time.”

I pulled his hand to my cheek and rested it there. “Imagine if you fell asleep in here,” I said. “What would your mother say?”

“She’d implode,” he said.

I nodded.