Laura hesitated, as if she had more to say. Then, finally, she put her hand on my back. “The hard things are always going to be right there,” she said. “Your mind is always going to be looking for reasons to bring them to the surface. Sometimes you can forget them for a little while, but at the strangest times, you’ll see something—or hear a song, or . . .”

She trailed off, and I expected her to bounce back with some bland greeting-card saying, like, But you have to look on the bright side and focus on the things going right for you!

Only she didn’t. She just left her words hanging in the air, left me with the sense that she, too, knew a little bit about the kind of loss that ripped your heart out, tied it in a knot, and then shoved it back inside your chest.

She patted me on the shoulder and walked away to clean the tools, and after a minute or two, I went and joined her.

But she didn’t try to talk any more about it, not then and not later, especially not in front of John.

The days plodded on peacefully, except for the awareness hanging over me at all times that my family had died terrible, agonizing deaths and for some reason I had not, and I was just going to have to suck it up and deal.

But hey, you have to look on the bright side and focus on the things going right for you, yes?

All in all, I was adjusting to being a resident of Copeland Hall. John seemed to come and go according to some secret lawyer schedule, but when he was home, he was friendly and courteous. I liked Laura a lot—she was almost like a friend, but with a reassuring air of authoritative momness. Her mysterious dark moments appealed to me and made me feel less alone.

And Agatha—we were getting used to each other. She still knocked Blue Bunny flat on his face every chance she got, but that wasn’t going to scare me away.

Even the clothes were all right. They fit so well that nobody ever mentioned buying me something else, and that was okay. You moved differently in the structured, formal styles. You didn’t flop over on the furniture; you sat up straight. It changed the way you walked, stood, and spoke. My table manners magically improved, and my hair was always brushed. What’s more, it changed my thoughts and emotions. Everything seemed steadier, more manageable. Like the new persona was a suit of armor holding me together.

In a small way, I was becoming almost like one of them—not quite a Sutton, but no longer an alien presence in the house.