“I know what that’s like.” I hoped she wouldn’t hear the discomfort in my voice. Suze had described my experience with Bram to a tee. “Anyone else?”

“Well, Brett, of course.”

“You saw Brett that night?”

“Sure. He saved my life from a swarm of killer mosquitos. The bugs were bad, so we talked in his car for a while.”

I felt myself tense. “Suze,” I said carefully. “Did you two kiss?”

“He kissed me—but just on the cheek. In retrospect, I guess that was his way of saying good-bye. I always liked him,” she said. “Maybe that’s because I associated him with Crissy. I totally idolized that girl. She finds that hilarious now, by the way, how I was always trying to dress like her. She was just so cool.”

“Jesus, Suze,” I said. “It’s you. You’re Brett’s girl on the side.”

Her laugh was light, a flip trill. “That’s funny. He kissed my cheek, that’s all! Shit, sorry, I’ve got to go. This class can’t run long; I’ve got a date with Crissy right after.”

I set down my phone and flopped back onto the thin motel pillow. The hard knot I’d felt in my chest for days had softened a little. Suze had nothing to do with Brett’s death. There was no other woman; Felicia had seen my friend, a girl who looked older than her thirteen years, in an innocent moment.

It wasn’t until I thought back to my youth with the wisdom of more than half a lifetime that I grasped the situation. Suze had emulated Crissy. She’d followed in my cousin’s footsteps, even when they led to the darkest of places. Suze never wanted to hear me complain about Crissy’s behavior, and threw her hands up at my disinterest in hanging out with my cousin. I’d seen it all happen without connecting the dots. It explained why she and Crissy had built a friendship as adults. Even as kids they’d had more in common with each other than Crissy and I ever would.

In the bathroom, I tore the flimsy wrapper off a plastic cup and chugged two glasses of lukewarm tap water before facing my reflection in the vanity mirror. The dark circles and puffy eyes weren’t my concern. I’d just remembered that it was Thursday. The day of my psych exam.

When I imagined the day that would determine my future with the troop, I’d assumed I would get some rest on Mac’s couch and spend an hour engaged in guided meditation courtesy of Gil Gasko’s beloved app. Instead, I was dehydrated and dizzy, with a persistent thudding in my head. It was a two-hour drive to Oneida, and my appointment was at ten. I had to hustle to be on time, but when I got out of the shower, my phone was ringing again.

“How is he?” I said, terrified of McIntyre’s answer.

She sighed. “He’s gonna make it. They kept him overnight. I’m picking him up later today.”

“Oh, thank God.” But then why didn’t Mac sound happy?