“Oblivious. Small mercies.”

I nod to myself. Small mercies, indeed. “Look,” I say, “I’ve been doing some research.” Some was an understatement; I’d spent countless hours studying preschool inclusion programming options, trying to pick up where Robbie left off. “There’s a center in Burlington that specializes in autism. They have an early childhood program that’s supposed to be excellent. I’m sure it was on Robbie’s list.” Suddenly, my throat feels scrubbed raw. I swallow. No change. “I could send you some information.”

Silence. “Oh,” Suze says for the third time. “That’s . . . sure. Thanks.”

“I’d like to stay in touch. I know you might not be comfortable with that.”

“No,” she says, and my stomach drops. “No, I’d like that, Shana. It’s not your fault. What Robbie did, that was real before you got here. It would have come out eventually.”

“That’s not much consolation.”

“No, but we don’t have to make it any harder than it is, either. I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you’re in town, would you maybe like to get a coffee? You, me, and Crissy? The doctors say she’s doing well, that she was . . . lucky. I think you’d like her if you got to know her better. She’s not the same person she used to be.”

Few of us are. I look out the station window at the road leading into Alexandria Bay. My family has changed. My friend, too. And with change comes opportunity.

“I want to show you something,” Suze says.

My mobile phone vibrates on my desk, and I see she sent a text message. It’s a video.

“This was last night,” she tells me as I hit play. The video opens with a shot of Crissy and Felicia’s street. It’s lit up with Christmas lights, their reflection shimmering on Maquam Bay. Every homeowner seems to have made an effort to wrap their pine trees or staple strings of lights to gutters, but it’s Aunt Fee’s house that stands out.

When she first described her plan to me, I pictured fat plastic Santas and gaudy wire stars strapped to the roof, but it turns out my aunt has an eye for décor. Lush green garlands studded with hundreds of white lights are draped over her windows and door. Her leafless trees have been swaddled in LED lights of periwinkle blue, and snowflake decorations hang from their branches, twirling and shimmering in the night breeze. I don’t know who’ll be judging the Chamber of Commerce contest now that Robbie’s in custody, but I have a feeling Felicia’s got this in the bag.

Already there are lookie-loos. Cars crawl past the displays, tiny faces mashed against windows and mittened hands patting excitedly against the glass. After lingering on the street for a moment, the camera swings around to face the sidewalk. What I see then is Crissy, walking toward Felicia’s house with her boys in tow. The boys wearing excited smiles, the light already dancing in their eyes. They run ahead. When they get to their grandmother’s neatly shoveled driveway, they stop.