Land put the three of us in a row, seated behind a table, Zach in the middle. The table was covered with framed pictures of the girls and I was thankful to be behind them. I knew forming a single word would be impossible with Junie’s face staring at me.

Land spoke first, from a podium to my right. I tuned him out, kept my eyes down, the brightness of the lights burning into the top of my head. When Zach spoke, I forced myself to look up, turn my head in his direction. A line of sweat had formed along his hairline, thin enough the cameras probably wouldn’t pick it up. “We all, all three of us,” he said, glancing first at Jenny and then at me, “are begging anyone with information to come forward. Anything you saw that day, please let law enforcement know.”

“Even if you think it’s nothing,” Jenny interjected. “Even if it seems like nothing. Please, please call it in.”

Zach squeezed Jenny’s hand on the tabletop. “That’s right. You never know what might make a difference. What might help us get justice for our daughters. Whoever did this is still out there. None of us, none of our children, are safe until we catch him.”

No one spoke for a moment, the room awash with the sound of clicking camera shutters, the rustling of notebooks. I concentrated on the freckles dotting my arms, remembered Junie tracing them with her fingers. She always said my arms were my very own connect-the-dots. I jerked my eyes upward, trying not to squint as I looked out into the field of reporters. “Ms. Taggert,” someone shouted. “Is there anything you’d like to say?”

My eyes were adjusting to the lights, and behind the reporters I could see Cal, face tight with tension. Louise was there to his left, her eyes warm with sympathy. I knew it wasn’t possible, but it looked like half the town was crammed into the room, necks craning for a glimpse of the action. And behind everyone else, standing right next to the door, was my mother. Nothing about her was either concerned or sympathetic. Her bony arms were crossed, her face pinched. I could practically hear her voice if a reporter stopped to ask her name. Mind your own fucking business. How’s that for a name? She looked furious, and her fury fired my own. A match to the anger that now simmered always right below the surface.

I’d taken too long to respond and Land started to jump in, pulling the microphone at the podium toward his face. “This has been difficult for everyone, as you can imagine. Ms. Taggert isn’t—”

“I can talk,” I said, voice hoarse and too loud. The whole room went silent, the whispery undercurrents cut off cold. Next to me, Zach stiffened, and I saw his hand flex on the tabletop like he was stopping himself from reaching for me. Whether to silence me or comfort me, I had no idea. Knew only that I was beyond either offering.