More confusing was realizing that she’d felt that way about Owl Island too. She’d lived there her whole life, except those four years, and she knew nearly everyone. They all knew her. She had a favorite coffee shop there, which was easy since there was only one. She had favorite benches and hangouts and said hello to people and was waved to, just like here.

But because she’d never chosen to be there, because she’d always been part of a family unit, she still felt like she hadn’t left a mark.

“I was invisible to myself,” she said.

Horse turned his massive head and looked up at her questioningly.

I want to do things. I want to leave an impression and be impressed upon. I want to choose. I want to be a singular person and not one limb of a family. I want to be myself, Greta thought.

“Horse, I want to do things.”

Horse nodded and bumped her knee with his head in clear support.

“Okay, let’s go,” she said, determined.

Two hours later, Greta had showered, changed, and let herself back into Eleventh House through the unlocked back door, patting Teacup on her way inside. There was no sign of any of its inhabitants having yet stirred, so Greta popped in her headphones, tuned into her new favorite podcast—ShadowCast, on Truman’s recommendation—and began to clean up the living room and kitchen.

In spite of Helen’s dire threats, there were still cups and plates on every surface. The garbage can was full, which likely explained it, so Greta gathered all the trash and took it outside. Then she started on the dishes. When those were done, it was nearing 2:00 p.m., and Carys still hadn’t emerged from her room, so Greta decided to make her some food. It was what her mom always did when one of them was sick. She said food helped, whether you were hungry or not.

Greta found eggs in the refrigerator and some brioche buns that had been used in one of the dishes the night before in the bread box and made Carys an egg sandwich with cheese, ketchup, and hot sauce, the way she liked it.

Sandwich in hand, Greta knocked softly on Carys’ door and was met with a bark.

“Hey,” she said softly, easing the door open and perching gently on the side of Carys’ mattress. “I made you an egg sandwich and some coffee.”

Carys made a disgusted sound and buried her face in the pillow.

“You’ve gotta eat, baby,” Greta said. “You’ll feel better.”

Carys made another no sound, and Greta put the plate on her bedside table.

“Well, okay, I’ll leave it here for you. Try and eat, okay?”

Carys didn’t respond. Greta rubbed her back for a minute, then left her alone.

***