Another: my mother, sitting on the porch swing, drinking a glass of wine. I was in the kitchen, pretending to wash the dishes, watching her watch the sunset. She liked to watch the sunset. I wished I had her eyes, her waist. My father came around from the front garden. He leaned his shovel against the house and climbed the porch steps. My mother was swinging, and the regular scrape of chain against hook made a wheedling music. As my father passed her, he reached out a hand to pat her shoulder. My mother caught his hand with her own and held it tight. He stopped, leashed by his own arm. She pulled his hand down, rubbed it once with her thumb, and then placed it firmly on her left breast. They were still for a few seconds, looking at each other, and then my father carefully extracted himself from her grasp. She turned her face back to the sunset. He kissed her on the head and came inside.

“Hey, kid,” he said.

Outside, my mother threw her wine glass into the bushes. I expected a crash, a shatter, a flock of ravens exploding into the air, but it made only the smallest rustle.

I called out for Serena when I reached the clearing. Nothing. I called again, louder. The empty tents seemed to create their own sound, a sort of negation that drowned out my voice. I peered up into the trees, but could see nothing through the bottoms of the glowing leaves. Cracks of light crossed my eyes.

“Ki ki,” she shouted from somewhere above me. “So so!”

Then she landed neatly at my feet, absurd magic thing that she was. She was wearing her dress again, but there was still something unclothed about her.

She took my hand and led me to her tent. Inside, I was surprised to find Janet and Laurel. Between them, on the floor of the tent, was a heap of giant, leafy stalks.

“You’re here,” I said, stupidly. I don’t know what I had been expecting, or not expecting. I hadn’t imagined this moment at all.

“Reports of our deaths have been mildly exaggerated,” Janet said. The palms of her hands were bright red.

Serena was looking at me intently, as if trying to read my mind. I thought of Luke’s mouth on mine, and then I thought, hard, of the opposite of his mouth, just in case. Ice cube. Sidewalk. Tire iron. Without meaning to, I also thought of her comb, now hidden in my cubby, tucked into the pocket of a pair of jeans it was much too hot to wear. Splinter. Apple. Coin.

“Did something else happen?” she asked.

“What did he say about us?” Laurel wanted to know. I could see her appraising my feet, my fingernails, in much the same way that Dominique had. Well, that much I could tell them.