“We will. Know you. And you’ll know us.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“You’re my sister. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

She starts sniffling again. “Stupid allergies.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“I should probably get that checked.”

“Probably.”

“All that salt in the air, I bet.”

“That’s gotta be it.”

“Bear?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m staying here.” It’s not a question this time.

I wait.

“You’re married to Otter. So you’re a Thompson.”

I see now where she’s going. And I hurt, but it’s a good hurt. “I am.”

“And Tyson, he’s a Thompson.”

“He is.”

“And Anna and Creed too.”

“They are.”

“D’you think…?” She clears her throat. “Do you think that maybe I could… if it’s not too much trouble….” She coughs.

“You’re going to be a Thompson too,” I tell her, putting her out of her misery. “We’ll see to it. You’re stuck with us now, Izzie. Hope you’re ready for that. You came here, and now I don’t think we can ever let you go.”

“Ugh,” she says again. “Fine. If you insist.”

“I’m afraid I must.”

“Whatever. You’re standing there like a weirdo while I’m trying to go to sleep.”

“Am I? My bad. Anything else?”

“No. Jeez, Bear.”

“Good night, then.”

And before I shut the door, I hear her whisper, “Thank you.”

THREE DAYS after that, a package arrives.

Otter signs for it.

“She’s not going where Mrs. Paquinn is,” the Kid says with a glare. “You can’t do that, Bear. You can’t. It’s not fair. I won’t let you do it. I won’t—”

“Never,” I tell him. And I mean it.

He takes a shuddering breath.

IT’S EARLY June, but it’s cold, the wind carrying a bite to it. We’re standing on a small cliff overlooking the gray ocean, the seagulls calling out above. Dom and Otter are waiting for us in the parking lot. Dom’s in uniform and has his patrol car. Izzie blushed and giggled when she saw him, and Ty was almost the same. Otter teased them both. Dom rolled his eyes fondly. I’d looked away when he bent down and whispered something into Ty’s ear, his lips grazing my little brother’s cheek. Whatever was said between them wasn’t any of my business.

They’re waiting for us, just like they always do.

We’re lucky like that, I guess.

The urn is rather plain, a dull silver with a plastic liner on the inside. We’re as far away from Mrs. P as we can be while still being in Seafare. I asked Izzie if she wanted us to do something like we’d done for Mrs. P—making a marker that can stand where we leave Julie. She shook her head and said this was enough.