As soon as we’re in Imogen’s room, the generic feeling of the house slips away. I’ve only seen Imogen wearing black and white, but her room is a violent splash of color. Loose-leaf drawings overlap on every wall, a lot of them probably done by Imogen. Rivers in deep red and royal blue — or maybe they’re veins. Cracked skies in livid colors, like birds’ eggs opening. And there are grave rubbings, the kind that kids learn to do in elementary school, only Imogen has hot-wired the idea, stolen it from its boring, humble beginnings and turned it into electric art. She’s as present in this room as she was absent from her body. Everything here looks like Imogen. Like she’s stamped her name on every surface.

And when I look at Rush, she’s part of the room, and Imogen’s name is stamped on her, too.

Imogen and Rush: Four Months Ago

Imogen kept pulling away, and Rush couldn’t figure out why.

The rain gave way to a wickedly dry summer. Heat pushed the rest of the Grays into their skimpiest shorts and wafer-thin tank tops. June considered shaving her entire head. Hawthorn put contacts in every day because her glasses kept slipping off her nose. Imogen and Rush did their best to pretend that nothing had changed.

Heavy sweat and thick silence kept Rush and Imogen company on a drive to the movie theater, where they settled into a pair of seats with a huge soda wedged between them.

But halfway through the movie, Imogen couldn’t seem to keep her eyes on the screen. They left before the hero and the girl even managed to kiss. Rush drove Imogen back toward Tempest in yet more silence.

“Pull over,” Imogen said.

She walked through the weeds at the side of the road, all the way down to the Eel River, where she took off her clothes. She looked as if she were carved from a piece of moon. Rush thought she’d finally gotten it right, given Imogen the time she needed. She closed her eyes and waited for the waiting to be over.

When she opened her eyes again, she found that Imogen had left her behind to stare at her naked backside as she lowered herself into the water. Rush sat on the bank and pulled her knees up. The dry summer had come hand in hand with a drought, but the river seemed to inch up until it almost touched Rush’s sandals.

When Imogen came back, Rush asked her, “Why are we here?”

Imogen scraped up a smile. “I thought you liked night swimming.”

Day after day above a hundred degrees gave Imogen an excuse to slide away whenever Rush sat down next to her, to give them both a little breathing room when they stood side by side, working a spell.