“Forgotten about it? How could you? You slept with me for weeks after, refusing to be alone.” Like it was happening right now, I could feel my sister’s weight up against me in the darkness of my bedroom. She’d made me hang her fleece Care Bear blanket over my window so that no one could look in.

“Did I?” My sister sighed. “Well, gosh, Kendra. I was just a kid when Aunt Patty died. I barely remember her.”

After getting updates on my niece and nephews, and promising Chrissie I’d let her know about holiday plans soon, I hung up and took the exit off the highway. Headed right, down a two-lane road a few miles to the cemetery.

I couldn’t believe my sister didn’t remember the dog mask. That she wasn’t scarred by it. After all those nights I’d whispered to her that it was going to be okay? That I, her big sister, would take care of it?

But there were two sides to every story. Two people could experience the same thing and interpret it in very different ways.

The cemetery was small, with gentle rolling hills. It’d almost be quaint if it wasn’t concealing rows of decay. I pulled into the front lot, parked, and picked up the wildflower bouquet from the passenger side.

I only visited once a year, but I knew where I was going.

Daphne Brown’s parents hadn’t paid much for her grave. She didn’t even have a stone, just a small plate in the ground with her name and dates. Every year, we used some of the money raised at Full Moon for the merit scholarship to buy flowers for her grave.

The other moms thought I had them shipped to the cemetery. They didn’t know I delivered them personally.

It was a cold, gray day, threatening to rain. I could hear thunder rumbling in the distance as I arranged the flowers.

Daphne Brown had gotten carried away, in over her head. She’d been too confident. Too trusting.

She’d made bad choices.

Still, everyone’s gravesite deserved flowers.

By the time I got home, the skies had opened up, and it felt more like midnight than noon. My wipers couldn’t work fast enough to clear the rain off the windshield. I was about to turn into our driveway when I noticed our house was as lit up as the Biltmore mansion at Christmas. I saw Paul’s Honda in his spot in the driveway.

I circled the cul-de-sac. What the hell was he doing home? I distinctly remembered him telling me this morning he had two back-to-back meetings and that it was going to be a busy day. That if I called him, he might not be able to answer.

He’d been distracted lately, forgetting to pay Sam’s college bills. Unreachable at times.