Pam sipped her martini and shrugged. “I’ve always wondered if your shrink biz is just a big scam. Can you really change someone’s memory? Or if you poke and prod, does it all come rushing back?”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

Virgil returned to the table. He put a caprese salad in front of Pam and glanced between the sisters. “If you’re going to have a girl fight, ladies, at least give me time to sell tickets.”

“No fight,” Pam said with a cool stare at Frankie. “She knows I’d win.”

“I’m sure you would,” Frankie replied.

Pam examined the bags under Virgil’s eyes and the limp swoop in his lavish hair. “Bad night, V? You look all hangdog.”

“When I look like this, it was a good night,” Virgil replied.

Pam smirked. Frankie waited until they had the table to themselves again. She didn’t know why she wanted to torture herself with the details when it was too late to change anything.

“When did Jason tell you?” Frankie asked. “Before or after?”

“Before. He thought I should know what you were going to do. Not that I had a say in it. You do what’s best for Frankie. You always have.”

Frankie’s lips pressed tighter together, and she didn’t reply. Pam leaned across the table and whispered, “Why, does it piss you off that Jason told me? At least someone in the family cares enough to include me.”

“That’s a cheap shot,” Frankie replied.

“Really? You’ve been MIA for the past year. You’re off in Frankie world, and some of us are back here in the real world.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. You’ve never lived a day in the real world.”

“At least I don’t run away from it,” Pam snapped.

Frankie’s brow furrowed as she felt the emptiness in her brain again, the place where something was missing that she couldn’t get back. Now that it was gone, she wanted to remember.

Virgil set Frankie’s pizza in front of her. He’d overheard most of their conversation. “Tickets, ladies. Remember, tickets.”

“Not now, Virgil, please,” Frankie murmured.

“You’re right, a thousand apologies to both of you. Write it off to last night’s party.” Virgil leaned down and whispered in Frankie’s ear. “Truly, darling, I’m sorry to intrude. You know I can’t stop myself. With everything going on, though, I thought you should know. Somebody outside the restaurant is watching you.”

Frankie’s eyes shot to the window.

Todd Ferris stood on Post Street. His eyes had the same intense, faraway sadness they always did. As if, in his young life, he’d already given up on the future. She could see him mouthing three words.

It happened again.