“Hmm?” Maren’s mom peered over the top of her glasses.

Maren rewound the show, and Imani catapulted through the routine again. Murmuring appreciatively, her mother returned to the brochure she’d been reading. A half-dozen other pamphlets for long-term facilities lay scattered across the couch. They kept sliding over and pricking Maren’s bare foot with their pointy corners, and she kept kicking them back toward her mother.

Maren used to love when her dad worked late. It meant she and Hallie got to watch TV and eat frozen dinners on the couch. Now it meant Maren and her mom ate frozen dinners and the empty house nearly swallowed them up. Shivering, Maren focused on the rest of Imani’s solo, hoping the sequins and dazzle would push the shadows out of her brain.

A prickly beard brushed the top of her head, and she yelped. “Dad! I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s because I’m stealthy.” Maren’s dad tiptoed over to the coffee table and spun around, waggling his fingers like a magician.

“Scott!” Maren’s mom snatched an antique jar filled with dreams away from her flailing husband. He thumped down onto the sofa and let out a tired groan.

“Did you hear about the Green and Fresh?” he said. “A bunch of angry wasps came swarming out of the rosebush.”

Maren shuddered and instinctively looked for her bag, where she kept an EpiPen. Even though she hadn’t been stung in years, she remembered the terrifying sensation of her face swelling up, her throat closing in, her breath turning to a thin wheeze. The sickening panic of slowly suffocating.

“A bunch of people got stung,” continued her dad. “They ended up having to close the whole store and call an exterminator.” He gave Maren a reassuring pat on the knee. “Good thing you weren’t in there today, Mare-Bear.”

Maren gulped and nodded. She rewound Imani’s solo to take her mind off insects like wasps and bees. It seemed deeply unfair that such dainty little creatures—some of which made things as lovely as honey—could potentially kill her.

“You’re sitting on the Sterling brochure,” said her mom, pulling the pamphlet out from under her husband’s leg.

“Please don’t send Hallie to Sterling,” said Maren. “I don’t want that lady knowing where she is.” Hopefully there would be no need for Sterling or any other facility once Maren’s dreams started curing Hallie, but she didn’t want to risk it.

Her mom let out another gust of sad air. “It’s one of the best facilities in the area. Maybe she was just trying to help.”