Ash’s posture relaxed ever so slightly as she headed upstairs. Becca closed and locked the back door and checked the front door for good measure. She was headed back up the stairs when she heard Ash call down. “Okay if I crash with you and Freud tonight?”

There it was. Something was wrong. There was a time when Ash first moved in when she’d crawl into Becca’s bed. She’d mumble something about a bad dream and then drift off to sleep. Becca couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. She wanted to say something, but she didn’t want to make it a thing, didn’t want to see Ash roll her eyes and stomp off to her room.

“Of course. There’s always room for you,” Becca said. They settled into Becca’s king-sized bed, Ash on one side, Becca on the other, Freud in the middle. Becca switched off the lights but couldn’t sleep, all her anxiousness and uneasiness whirling around. She lay there for what seemed like hours, listening to Ash’s steady breathing. Becca turned to watch her, seeing the easy rise and fall of her chest. Ash stirred, and turned over, the sleeve of her hoodie slipping off to reveal her tattooed forearm.

Becca let out a quiet gasp, clocking a new tattoo, an intricately drawn eyeball, a sword piercing the center. She wasn’t sure what was worse, the disturbing image or the fact that Ash got this tattoo on her own without asking permission. Becca stifled the urge to shake Ash awake and demand to know when and where she got this.

It’s only a tattoo, she told herself. In the beginning when Ash first came to live with Becca, this tattoo would have been serious cause for concern. That was before rehab and countless hours of therapy. That was ancient history, she told herself. Ash wasn’t the angry, sullen kid she had been before. She was clean and sober. There was no reason to think anything was wrong. In fact, Becca could already hear her therapist’s gentle reminder.

“Sometimes things are as good as they seem. Don’t go borrowing trouble.”

Yet that nagging voice in Becca’s head said there was something going on. Becca wouldn’t ignore that voice. She’d done that before and it ruined her family, cost her brother his life. Becca shook away any thoughts of Robbie. This wasn’t about him. This was about Ash. Whatever was happening, Becca was confident they would find a way through. She squeezed Ash’s hand. Whatever’s going on, sweet girl, we’ll fix it together. You have my word.

MO

Mo’s mantra from the start was hard and fast: “No outsiders.” That was the only way to maintain the family’s integrity. She never should have forgotten the rules. Not for anyone. Not even Nate.

She stretched her legs against the fabric of her tent, her muscles tightening. She needed to walk and contemplate next steps. She pulled on a pair of old tan chinos and a faded black T-shirt and tied her hair back with her favorite tie-dyed scarf. There was a time in her life, years ago, when Mo obsessed over every article of clothing, dedicating hours toward skin care and makeup, working tirelessly to achieve perfection. Thankfully all of that was behind her. At forty-two, she was no longer a prisoner of Botox and waxing, and five a.m. gym sessions. She hadn’t even looked at a mirror in years.