My mother will be released from the hospital in four days, against the wishes of Dr. Angela, who thinks she should stay in for a month or more. But that’s Mary, always in a rush. As long as she stays on her meds, I think we can handle it. This time, I will know when her appointments are and what she’s taking. This time, I will be sure she stays on track.

The staff all agree that she is unbelievably lucky. If the paramedics had been even a minute or two later, they might not have been able to resuscitate her. But I know the truth. I am the lucky one. We’ve been given a third chance at a life together. What do they always say? Third time’s the charm? Life with Mary may never feel charmed, but I am grateful all the same.

Gary is staying at our place in the meantime. He offered to take me out and finally buy me the real bed he’d been promising, but I decided I liked the sleeper sofa. Daniel is helping me register for school, which starts in a few weeks.

I hope Moony knows that my mom isn’t here because I wanted it to just be us—as we were with no secrets and no sordid histories—as I remember us, one last time. I hope so, but I don’t say it.

The strangers have stopped visiting me since the night in the cathedral. I half expected to meet one at the Mississippi when we arrived, but the water is free of ghosts today. I went back to Izora Jo three days after my mom’s overdose. I took her the jar she gave me and told her I didn’t need it anymore. I asked her to speak to the spirits, to thank them for me, and to tell my big sister that I was sending Moony to her. She crossed her arms, chuckled low and deep, and told me I could tell the spirits those things myself.

I brought the jar with me today, and now I pour it into the water after Moony’s ashes. The Mississippi doesn’t protest.