It was all she could do not to say that it wasn’t a choice, it wasn’t a choice! Instead, she took a deep breath. “So, what kind of work did you find out here? Are you at that yoga place by the lumber store?” Ann tried hard, for Noah’s benefit, to strike a tone that was calmer, kinder, but instead she knew she sounded fake, falsely cheerful.

“Oysters,” Poppy said. “I’m oystering. I like it. And the pay is pretty great.”

“I’ll bet it comes with a terrific benefits package.”

She could hear Poppy’s breathing slow down, as if she were trying to calm herself. “Do you have to be a bitch?”

“Seriously, what if you get sick?”

“Sick?” Poppy said, her head tilted. “Like, if I get, say, Alzheimer’s?”

The word slipped out of Poppy’s mouth as unexpectedly as a dove from a magician’s hat.

“I had to hear it from Brad. He’s the one who told me Mom was sick.”

“So now you know,” Ann said. “And what difference does it make? Really, Poppy, is it my job to tell you everything?”

What Ann really wanted to say was: “I didn’t think you’d care.” She had to be careful, though. She needed to tread softly with her sister, at least until the house was worked out.

“You could have said something,” Noah said.

“Well,” Ann said, “I thought Dad told you.”

“He didn’t.”

“He probably didn’t want to upset you, or make you feel like you had to come back.” Ann tried to be clinical, matter-of-fact. She used her work voice. But she couldn’t stand to see the crushed look on her sister’s face. She could tell tears would come next, and Ann didn’t want to deal with Poppy’s tears, not after everything. It was all she could do to hold it together herself. “It set in fast,” Ann said, her voice softer. It was hard to think about the panicked phone calls from her dad. “Like really fast. They weren’t even sure it was Alzheimer’s. There’s nothing you could have done.”

“I just wish I knew.”

“But why? You were an ocean away. I was the one who talked to them every day. They told me every little thing, like how warm their showers were.”

“You love making me feel guilty, don’t you?”

“I’m not making you feel anything.” But Poppy was right. It was horrible and petty, Ann knew, but she did want Poppy to feel guilty—or something, because, deep down, her extended absence felt like an extended rejection.

Poppy said, “This is our house. It belongs to us. All of us.”

“Amen!” said Noah.

Ann said, “Suddenly you’re nostalgic.”

“Well, suddenly Mom and Dad are fucking dead. Excuse me for having feelings about that.”