Poppy thought of the last thing she’d seen before she left that morning: Brad standing in the kitchen in his sweatshirt and flannel pajama bottoms, his hair messy, cleaning the dishes from the dinner he’d made the night before—he even cooked and cleaned! He seemed so right for the house in Milwaukee, and right for the Cape house, too. Jesus, was that love she felt when he’d looked up at her and smiled? The pang of tenderness, coupled with desire, was so powerful that she had to look away, almost shy.

Not love. She couldn’t.

She reminded herself of aparigraha, the virtue of nonattachment. She liked to think she was capable of practicing this in all aspects of her life; she ate moderately, and when she thought of buying something, she’d think: Will this bring me peace? Longtime happiness? The answer was usually no, which was how she could travel alone and lightly, just her and her pack. But Brad—even his toes were perfect. She smiled.

No! Do not attach! Do not become bound to a person or a thing. Do not get caught up in outcomes. Do not get weighed down with energetic baggage. Do not, do not, do not. Aparigraha.

She wished she could suggest this fifth yama to Ann and Michael, whose angry voices were still rattling her head from the night before. But then she thought that maybe, just as Brad brought her peace and happiness, so did the house—after all, she’d been coveting it herself. But there was something different about her siblings’ greed; it had more to do with each other. Their desire wasn’t rooted in possession but in jealousy or betrayal, implying the other couldn’t have it. What went on between those two? Poppy suspected that even they didn’t really know.

She needed to meditate.

She lowered herself to sit cross-legged on the beach, detaching first from comfort, trying to ignore the cold dampness beneath her. She straightened her back, set her hands palm-up on her knees, and concentrated on her third eye. It had been a while since she’d done this, but her mantras were still accessible. She invoked an old meditation to clear energy and began to hum in kirtan, touching her index finger to her thumb: sa-ta-na-ma-da-sa sa-say-so-hung. She inhaled and waited for the ancient sounds to work their magic. Again, on an exhale, she touched her thumb and hummed: sa-ta-na-ma-da-sa sa-say-so-hung.

She heard Michael’s and Ann’s voices. She replayed the events of the night before in her mind, her complicated feelings for her sister. Admiration. Guilt. Love. Tension.