“You were quarreling in an open room.”

“An open room? It was a private discussion.”

“Well, could’ve fooled me. You were having it out in front of everyone.”

The purple is darkening to black. I watch the houses as we zoom by them. The lights in the windows—all the people inside. I wonder how many of them are missing sisters. Or mothers. Missing someone. Anyone. My missing sometimes makes me feel like the loneliest person in the world.

“Cora London?”

“Yes?”

“Are you simply going to flat-out ignore me, honeybee?”

“I don’t feel like talking.”

“Yeah, but you need to talk, baby girl. You know I only push and prod you because I love you, right?”

“I miss her,” I say, and I can feel the tears collecting in the base of my throat. “I miss her so much.”

“I know you do, baby,” Grams says softly. “We all do.”

I wipe my eyes, but it doesn’t help. More tears come. This is the trick with Grams. She starts out tough. She never talks to you like you’re a little kid. And somehow that toughness chips at you until you become doughy enough to talk. I never think it’s going to work, but it almost always does. And once you are dough, she softens.

“I think I might be a bad sister because I’m talking to Quinn again.”

“No, honeybee. You aren’t a bad sister.”

“How do you know that?”

At the next red light, I meet her eyes in the rearview mirror. Grams and I have the same eyes. It’s the only physical feature we share. She says they’re my mom’s eyes, but I like that they come from her. Mabel had the same eyes, too. It was something we all shared.

“Maybe I don’t know. Maybe I just think.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. You can’t think something you don’t know.”

“Sure you can.”

The tears sting my eyes. “Well, that isn’t comforting. I want you tell me I’m not a bad sister. Can you at least do that?”

“You aren’t a bad sister, baby. You’ve never been a bad sister, not one day in your life.” She lets out a deep sigh and steers the car through a sharp turn. “But have you ever thought that maybe it’s okay to sometimes not know things?”

I stare out the window. I wrap my arms around myself and keep looking outside for answers.

Twenty

Quinn

Dear Parker,

Did you know I draw? I used to only draw pictures in my mind, but I’ve started to actually sketch things on paper.

I can’t tell if I’m any good at it yet, but I like it.

I keep thinking about what I would draw for you if I had the chance.

Your sister,

Quinn

The air today smells cold and stiff. It feels inflexible, which I don’t think is a good sign, but I try to push that thought away.

I shove my hands into the pocket of my coat as I head toward the giant oak tree. Cora won’t be there this afternoon, but I still want to pay it a visit on my walk home.