“Mom, why’s the back door open?” Zadie said, panic constricting her throat. Had someone broken in? She wheeled around to make sure there wasn’t a stranger lurking behind her. Realistically, she knew her mom had probably just left the door open to let in some fresh air and forgot to close it, but if that was the case, then where was she? Zadie stepped onto the porch and looked out at the yard. It was that time of evening right after the sun has gone down, when everything is tinted blue, like looking through a piece of cobalt glass. That’s why at first the figure Zadie thought she saw moving at the far end of their yard was nothing more than a trick of the light. It was only after a few seconds of squinting that she recognized her mom’s gait.

“Mom!” she called after her. “Where are you going?”

Nora must not have heard her, because she was swallowed by the jagged shadows of the trees. Zadie hesitated. She wanted to follow Nora. She wanted to know what could have possibly driven her out into the night without a word, but that would mean leaving Finn alone in the house. The most sensible thing she could do would be to go back inside, lock the doors, and watch TV until her mom returned. But Zadie was seventeen, and seventeen-year-olds are not always known for making sensible choices.

She shut the door behind her and took off running after Nora. When she reached the edge of the woods, she called for her mom, but her words were swept away by a sudden gust of wind. Then out of the corner of her eye: an apparition. In a clearing at the edge of a ravine, what looked like a statue of her mother had been erected. If it weren’t for her hair blowing wildly in the wind, Zadie would have believed Nora had been turned to stone.

Zadie felt a hot surge of fear in her chest as she tentatively made her way toward her. “Mom? What are you doing out here?”

The statue—her mother—did not answer. As Zadie drew closer, she realized just how close Nora was standing to a precipitous drop into the ravine below. Silhouetted against clouds that bloomed violet like bruises, Nora bore a striking resemblance to a heroine on the cover of a Gothic novel. The cliff edge was her widow’s walk, and it was unclear whether her sorrow would move her to jump.

Zadie’s heart was a drumbeat in her ears. “You’re scaring me, Mom,” she said unsteadily as she inched closer, afraid that any sudden movement might startle Nora out of whatever trance she was in and cause her to lose her footing. Her mom didn’t acknowledge her presence. She continued to stare out at the horizon, the dividing line between flight and flightlessness.