It’s been a little over a year since the sinking of the Titanic, and every single newspaper article I read from last April flashes in my mind. All those bodies, frozen in the middle of the night in the North Atlantic. Some of the more macabre girls at school are still talking about it over breakfast.

Maxine laughs. “You truly think we couldn’t scam our way onto the lifeboats.”

The fizzy excitement of seeing Oliver dissipates as the nerves bubble back up. “I wouldn’t bet my life on it.”

I’m mostly joking, but the prospect of spending six days floating out at sea has my stomach turning.

I still can’t stand the sight of water. This is the first time I’ve been this near the river since Helen, Finn, and I dumped a man’s body into its depths nearly two years ago.

How time flies when you’re repressing the memories of the murders you once committed.

Mabel rises up on her tiptoes to give us both a kiss on the cheek.

I’ll miss her, but I think she’s probably secretly glad to have our room to herself for the next month. I haven’t been sleeping much lately, and though she’s too kind to tell me, I’m sure my tossing and turning is keeping her up.

From out of the open driver’s-side window, I take her hand in mine. “I’ll miss you terribly. I promise to send so many postcards you’ll drown in them.”

She preens. “I can’t wait.”

“Don’t let the little girls sleep in my bed while I’m gone!” I shout over the roar of the engine kicking to life.

“You know I’m a pushover!” she yells as she pulls away, disappearing into a cloud of dust and down the street.

Maxine and I bend to haul our trunks to the awaiting ramp.

Then, from out of the crowd, as bright as the rising sun comes a face I’ve missed deep in my bones. One I haven’t seen since she left Haxahaven on a cold Tuesday two Decembers ago.

There are some things that don’t change.

Lena’s smile and the relief it brings me is one of them.

I run through the crowd, not caring how it looks to others, and fling myself into her arms.

She hugs me tight and together we sway, basking in the relief of being together once more.

“You are never allowed to leave again,” I say.

“You hate being alone with Maxine that much?”

Maxine collides with us, throwing her arms around both our shoulders. She laughs, but I know she feels it too, the completeness of being a trio once more.

This is how it’s supposed to be, a homecoming. There are elbows and laughter and someone might be crying a little, but none of us will admit to it.