Rebecca knocked on the door of Alexa’s room the day after the funeral. It was ten thirty in the morning; the day was shaping up to be cruelly, unfairly perfect, with the sun resplendent and the air dry. Rebecca knew that Alexa would have preferred rain.

She expected Alexa to be asleep but she was sitting on her bed, fully dressed, in shorts and a tank. Rebecca was carrying a plate of Ritz crackers slathered with peanut butter. She didn’t think Alexa had eaten since the funeral, and maybe not before. When Alexa was young, this was the snack that could draw her out of a bad temper or disappointment.

Rebecca had a very strict no-eating-in-the-bedrooms rule, and Alexa’s eyes shot up in surprise when she noted the plate.

“I know,” Rebecca said, interpreting the look. “I made an exception. Extenuating circumstances.” She put the plate on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed. Alexa moved over to make room for her.

What to say to her brokenhearted daughter?

By the time Rebecca had gotten back to the house on the night of Brooke’s party (it had been no easy task to find a sober driver who could access a car), she felt like she’d had fourteen separate heart attacks. Esther’s uncle, who worked for the Newburyport Police Department, had been the one to let Esther know a white Acura had been involved in an accident. Until they had more details, naturally Rebecca thought it had been Alexa driving the Acura. Alexa hadn’t answered the phone the first dozen times Rebecca had called, in her mind confirming her very worst fear.

“Listen—” said Rebecca. She found Alexa’s calf under the blankets and laid her palm against it, flat and firm. “Listen,” she said again. “Sweetie.” Her voice was authoritative, but she had nothing to say and no confidence that she’d be able to come up with anything. They sat like that for a moment, mother and daughter, until Alexa spoke.

“It’s my fault,” she said.

Rebecca had anticipated this. She was ready. “It’s not your fault, honey. It was an accident. You weren’t driving. You didn’t give Tyler the keys. It’s not your fault.”

Alexa looked straight ahead, not at her mother. She hardly blinked. “But if Cam hadn’t met me, he’d still be alive.”

“Oh, honey.” Rebecca’s heart twisted for Alexa. “Honey,” she repeated. “You can’t think like that. You can’t let your mind go down those rabbit holes. There is absolutely no point to it.”

“But it’s the only way I can think! I can’t think any other way. I’m just lying up here, thinking and thinking and thinking.” Alexa’s face crumpled and she began to cry—first tentatively, then harder and harder.