“Oh, sorry. Yes, I am here to take Oliver.”

“Where are you taking him?” Then I hold up my hand. “Actually, don’t tell me. I can’t think about it.” I swallow and shush the baby. “Where are his parents?”

Jake slaps what sounds like a file against the desk. “Well that’s the damnedest thing, Bec.”

“What?” My heart lurches.

“We recovered the mother’s name.”

“And?” I ask. I brace myself for what he could possibly tell me. “Who is it?”

“Her name is Rose Watson. And she’s dead.”

41

CRYSTAL

Crystal pulls over to the side of the road, then turns and climbs into the back seat with Savi, who gives a surprised cry.

Savi looks to the third row behind them, shrouded in darkness, and up toward the now empty driver’s seat. “What are you doing?”

“Talking.” She takes Savi’s hands, twists her body until she’s facing her daughter, and looks into her eyes. “I want you to talk to me.”

Savi pulls her hands away and folds her arms against her chest. “About what?”

“About Dad.” She gestures toward the back seat. “About everything.”

Savi’s chin trembles only for a moment. “We don’t ever talk about that.”

Crystal closes her eyes. She’s made so many mistakes. Sure, she’s been in therapy, but what about Savi? After Dr. Gibbons saw her a few times, Savi begged not to go back and she didn’t want to push her. But she should have. There was a window for grief—a window to deal with unhealthy thoughts formed about relationships, especially for kids. Why hadn’t she fought harder these last few months to make sure she was getting the emotional support she really needed?

Savi uncrosses her arms and picks at a loose thread on the seam of her dress.

“That’s my fault,” Crystal says. “I want to talk about that. I want to know what you’re going through, how you’re feeling. Do you talk to anybody?”

Everything starts crashing into Crystal. Savi doesn’t have a best friend here—or any friends, really. She turns to her cello in times of crisis, or to magic, or to Pam. Pam, who just disappeared in that crowd like a puff of smoke.

As if in confirmation, she shrugs. “I talk to Pam sometimes. But she doesn’t know what it’s like. And Ms. Rebecca. She makes me feel better.”

Her heart wrenches. “It’s important to share how you’re feeling, even if it’s not with me.” She hesitates, unsure of how to frame her next question. “What about if we got you into some sort of group with other kids who’ve lost parents too?” She strokes her short brown hair.

Savi shakes her head, hardens again. “I don’t want to talk to other kids. I just want…” Her voice fades and Crystal waits for her to say more.

“You just want what?”