Crystal searches for Beth’s baby … Trevor, if she’s remembering right. Bec has filled her in on the attachment parenting thing. She looks at her, confused. “Where’s your little one?”

Something flashes across Beth’s face, then vanishes. “Oh, he’s at home. I didn’t want to subject him to all the noise.” She looks between them. “Are you meeting Bec?”

Crystal shakes her head. “I haven’t heard from her, actually. Have you?”

“Not today.” Beth dabs her forehead. “Hot, huh?” She turns toward the parade and waves at someone. “I’m going to meet up with some friends, but it was great to see you! And you, Savi. I’ve got my eyes on you.” Beth motions to her own eyes and then at Savi. She squeezes Crystal’s forearm and then bounds off down the street to join a fit group of women in matching yoga pants. They all carry lattes. Crystal watches their easy banter and longs for the same. How long has it been since she’s belonged to a group? Since she’s met up on a weekend to grab brunch and just enjoy the company of other women?

She brushes aside the pointless thoughts and turns to Savi. Except Savi isn’t there.

“Savi?” Fear constricts her breathing. “Sav?” She scans the street left to right, but there’s no sign of her. She steps off the curb as the last of the parade rushes by. Suddenly, everything’s too loud. She attempts to get her bearings. She turned away for what—maybe a minute? She searches the stalls around her, full of trinkets and local finds. Savi is good at hiding, but she wouldn’t just run off in a parade unless there was a reason.

Crystal reads the names of the shops across the street. What could have caught Savi’s eye? That’s when she sees it: the music shop on the corner. Without paying attention, she charges through the middle of the street, ramming into a tuba player who almost loses his balance. His feathered hat goes flying and she stoops to pick it up. “Sorry!” she yells behind her.

She yanks open the door and spots the back of Savi’s head before the door even closes behind her. She calms herself—it’s all okay, she’s okay—before laying into her daughter. Savi is pushing limits lately—the hair, the fire—but running off is never okay. Crystal is still her mother. There are still rules, even in grief.

“Savi Turner, what do you think you’re doing?”

Savi pivots, her eyes wide and seemingly innocent. Smeared chocolate sticks to the corners of her mouth, making her appear younger than ten. Her hand hovers above a shiny cello. “I wanted to look at the instruments.”