Except it turned out to be impossible to find enough unbroken shells to fill up the entire lamp. Eventually, they’d both gotten frustrated, so Mitch had found the rest and set it up. Annabelle had figured he knew some special, protected spot where all the shells stayed whole, but then last spring, she’d finally asked him where he’d gone.

“I bought them at one of the gift shops in town,” he’d admitted. “You wanted all of the shells to be perfect, and there was no way to find enough.”

You wanted all of the shells to be perfect.

Had she really wanted that? Or was it Mom who’d thought her shell lamp wouldn’t be beautiful if it was filled with broken shards?

She took off the shade, unscrewed the cap on top of the base, and set Kelsey’s at the top, turned so she could see the chipped edge.

Then she sat there on her bed, staring at that broken shell and remembering the way Mom had pushed away her plate when Annabelle had asked what would happen if she lost her financial aid. As if just the possibility made her lose her appetite.

She wondered what her dad would say about her terrible report card. He wouldn’t have gasped like Mom had. He hadn’t been a good student—he’d told her that tons of times.

But he had no idea she needed accommodations and learning plans and tutors. None of them had known, back when they still lived in New Jersey. Back then, she didn’t read the highest-level books, which had letters from the end of the alphabet on their spines, like T, or U, or V. But she didn’t read the very lowest-level ones, either.

Mom had always said she’d be able to read at a higher level if only she’d practice more. Build her “reading muscles,” in addition to her swimming ones. Mom kept giving her paperback copies of the books she’d loved when she was a kid and waiting for the “reading bug” to bite, but then Dad would say it still hadn’t bitten him and he was fine.

Except he hadn’t been fine, it turned out.

But maybe now he was?

Maybe now he was a bit like Kelsey’s shell—chipped at the edge from everything that had gone wrong but mostly whole? Mostly okay?

If you ever want to see me. That’s what his letter said.

But did she actually want to see him?

Was she a terrible daughter—a terrible person—if she didn’t?

She opened the top of her shell lamp and turned Kelsey’s shell around. She wasn’t so sure she could handle looking at the chipped part anymore after all.

Chapter 7

The next day, Mitch drove Annabelle to her first high school team practice.

“Knock ’em dead, kiddo,” he said when he pulled up to the curb.

Then he blew her a kiss, which she caught. It was a little bit silly, the kiss-and-catch routine, but they’d always done it. Ever since they’d first met, when Annabelle was in third grade. Her parents’ divorce was just final then, and Dad lived in an apartment where there was almost no furniture and everything was white: the walls, the carpets, the fans that spun from the ceilings, even the fridge and kitchen cabinets. Mom said he wasn’t really up for decorating. But he was still up for seeing Annabelle most Saturdays back then.