Until, one day, during a time when my mother had been more quiet than usual, distracted and sad, he told us there were going to be changes to the house. “A master suite, for my bride,” he said. “It’s going to be out of a magazine, Miriam. You will hardly believe it.”

“Will it have a ceiling?” I asked.

He laughed. “Of course. And a floor—marble. And an en suite bathroom with a spa tub and gold fixtures.”

“Will the whole house have a roof now?” I asked, thinking of the nights I spent shivering.

“Patience, Mila,” he told me. “Good things take time.”

I gasped, surfacing. I was on my hands and knees, panting in front of the woodstove—too hot, too close. I crawled to the door, desperate for air, and managed to stand long enough to open it and stagger out.

I had what I wanted now. The market with Billy and Liz. Lee’s trust, Terry’s and Julia’s friendship. The little ones asked me for help when they needed it, showed me their creations, told me their funny ideas. Even Jackson and Emma and Hunter seemed to like me. I had a home there. I didn’t need to go back—not ever, not even in my mind. I could live among the ghosts. I could watch them and respect them and not need to understand.

I was leaning against my cabin wall, alone in the dark. I would find my way back to myself. Soon, my heart would calm, beat by beat. It had to.

I took in a breath. Smelled metal. I looked around for the rusted wheelbarrow or a stray bucket, but all I saw was the path and some grass and the gravel. Slowly, I lifted my hands to my nose.

The scent of coins on my skin, unmistakable.

A cry escaped me.

How I’d clenched them in my fist.

How desperately I had hoped.

Coin in the slot, over and over.

“Mila?” It was Liz, walking toward me in the dark. “Are you okay?”

“Something is wrong with me.” I was shaking so violently my teeth chattered. No way to hide it. “I don’t know what it is.”

“You’re scared,” Liz said. “That’s all. Come with me.”

I followed her to her cabin, which was just like my own. Billy was there, too, blowing out a match, closing the door of the wood-burning stove.

“Sit here,” Liz said, pulling her chair in front of the fire. She draped her quilt over my shoulders.

“You can talk to us,” Billy said, sitting at my feet.

“We’re here for you,” Liz said, settling beside him.

“I won’t make any sense,” I said. “I’m having these memories. They swallow me up. And something is after me.”

“Why do you think that?” Liz asked.