She finds herself thinking back to high school, a Canada Day spent watching the fireworks from Hillcrest Park, the entire city gathered on a humid summer night with their kids and their dogs and their blankets and their picnic baskets, and Katriina and Shawn sitting under a tree, passing back and forth a bottle of Old English in a paper bag. She was wearing a sundress she had bought at Eaton’s with her own money earned babysitting the girl next door. Shawn had been working for a landscaping company, and he always smelled like cut grass, his arms and legs tanned to a deep brown. It wasn’t even their first date, or the first time they had sex, or the first time he told her he loved her. It was just a random night, malt liquor on their breath, the warm summer air on their bare skin, their entire lives in front of them, achingly promising. It just might have been the best moment of their relationship. If Katriina had known that then, she would have left him under that tree and never looked back.

As she opens the kitchen window to let out the smoke, she hears a squeaking noise behind her. But it is just a cabinet door she has left open, creaking to a close on a rusty hinge. The ghosts have gone, she knows, and it is a good thing, the right thing, the sane thing. And yet, she can’t help but feel a tiny twinge of regret.

“I’m still here, Claudia,” she whispers. Just in case.

—

Later, Katriina drives to Victor Street to pick up Tommy and Petey. She’s not sure yet where she’s going to put them, but she has decided that they shouldn’t stay there, not after everything that has happened. They all need a break from the Parkers, including her children. On the drive over, she tries to figure out what she is going to tell the boys – about Shawn, about the house, about how they are not, in fact, going to have a little brother or sister. By the time she arrives, she has decided she will not tell them anything. Not yet.

There is an unfamiliar car in the driveway. One of the girls’ friends, she thinks, anticipating a flurry of activity as soon as she steps through the door. But the house is quiet, quieter than she has ever known it. She can hear the soft rumble of the television in the living room, but not much else. There is a stack of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, but otherwise the room is spotless. Even the floor looks freshly mopped. There is no sign of any kids. There is no sign of anyone.