A curious crow watches them from its perch on top of a huge red pine as they swing the barrel back and forth, back and forth, until Nicki nods and they let it go. About halfway down, the barrel bounces into the edge of the cliff and gets caught in the branches of a tree, swaying precariously as the tree tries to balance its weight. Finn holds her breath. Come on, she thinks.

“Come on,” she hears Nicki say softly beside her. “Come on, come on.”

The crow caws loudly, taking off from the pine, startling them. Then a branch snaps and the barrel falls free, tumbling the rest of the way down the cliff into the river. They watch in silence as it disappears under the water for a moment before bobbing to the surface and floating serenely downriver towards the lake and whatever lies beyond. Finn doesn’t care where it ends up. Just let it be gone.

“I ended things with Dallas,” Nicki says, her eyes still focused on the barrel.

Finn stares at her, unsure how to respond. Nicki’s back is straight, her chin tilted upward slightly, as though she is daring the world to throw something else at her. Nicki has always faced the world as if bracing for impact, and she’s clearly expecting resistance from Finn now – a rant about how stupid she is, a withering I-told-you-so, a punch in the face.

There are many things Finn wants to say, and she knows that, eventually, they will have to talk – about Dallas and Ross, about their mother, about the future. About everything. But for now, she takes Nicki’s hand. Her fingers are ice-cold, but Finn doesn’t let go.

—

“But why, Mrs. Parker? Why did you do it?”

“Everyone keeps asking me that. Why? It’s as if you don’t already know the answer.”

“Well, Mrs. Parker, I don’t think we do.”

“Everyone wants to be remembered for something. That’s the only reason for doing anything in life – to be remembered, and to be worth remembering. For people to know you were here, you existed. Something like this…well. People will remember it. Even if I don’t.”

—

“Hexad. Double word score.” Finn lays her tiles down carefully, lining the edges up perfectly with the square outlines on the board. “Forty points.”

“That’s not a real word,” says Kate, frowning.

“Yes, it is. It means a group of six.”

Kate fiddles with her tiles. “You know so many words. And I only know a few.” She looks up, her face brightening. “I know a hexad!”

“I’m sure you know more than a hexad, Mom.” Finn gets up to make some tea. “Take your time,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’ve got nothing else to do tonight.”

Finn had, in fact, made plans to go visit Alyssa and her baby girl that evening. When Kate first suggested they play Scrabble, Finn hadn’t taken her seriously.