Before I’d left for Salishwood that morning, Francine gave me an Easter basket full of chocolate eggs and jelly beans. “You’re still a kid for another few months,” she said. “My last. Indulge me.”

I loved it more than I let on.

“Hey,” Sean called, walking fast toward me. “Look who I found!” And from behind him, Zola ran screaming toward me.

I knelt down and let myself hug her for real.

“I missed you,” she said into my shoulder.

“Are you still home?” I asked.

She shook her head. My heart sank. Back with the bad-penny lady.

“But I have a new social worker. Guess who?” She smiled, huge.

“No! Joellen?”

She nodded and whispered in my ear. “Joellen says she’s trying to see if I can live with my grandma, so I can still see my mom sometimes.”

“Would that be good? Do you want that?”

“Yes.”

“Well, listen, no one will work harder to make that happen than Joellen. She’ll do everything she can.”

“I know.”

“Things okay at the house?”

She shrugged.

“Is she remembering to take you to swim?”

“Sometimes. Will you help me find eggs?”

“I know where all the best ones are.” And we searched in the forest while I worked to remember her life was out of my control and to not lose myself in worry for her. I could not rescue Zola or any kid. I was barely going to be able to save myself.

When the eggs were found and the afternoon warm, she waved from the bus window, and I smiled and, flying in the face of common sense, blew her kisses.

In the late afternoon Sean walked me to Francine’s house. “That kid loves you,” he said.

My head hurt.

“She’s not home anymore,” I said. “I’m not supposed to tell you that.”

“It’s in the vault.”

“I feel guilty.”

“About?”

“Leaving her? That I’m here and she’s back with this woman who isn’t the best. Not the worst, either, just…”

“Not great?” he said carefully.

“Not great.” I’d never been so worried. Or more to the point, let myself admit I was worried. About Zola. About anyone.

Sean took my hand, and we walked. He didn’t tell me not to worry. Didn’t tell me it wasn’t my problem. And I knew if I’d said one word about launching some scheme to go to the city and rescue her, he would have either gone along with it or found a way to do it right.

“Thank you,” I said.

“For what?”

“Everything. Nothing.”

“You’re welcome?”

At Francine’s house I used my key and called out to Francine, who did not answer. “Want some water?” I asked Sean, on the porch taking his muddy shoes off.

In the kitchen I froze.

On the floor, half of him under the breakfast table, Terry Johnson lay still, eyes open, in a pool of vomit.

“Francine!” I lifted Terry’s head, held his face in my hands, and looked into his eyes. “Sean!”