Uncle Daniel and Stella—Rose remembers that after Izzy died, Daniel, chronically underemployed, would stay at the house with Mel when Flynn was managing trade shows in other cities. No warm fuzzy memories soften the few mental snapshots she has of Stella.

Not like those she has of Izzy. Izzy died. Rose had remembered that Isabelle—Izzy—was dead, but that memory was as a headline, news, no personal connection.

This remembering is visceral, a soundtrack of laughter and weeping over a flash flood of images: a lovely woman tickling a baby, choosing little dresses, leaving for work in green scrubs, blond hair in a ponytail. Then chemo and hair loss; Izzy making a game of buying and wearing wigs to help her daughter cope. Izzy being relentlessly cheerful and upbeat. Too many images to see; Rose feels them like a bloom of butterflies. Even dead, Izzy is love. Tears run down Rose’s face. She is glad the playhouse is dark.

“Like there was ever a time they were not fighting,” Mel continues. “But this one was World War Z meets The Battle of the Titans. Stella comes here when she gets a mad on, and I have to listen to it. You’d think by now she’d be finished ranting. Remind me never to get married.”

“Daniel is married to Stella,” Rose says. Stella is Rose’s other step-daughter-in-law. Another scrap of the past falling into place.

“They split up almost a year ago. Don’t you remember?” Mel asks too gently.

Don’t you remember? The three scariest words in the English language. Rose doesn’t. “I’m remembering a lot of things,” she says defensively. “Not everything, but a lot.”

By the faint light from the windows, Rose sees her granddaughter tilt her head back, graceful as a lily, her face toward the low ceiling. “Well, it’s old news. Or should be. Uncle Daniel left her the house. It’s a rental, but she got it, and all the stuff in it, but she keeps turning up here. She wants more money. I think she’s taken some of Mom’s things. Little things, clothes, makeup, like that, but still…,” Melanie says.

Fury at Stella flushes through Rose, waking her up. It is followed by annoyance at Flynn. Nearly two years. It was time he put away his dead wife’s things.

“Stella says she comes when Dad is gone because Uncle Daniel is too lazy, stupid, mean—you pick the adjective; she’s used them all—to look after me. Like Stella cares for me!”

“I care for you” is all Rose can think to say.

“I know,” Melanie sighs.

“I’d hide in the playhouse, too,” Rose says.

“You are hiding in the playhouse.” The caution is back in Mel’s voice. “Gigi, are they looking for you? If you’re still sick, they’ll have to take you back with them.”