I close my fingers over it. How did it get here? A powerful shiver travels across my shoulders. Maybe it fell out of one of the shoe boxes when I was going through things the other night. Maybe my mother hid it just like she did the ring. My mind works fast, coming up with logical explanations.

I go to the closet and get the wooden jewelry box down. Taking the ring out, I loop it over the watch strap and fasten it, then put it on the dresser. I’d had a lot of wine that night when I was going through the closet. I make another note to self not to drink too much wine. I have to keep my wits about me; there’s just too much stuff coming up on Avril Island for me to be fuzzy-headed.

How mature and level-headed of you. Makes me proud. I once again hear May’s voice in my head, half-mocking, half-serious, the kind of comment that would have elicited a little slap on the arm from me, and then we both would have laughed. I wonder if I’ll do that until the day I die—hear her voice respond to my thoughts and imagine I see her in the middle of the night in patches of moonlight. Part of me hopes so and part of me really hopes not.

Finding the watch has made me even hungrier for answers. I go to my mother’s closet and choose one of her plainer dresses and a pair of her shoes. As I survey myself in the mirror, guilt starts to creep in about what I’m about to do, but I push it away. It will just be a quick visit, just a few questions, no harm done.

On the approach to Ezra’s dock, the guilt resurfaces, but I don’t turn back. I make sure his utility boat isn’t there, meaning the coast is clear, and then very carefully dock my own boat.

Willa is sitting in the same spot at the living room window. She watches me approach, her face unreadable, no acknowledgment of my arrival. I knock twice and then push the door open and let myself in.

“Willa?” I call out. There’s no answer, so I move deeper into the house. “Can I come in?” Still no answer. Only once I’m in the living room standing in front of her does she look away from the yard to greet me—a curtain seeming to lift from her gaze, bringing her back to the real world.

“Ah, June,” she says, and my heart sinks. I really thought she’d think I was my mother, given how I’m dressed and what happened the last time. “What a nice surprise,” she says. “So lovely to have visitors.”

“Is this a good time?” I ask. She nods with enthusiasm and gestures toward a chair by the window. “How are you doing today, Willa?”