When I leave the patch of moonlight, I feel light again, as though a strong wind could blow me apart. I have to mentally pull myself together before moving into the dining room. There’s no moonlight here to play in or mice to scare, and it’s got a shadowy, hollow feeling that I don’t like, so I keep going.

Wanting to try going even farther afield, I will myself up the stairs.

It’s dark up here, but I can still see everything clearly. The doors to our bedrooms are closed, but my parents’ room sits open, and the gentle breeze moving through the hallway pushes me in that direction.

It’s obvious from the state of the bedroom that we left in a hurry. There are still clothes in the closet and things scattered across the dresser top. Right on cue, the sight of the room brings on the memory of our departure that last summer.

We packed up only the clothing we could carry, filled garbage bags with the remaining food, which would be taken to the dump, and then loaded my mother’s boat until it sunk low in the water.

Before the exodus, my mother sat me and June down at the kitchen table. Her hand shook slightly as she lit a cigarette, and her eyes glistened with what looked like unshed tears. She disappeared briefly behind the smoke from her first exhale, and when she reappeared, the tears were gone and all that was left was firm resolve.

She explained, quite matter-of-factly, that she and my father had gotten into a fight the night before, a big fight. She told us that he’d threatened to leave and then stormed off into the woods. She’d woken up early in the morning and looked everywhere for him, but he was nowhere on the island and his boat was gone.

“I think your father has left us, girls,” she said, before stamping her cigarette out in the ashtray on the table.

June sat in stunned silence. Sour bile surged up from the depths of my stomach, and I rushed to the bathroom to avoid puking all over the kitchen floor. My mother followed me in, locking the door behind her and kneeling down on the floor beside me.

When I pulled my head from the toilet, I fell against her and began sobbing. I expected her to hold me, comfort the tears away, and then clean me up before we went back out to face June together. She did none of that.