Nate’s greatest discovery was a secret hideaway. Twenty yards past the dunes, close to the marshy shore, groups of trees cluster together to create hidey-holes perfectly sized for small children. When Nate stumbled on one of these shady spaces, he dubbed it Hawkins Cove in honor of Jim Hawkins from Treasure Island, a book he loved.

My brothers and I spent entire days at Hawkins Cove, which we called HQ. To reach the trees, we had to pass through thick reeds that grew as tall as our shoulders. Nate dreamed up complex missions where we snuck supplies (blankets, Doritos, a Magic 8 Ball) from enemy territory (house) past the DMZ (dunes) down to HQ. But our favorite game was my idea, one I’d stolen from Lawrence. We’d lie down and close our eyes. “Tell me a story, Cassie,” Nate would say. “Make it epic.” But where Lawrence offered family lore, I spun wild stories that starred three brave siblings who banded together to save the world.

Hawkins Cove was our secret. So was Epic Story. We played for years, probably longer than was age appropriate. Having secrets connected and comforted us, especially after Nate and Billy went to boarding school. (Had I not already lost one family, I would’ve gone too.) Even when we’re at odds, under the surface, we’re as entangled as any natural root system. Which is why, hours after we return from the park, I feel an urgent need to be with Nate. I wait until the house is quiet and then steal into his room.

My brother’s chest is massive, and as I burrow against him, I’m reminded that it’s been a long time since I’ve had a man’s arms around me. The room is pitch-black, except for a sliver of light that washes over his face. I adjust my breathing so that we inhale in unison, our chests rising and falling as if we share one set of lungs, a single beating heart.

“Tell me a story, Cassandra,” he whispers. “Make it epic.”

I pause for a moment. “This is Billy’s story,” I say quietly. “William Quinn is the smartest, most handsome boy ever. He meets Diana Holly, a dangerous witch disguised as a beautiful girl. Unaware of how cunning she is, he asks her out on a date—”

“Flash-forward. How does it end?”

“The jury is about to read the verdict when Nate and Cassie shout, ‘Billy Quinn is innocent!’ The case is dropped. Diana Holly gets punished. The Three Musketeers prevail.” I pause. “Plausible?”

“Christ, I hope so.” Nate touches my hair.

“How does the story really end?” My eyes are closed. “You tell me.”

“They go to the beach.” His voice is dreamy. “They run down to the edge and jump in the waves. Then they float out to sea, never to be heard from again.”