Carol extended her arms, gesturing elaborately. “She obviously got a good deal! I’m surprised she didn’t bargain for a Buy One, Get One Free. I could’ve filled one, I nearly died when I found out about this shithole.”

“And you still buried her here?”

Carol sighed. Pulled out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Popped one out and inserted it into the tight slit of her mouth.

“People don’t make good decisions when they’re mourning,” she said, and exited the car.

I exited after her.

We walked slowly as Carol lit up. Released stressful drags like sighs into the overcast air. Mostly, I was trying to follow her without looking like I was trying to follow her.

“Are you trying to inhale my secondhand smoke?” she asked. “Is that what the kids are doing these days?”

“Uh,” I said.

Think, Ezra, think. Ask a question.

“What did you think of my dad?” I said.

“Oh, well,” said Carol, rearing her head back slightly. “We’re having this conversation now, are we?”

“I mean, you don’t have to answer if you don’t—”

“No, no, it’s fine. Roscoe Jones is the sort of man I’d call an ignorant cur. He was rugged, and masculine, and adventurous, and stupid, and he swept your mother away like a monsoon. I loathed him. Still do.”

We arrived at the tombstone. It was a simple affair—small, monument-style, galaxy-black granite. The words were carved and pale: JOSEPHINE “JOSIE” JONES.

The years were surprising.

Namely, the second year. I did the math in my head—just to make sure it was as suspicious as I thought it was.

Seven years ago.

She died seven years ago.

The year of the first eclipse.

“How did it happen?” I blurted out, tactlessly.

Carol looked at me curiously. “You know how it happened.”

“I’d like to hear it from you.”

Carol gave a beleaguered sigh. Dropped her cigarette and stomped it out. Pulled out another one.

“It’s simple, really,” she said, lighting up. “Your father was driving drunk. Both you and Josie were in the car. He blew past a stop sign and got T-boned by another vehicle. It hit the passenger side.”

She took a long drag.

“By the time the ambulance arrived, Josie was dead.”

I felt the puzzle pieces snapping into place in my head.

“And Roscoe was arrested,” I said softly.

I realized my mistake—saying Roscoe instead of Dad—and nearly cringed myself to death. But Carol didn’t even blink.

“Arrested and charged with reckless homicide,” she said. Every word was sharp and embroiled in justice. “Sentenced to five years in prison. No parole.”

God. Damn. It was all starting to make a devastating sort of sense. Why he was following Wynonna. Why she wanted nothing to do with Roscoe.

Because Wynonna was all that he had.

Because Roscoe killed her mom.