“They just love you and Willow so much,” she said. “And it kills me because part of me thinks I was so close to having that again. So close. But I don’t. And I know I’m the one pushing Roscoe away, and I know I’m the one who can’t forgive him, but… but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. You know? Of course I want a family! Of course I want a dad! But why does it have to be like this? Why does it have to hurt so much?”

I didn’t say anything. Words felt inadequate—my words most of all.

She looked at me with tearstained eyes. “Does that make any sense? Am I crazy?”

“You’re not crazy.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“What do you want?”

“Oh god, I don’t know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I know what I don’t want.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t want my motherfucking dad to go to Switzerland without me! I don’t want to go to Switzerland with him… but I don’t want him to go without me.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding—which is a weird, almost impossible thing to do with your head lying sideways on the floor. “Then let’s stop him from going to Switzerland.”

Wynonna looked at me quizzically, like I had proposed a non-option. “Can we even do that?”

“You’re Wynonna fucking Jones,” I said. “I was under the impression that you do whatever you want.”

Wynonna laughed and cried simultaneously. It came out in a single emotional burst.

“So?” I said. “Are we gonna stop your motherfucking dad from going to Switzerland or what?”

“Yeah,” said Wynonna—smiling, sniffling. “Let’s stop that motherfucker.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

THE MOMENT WE TOLD Holden and Imogen what we were doing, it was like we had extended each of them a formal invitation. It wasn’t even a question of “Can we come?” The only question was:

“Why does your dad want to burn Switzerland?” said Holden. “Is he some sort of anarchist?”

“What?” said Wynonna.

“Oh my god,” I said.

Imogen threw her long arms in the air in exasperation. “He’s moving to the city, Bern—B-E-R-N—Switzerland. Keep up, Holden.”

“Oh,” said Holden, slightly disappointed. “Dang. I thought this was like a stop-the-pyro-terrorist sort of mission.”

“Nope,” said Wynonna. “My dad’s just a chef. A food chef. He doesn’t cook meth or anything.”

Holden opened and closed his mouth during Wynonna’s clarification. I swear to god, if that was his actual question—!

“Dang,” Holden repeated. “Okay. That’s cool. I was just starting to feel like Jack Bauer from Twenty-Four, is all.”

“You can still be Jack Bauer,” said Wynonna. “Think of it as a… um… rescue operation.”

“Please, don’t encourage him,” I said.

“Rescue operation?” said Holden, totally perking up.