The man responded but their voices were even more muffled now, like they’d moved farther back into the apartment. Whitney couldn’t make out anything anymore.

“What was the last thing she said?” Whitney asked Natalie, who had also been listening intently, ear to the door.

“Something to the effect of you already figuring out what an asshole Jay is.”

A young man stepped into the hall, plastic bags dangling from his fingers.

“Must be their food,” Whitney surmised.

Natalie grabbed her arm. “Okay, then we need to get outta here.”

“Or, we could use him as a way to talk to them again,” Whitney suggested.

Natalie shook her head firmly. “There’s no way you’re getting any more information out of those two.”

You just keep your mouth shut, okay?

Keep her mouth shut about what? Whitney wondered as Natalie tugged her down the hall.

“Let’s just go downstairs and regroup,” Natalie said in her “boss” tone.

Nodding, Whitney allowed herself to be guided down the stairs. When they got to the little park area, Whitney leaned her back against the metal fence around the pool. The air smelled like chlorine, pulling her mind into the past. To summers. To swim meets. And all the way back to when Amelia was a toddler, running around the pool in her neon bathing suit. The way she’d push the little water wings up her scrawny arms, trying to secure them in place. How she’d have to chase Amelia around the pool, trying to slather sunblock on her between jumps into the water.

Natalie’s phone rang. “Oh, it’s Kayla,” she said before answering. As Natalie spoke, she walked in a zigzaggy line across the grass. Natalie was never able to stand still while talking on the phone.

Whitney turned, staring into the water of the pool. It was warm today, but maybe not warm enough for a swim. The pool was empty, the surface still, sunshine shimmering on the top. She tried to picture Amelia here, drinking, partying. But instead she saw herself as a teenager, sitting with her best friend on a lounge chair sipping beers and talking about boys. Until recently, Amelia had been so different from how Whitney had been as a teenager. More responsible. Levelheaded. And Whitney had been lulled into the illusion that her daughter would never give her the grief she’d given her parents.

“Whit?”

She spun around to face Natalie. “Yeah?”