“Thanks,” Wren’s voice calls from inside the car, where she’s grabbing the dogs.

I lean down to pick up the book, which is titled When She Disappeared. The cover shows a woman’s face half-hidden by a door, blood dripping on her cheek. I snicker.

“What?” Wren says, now standing in front of me.

“You read thrillers?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, not giving a single crap about the dogs spinning in circles at her feet. “So what?”

“Nothing, I just…wasn’t expecting this.”

The lift of her brows is a question in itself.

“I pegged you more of a romance type.”

She huffs a laugh with a slight roll of her eyes. “I’d rather be scared or thrilled than read fairytales, thank you very much.” In a quick move, she steals the book from my grip.

I grin, though I’m sure I must look puzzled.

Starting to walk in front of me, Wren twists the conversation 180 degrees. “I promise I won’t be in the way. You won’t even notice I’m here.”

I hurry behind her. “I told you it’s no problem. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

“Thank you, but still. We’ll be discreet, and I want you to send me the bill for—”

“Wren,” I deadpan. “Stop it.”

She only stares in response, the dogs never stopping their jiggling at her feet while none of her muscles twitch.

“It’s the least we can do,” I add.

She opens her mouth—to argue, I’m sure—but the sound of a door slamming shut makes us turn toward my parents’ home.

“Whose dogs are these?” my little sister shouts as she comes running toward us.

“Mine,” Wren answers, her carefree expression from this morning gone, but a small smile still succeeds in pushing through.

“Callie, what are you doing here?” I ask as she reaches us and drops to her knees in front of the white dog. It’s close to 10:00 a.m. on a weekday.

Not bothering to look up, she says, “Huh?” As if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. The little girl I knew as my sister is gone and has been replaced by a preteen in a matter of weeks.

“School, Callie,” I say.

Beside me, Wren tries to take a step back toward the cabin, but the dogs don’t budge, only bothered with Callie.

Still avoiding my eyes, Callie says, “Dad had his speech-language-something this morning, and Mamá had forgotten about it, so they had to leave in a hurry.”

Fuck.

“Why didn’t you take the bus?”

“It was too late by then. Ma was supposed to drop me off.”

Double fuck.

“I think we’ll…go,” Wren says softly, pulling harder on the leashes.

Callie looks up then, pouting dramatically. “Can you stay a little longer? Or maybe I could babysit them sometimes?”