Rahmia’s talking by the time she reaches me, gesturing to the SOLD sign in the yard next door, but all I catch is the last question. “Who bought it?”

I shake my head. “No idea. Michael thinks it could be an investment firm.” The house has been on the market for over a year, almost unheard of in our neighborhood. I don’t know how much money Lena and Brady had, but their lawyers can’t be cheap. The pool is filled in, the floors are redone, and both the number of drive-by gawkers and the price have decreased.

“Do you think anyone will live there? Maybe the company will rent it out or do short-term leases?”

“Probably someday.” I don’t tell Rahmia, but I looked into it. Even murder houses sell eventually, and people live in them. From Dahmer’s midcentury ranch to the Menendez brothers’ Mediterranean-style residence to the Blood and Money mansion in River Oaks, real estate recovers, and there’s always someone looking for a bargain. That SOLD sign is proof that the world keeps turning.

“I’m so sorry, Kacy.” Elizabeth has returned to the door, a table lamp in her hand, its harp and shade bent at a right angle. “Somehow he didn’t smash the lightbulb, but it won’t turn on anymore.”

“No worries. Michael will look at it later.” And Michael is recovering too. We visit Dr. Lindsey separately and together, groping our way out of the darkness. Once Michael decided therapy was the logical and necessary step to fixing our problem, he was on board. He still has nightmares, but now he turns to me and lets me wrap him in my arms. We share this life raft, and only by holding on to each other will we survive.

Rahmia and I follow Elizabeth into the kitchen and sit around the table. I’ve added a leaf so we can fit everyone who’s coming. Inés and Alondra are always late, but Rachael and her little girl Caryn should be here soon. And I’ve invited someone new, a woman I met at the last Bluebonnets meeting. Something about the guarded way she scanned the room, her tentative smile when I patted an empty chair next to me, the catty side-eye her nose ring was getting from some uptight women, made me think she needed a friend. Or at least the chance to make one.

Rachael lets herself in, and as her daughter Caryn twirls through the kitchen in a princess dress, I realize I didn’t lock the door after Rahmia. Some part of me still thrums danger, but there’s no point in locking it this second, when two more people are about to arrive. Rachael drops into a chair beside us and checks her phone. “Alondra said to call and she’ll video in when we’re ready to start.”