Fiona stopped and turned. “Keenan? Jesus, he hasn’t come back to see you, has he?”

“No. I haven’t talked to him since he was at the house.”

“Okay, good. There’s something else I need to tell you.” She hesitated, took a breath before continuing. “It might be nothing, and I don’t want to be a tattletale, but...do you remember a guy called Dave Decato?” I didn’t answer and she sighed. “It would’ve been easier if you did. Okay...when your dad passed, Maya went off the deep end...”

“She told me,” I said, my familial defenses and protective instincts rising. “I think it was completely understandable. She went through a lot back then.”

“You both did,” Fiona said quickly. “But this Dave guy? He’s a dealer. A sneaky little son of a bitch who somehow manages to fly right by the cops’ radar without ever getting caught. Anyway, I saw Maya with him the other day.”

“Are you sure? Where?”

“The old cemetery. It could’ve been nothing, or a coincidence they were there at the same time, or... I just thought you should know. Listen, she was into weed back then and it’s legal here now, but you may still want to have a talk with her, check if—”

Something came flying in our direction, and before I had time to react a soccer ball bounced off the back of Fiona’s skull. She cried out and dropped her bag, spilling the contents across the ground. I crouched down, helped her pick up her things as the ball’s owner, a little girl with a smattering of freckles and two missing front teeth, ran over.

“Sorry, ma’am,” she said, turning deep red. “I really, really, really didn’t mean to.”

Fiona laughed. “It’s okay, I’m fine. Quite the kick you’ve got there.”

“Thanks,” the girl said with a giggle, grabbing her ball and speeding away.

I turned to Fiona. “Look, I appreciate you telling me about Maya. I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

She nodded. “I’ll see you soon. Take care of yourself, and Lily. She’s lovely, and I hope you don’t mind my saying, but I’m rooting for you guys. You look happy together.”

She gave me another nod, and as she walked away, something multicolored and sparkly by my feet caught my eye. It was a postcard, a glittery picture of a monarch butterfly. I picked it up and turned it over, saw the Boston postmark from years ago. I read the handwritten message, the letters full of loops and swirls.

Dear Fiona and Keenan,

I’m in Boston and everything’s fine, but I don’t think I’ll ever come back. Take care of each other.

Love,

Celine xoxo