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“She’s a pain. ”

“So are you. ” Jolene saw how Betsy’s eyes widened, and she smiled gently. “And so am I. Families are like that. And besides, I know what this is really about. ”

“You do?”

“I saw how Sierra and Zoe treated you this morning at school. ”

“You’re always spying on me,” she said, but her voice broke.

“I watched you walk into school. That’s hardly spying. You three were best friends last year. What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said mulishly, pressing her lips together, hiding her braces.

“I can help, you know. I was twelve once, too. ”

Betsy gave her the you-must-be-crazy look that had become familiar in the last year. “Doubtful. ”

“Maybe you should hang out with Seth after school tomorrow. Remember how much fun you used to have?”

“Seth’s weird. Everyone thinks so. ”

“Elizabeth Andrea, don’t you dare act like a mean girl. Seth Flynn is not weird. He’s my best friend’s son. So what if he likes to wear his hair long and if he’s … quiet. He’s your friend. You should remember that. You might need him one day. ”

“Whatever. ”

Jolene sighed. She’d seen this movie before; no matter how often she asked, Betsy wouldn’t say anything more. Whatever meant the end. “Okay. ” She leaned forward and kissed Betsy’s forehead. “I love you to the moon and back. ”

The words were the slogan of this family, their love distilled into a single sentence. Say it back to me, Bets.

Jolene waited a moment longer than she intended and was immediately mad at herself for hoping. Again. Motherhood in the preteen years was a series of paper-cut disappointments. “Okay,” she said at last, standing up.

“How come Dad’s not home yet? It’s your birthday. ”

“He’ll be here any minute. You know how busy he is these days. ”

“Will he come up to say good night to me?”

“Of course. ”

Betsy nodded and went back to reading. When Jolene was to the door, she said, “Happy birthday, Mom. ”

Jolene smiled. “Thanks, Bets. And I love the journal you gave me. It’s perfect. ”

Betsy actually smiled.

Downstairs, Jolene went into the kitchen and put the last of the dishes away. Her dinner—a rich, savory pot of beef short ribs braised in red wine and garlic and thyme—bubbled softly on the stove, scenting the whole house. The girls hadn’t loved it, but it was Michael’s favorite.

Wrapping a soft pink blanket around her shoulders, she poured herself a glass of soda water and went outside. She sat down in one of the worn bent-twig chairs on the porch and put her bare feet on the weathered coffee table, staring out at the familiar view.

Home.

It had begun with meeting Michael.

She remembered it all so clearly.

For days after her parents’ deaths, she had waited for someone to help her. Police, counselors, teachers. It hadn’t taken long for her to realize that in her parents’ deaths, as in their lives, she was on her own. On a snowy Wednesday morning, she’d wakened early, ignoring the cold that seeped through the thin walls of her bedroom, and dressed in her best clothes—a plaid woolen skirt, Shetland sweater, kneesocks, and penny loafers. A wide blue headband kept the hair out of her eyes.

She took the last of her babysitting money and set off for downtown Seattle. At the legal-aid office, she’d met Michael.