Chapter Twenty-Five

IT IS MORNING AND FARtoo early for music. Especially this kind of music. Every time Sam's wife plays Jimmy Buffett, she questions her choice in women. Still, she watches with a half-smile as Valerie dances around and sings something about being a cheeseburger in paradise to their daughter, Mia. She gets why. It's a clear day. No clouds in the sky, and the sun is a bright yellow disc. A storm whipped through last night, fast and furious and gone by morning.

It is the type of day Coldwell lives for. Valerie too. She's from Florida and is constantly shivering in Coldwell. But today, she is smiling and playing Jimmy Buffett, and has ditched the thick wool sweater for a thinner shirt, still long-sleeved, of course. Sam leans a hip against the kitchen counter and yawns. Mia has been on a five a.m. wake-up schedule for a while, with a nap precisely at nine a.m. Sam does not mind. She has always been an early riser. It started when she learned seal pups were usually on the beach at sunrise. She'd wake up the whole house before dawn, banging pots and pans. Her mom would strap Ellie to her back, and her dad would make coffee. They'd sit on the dunes in the tall grass and watch the seal pups bark and roll around, coating their rotund bodies in sand. That had been a golden time.

A knock on the door. "I'll get it," Sam says. She sweeps through the living room, turning the stereo down as she goes.

"Ellie," Sam says. Mia waddles up and grabs her pants leg.

"Hey." Ellie jams her hands inside her pockets.

"Come in." Sam smiles wide, slightly manic. She catches Valerie's eyes across the room. Her wife nods encouragingly. They have spent hours discussing Ellie. How to speak to her. What to say and not say. How to love her best. Ellie shuffles into the room, stopping in the middle. "I hope you don't mind that I came by without calling."

"Of course not," Sam says. "You want to sit?"

"Um, sure. Maybe just for a minute." Ellie balances on the edge of the couch. It took Sam a whole year to decide which one to buy. She thought Valerie might divorce her then. Sam worries a lot about making the right choices. How one choice cascades into the next, like dominoes falling. The anxiety multiplied after having Mia. She could not sleep for fear her daughter might stop breathing. Spent hours scrolling blogs about infant formula and the best swaddles.

"So, what's up?" Sam settles on the floor near Mia, doing that thing all moms do, finding toys on the floor to keep her baby entertained while maintaining eye contact with the adults in the room.

"Nothing. Just came to say hi," says Ellie.

"Hi," Sam says. People used to joke about Sam being like a second mother to Ellie. She fussed over her little sister, fed her bottles, blew on her food to cool it, held her hand when she first learned to walk. She could tell when Ellie was hungry. When she was tired. Then later, when she had a bad day at school, just by the look in Ellie's eyes. When she lost her virginity freshman year to some kid named Will, when she stole Sam's license; she could always sense change in Ellie. Daylight coming. Storms brewing. A sister can always tell. That is how she knows now that Ellie is lying, but she also knows Ellie is sad. She decides not to push it.

Ellie casts a glance around the house. "This is nice."

That's right. Ellie has never been to this house before. Valerie and Sam purchased it after Ellie disappeared. Sam had sobbed the day they'd signed the papers. Ellie was not there to be a part of it. Sam was moving on with her life, and the guilt threatened to swallow her whole.

Mia grows fussy. "Hungry," Valerie says, swooping up their daughter. "Better feed her before things take a turn. I'll go make her something."

"You know what?" Sam says, smoothing her palms over her knees. "Let's go out to eat. Let's all go out to eat. What do you say?" she asks Ellie, rising from the floor. Her knees pop. Since having a baby, Sam feels very old. Every time her joints creak, it's her body's way of confirming it.

"Um, no thanks. I'm supposed to meet up with Danny," says Ellie. Valerie lugs a diaper bag over her shoulder, and Mia squirms in her arms. Ellie's gaze flicks to Mia, her niece. "Can I hold her?"

A beat passes, and Sam casts Valerie a heavy look. "Of course you can," Sam says finally.

Valerie deposits Mia into Ellie's arms, and she dips with the weight. Sam's eyes grow misty. "She's heavier than I thought." Ellie's nose skirts over the top of Mia's head, inhaling. Sam's daughter smells like old cereal. She put some lotion on her this morning to cover it up.

They file outside. Valerie opens the car doors, and Ellie deposits Mia into her seat but doesn't buckle her in.

"I'll do that," Sam says. "You practically have to be an engineer to use one of those."

"Okay." Ellie stays crouched in the door for a moment, staring at Mia. Then she pecks her on the cheek and touches one of her springy curls. "Hope you have a great day."

Mia is buckled in, and Valerie is behind the wheel. Sam stands outside of the car with Ellie. "You sure you don't want to ditch Danny and come with us?" She slips her sunglasses on her face. "Or Val and Mia can go out. I can stay."

"No, it's fine. Danny's waiting on me." She jams her hands in her pockets again.

Sam leans on the running car. The engine is warm against her backside. "We should hang out soon, have a girls' night. Talk."

"Yeah, that would be good." Sam notes Ellie doesn't promise anything. But that's okay. There will be time, she thinks. All this hurting cannot last forever. Ellie gives Sam a slight smile. "Hey, do you remember when you couldn't find your license?"

Sam raises her eyebrows above her sunglasses. "Yeah? Cost me twenty bucks to replace it."

"You accused me of taking it."

"I did," Sam states with a ghost of a smile—sometimes bad memories become good ones.

"I took it," Ellie admits.

Sam makes a face. "Duh." Inside the car, Valerie has turned on a playlist of nursery rhymes. The sound bleeds through the windows. Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater, had a wife and couldn't keep her.

"I'm sorry." Ellie squints against the sun.

"It doesn't matter."

Silence ensues. Sam is not ready to say goodbye. The sun shifts. The nursery rhyme changes. Mia lets out a cry. "I should go," she says finally. "Thanks for stopping by. You headed home?"

"Yeah," Ellie says.

Their mom's car is parked along the curb. And through the glass, Sam sees an overstuffed backpack. Unease prickles her skin. Suddenly, Sam is having an odd sense of déjà vu. Of time repeating itself. The world moving in a circle. She shakes it off and smiles at Ellie. The worry about Ellie switches to Mia, who is fussing. "All right, see you soon."