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So, we didn’t. We talked until our voices were hoarse. We made love again, this time slow and soft, and when we were done, lying next to each other, she whispered into the darkness next to me.

“I love you, Blake Harrington. Do with that whatever you want. But just know I’m happy knowing I could trust myself enough to say it.”

I swallowed, my throat strained.

Even if she didn’t expect me to say it back, I could still feel the hurt radiating off her. But the longer the silence grew, the more impossible it got to say anything reasonable back to her. So, I didn’t say anything. I kept quiet, feeling like there was a knife in my lungs. I waited until her breathing stayed, her body fully limp against mine. Then I kissed her hair—her Kelly McGillis hair—and lifted her arm off me.

Then, I was gone.

* * *

I didn’t sleepfor the hour-long journey by taxi to the airport in Burlington—an hour and fifteen, including stopping at the pool house to collect my things. Instead, I scrolled my phone, going through my personal emails for the first time in weeks. I’d neglected anything not related to Harrington or The Rolling Hills. Or Cassandra.

We were exiting the highway to the airport when I saw it—an email from my nephew Arthur.

I didn’t know he had an email. It was in the spam folder; I’d only caught it because his name jumped out at me when I’d been about to tap the trash button.

Hi Uncle Blake,

I wanted to tell you something funny, and Dad let me make this email account just so I could send it to you (he also said it was time and I should have one even though I said I can send messages on Minecraft).

We were visiting Grandma yesterday, right after my ball game. I was still wearing my uniform and everything. Dad never makes me change it right away, like Mom does. And when she saw me, she said HI BLAKEY, HOW WAS YOUR GAME? DID YOU BEAT THE BOOGIES?

I didn’t know what she was talking about except that she said boogies, but when the nurse came, Dad said she thought I was you, when you were my age. I think I look like my dad, but I guess I look like you!

Anyway, Dad thought I should tell you. I miss you and hope you can come for camping this summer if you’re back. Say hi to Aunty Lila.

—Artie

I lowered my phone to the seat next to me, blood rushing in my ears.

The boogies was something Mom used to say to me when I was worried about playing a good team at baseball.

They all have boogies, Blake. Just like everybody else.

I’d thought it was hysterical—as 10-year-olds clearly still do—and it used to make me feel like the opposing team wasn’t so untouchable. When she couldn’t be at my games, that’s what she’d ask me.Did you beat the boogies?

“Sir?” the cabbie asked.

I startled—we were on the on-ramp to the passenger drop-off area.

“Yes?” I said, my voice coming tight and gravelly. My throat bobbed with something prickly.

“I said, International or Domestic?”

The boarding pass on my phone was for a flight direct to Heathrow. But the word came out before I knew what I was doing. “Domestic. Please.”

I was going to lose Persephone by doing this. But right now, I didn’t care.

* * *

Mom’s homesmelled like antiseptic and fresh-cut flowers. It was as familiar as it was jarring. So was seeing her face as I stepped into the room.

She was young—so much younger than the other patients on this floor. Her hair still had brown streaks in it; her hands were still smooth and steady.

“Hello,” she said, smiling. She had one of her romance novels in her hand.

My heart had already cracked open, but now it was like a piece fell right off.