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Lucille shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“We could—well. Grab a drink sometime. Or a coffee. If you’d like?”

Lucille chewed on her lip. She felt the familiar stirring recall of that early summer night over thirty years ago when their eyes met across the dining room table, but the memory was fuzzier and held less power now. “I probably will. I’ll let you know.”

After they hung up, she stared at the counter for a long moment and then brought one of the cups to her daughter’s room.

The door was ajar. Lucille shuffled in and squinted against the light. Madeline was tucked into the sheets, her arm curled up underneath her cheek. She used to doze like that as a baby, and that memory tugged at Lucille so sharply that her eyes started to well. Lucille used to work on evidence files on the floor next to Madeline’s crib while she slept, as if nothing could ever disturb her.

She set the cup of hot water on Madeline’s nightstand, next to a roll of gauze, and tucked a loose end of the blanket over Madeline before she made her way back to her laptop in the living room. She then did what she had done every night since she came home from the hospital. First, she sent a text to Rennie’s phone, which she knew was probablyfutile. Next, she sent an email. An email should reach her sister, wherever she was. Maybe Rennie just needed time to process. Whether that took days, or weeks, or months, Lucille would try to be patient. And understanding. And hopefully, one day, when Rennie was ready, she would respond. Then, Lucille vowed to herself, she would apologize and try to undo the hurt she’d caused. She would finally make things right.

MADELINEeventually found her way back to San Francisco in the fall. Things had slotted into place slowly. First, she took two months to heal. In October, she interviewed for a job with a climate nonprofit over the phone and got it. The rest followed: a sublet through a friend of a former classmate, and then a move that Ma insisted on helping with, since Madeline didn’t have her full strength yet. They took I-5 all the way up. They stopped for gas when they passed through somewhere around LA, and while Ma paid she kept glancing around. Madeline knew why.

“Where do you think she could be?”

Ma adjusted her sunglasses. She was still a little sensitive to light. “I don’t know. She always… sometimes it’s hard finding her. One time in the nineties, she drove across the country with a band and I didn’t know until she showed up on my doorstep in San Francisco. Or there was a time she gave up her landline and moved apartments and no one in New York knew where she was until we found out she was in Paris.” She shook her head. “I don’t know where she’d go after jumping out a window, though.”

“She seemed okay,” Madeline said. “I mean, she was running.”

“At least there’s that.” The gas pump released. Ma jammed it back into the nozzle. “Let’s keep going.”

They passed the exit to??’s house, and Ma’s hands tightened around the wheel as they sped on. Madeline had no idea what it looked like now. Had the vines swallowed it? Did the garden lay still? It was easy to quell her curiosity. Her nightmares were enough.

Her new place in San Francisco was a yellow Victorian house. She had two roommates and a small room with a bay window. Ma helped her get set up. All those years her mother had left Madeline to move on her own back and forth from college, and now she’d blown all hervacation days helping Madeline put together her bed frame and furniture. Before she left, she’d wordlessly reached for Madeline and held her for a long time with such force it surprised even Madeline.

A week later, Madeline started her job. The stitches came out and the wounds faded into raw, raised scars, which puckered and stretched across her arms and legs. She took the train to the beach with her friends. She found her favorite vantage point from Mission Dolores Park, and sat there with a book to watch the sunset.

One day in mid-November, she looked up from her book and saw someone walking toward her. Nora Deng grinned. Madeline’s heart leapt to her throat.

“Hey.”

Madeline set her book down. “Thanks for meeting me here.”

“Of course. You knew I was around.” Nora was dressed in a collared shirt and slacks. Her once-cropped hair was longer and half pulled up.

“How’d your interview go?”

“Okay, I think. I tried to keep it cool.”

“It’s a really good school, right? UCSF?”

“Only my top choice. I probably jinxed it by saying that.” Nora pulled a corduroy jacket around her shoulders. It was getting dark and cold.

“I personally think you’re a shoo-in.” Madeline leaned back against the grass. “You’ve already saved lives.”

Nora smiled to herself. “I’m not sure where I can list pulling someone out of a haunted house on my applications.”

“Well. You kept me from bleeding out.”

“You were in a bad state. I was really scared for you. I thought it sliced your femoral artery.”

Madeline remembered the excruciating, persistent pain afterward. Her entire body tensed up, but she tried to keep her voice light. “See? You know what you’re talking about.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“Why did your mother save mine?” Madeline knew her mother wondered about that question, obsessed over it, even.

Nora looked at her. “I don’t know,” she finally exhaled. “I guess she felt like she needed to.”