Benny and Laura’s house smells like warm earth and herbs, and I always sink into it. Planters line every window and ledge, dripping with mint and rosemary. Thyme and basil and oregano. Laura stares out the window while misting them with a sprayer. She plucks mint leaves and rolls them between her thumb and index finger, releasing the scent even more. The long green cloth she wears knotted over her head falls into the herbs and speckles with water and soil on the end. She pushes it over her shoulder and grips onto her walker to move to the next one. The floor creaks under her, as it always does in the old Victorian house.

She’s thin. Probably lost five pounds in the last week. I always think she has nothing more to lose, but every week is proof we have more to lose than we know. I’m looking for something else in her face now too. A reflection of who she was all those years ago when she stood next to Rosemary and my mother. But it’s hard to see the smiling girl in the picture.

I tuck away my phone, still smiling a little from Dean’s texts, and slide into a seat at the sky-blue kitchen table painted with yellow flowers. A tented book sits in front of Laura’s chair. Your New Life. A doctor with thin glasses smiles next to the title. I’ve never known Laura to read self-help books before. But more are stacked in the middle of the table. Stepping Forward and Reclaim Your Mojo.

When the plants are misted, she sits like every joint in her body aches, and sets her hand over mine. “It’s been a while since you’ve visited me by yourself.” There’s no judgment in the tone, but my chest still caves. Especially with thoughts of what I’m about to ask her. Maybe Benny was right that she doesn’t need to be bothered with these things. The last thing Laura needs is more complications.

“Is Renee here?” I ask instead of attempting a harder question.

Laura takes her hand from mine and shakes her head. “She came home early from her shift and then went out to lunch. I thought she was with you.”

I raise an eyebrow at Renee leaving her mother to fend for lunch. A bowl of wilted lettuce sits on the counter. It’s hardly touched.

“She should go out,” Laura says. “She shouldn’t have to stay here babysitting me.”

I trace one of the yellow flowers on the table, the petals wide and the paint so thick I can feel the edges under my fingertip. “She doesn’t look at it like babysitting.”

Laura smiles thinly. “Well, that’s what it is. But they shouldn’t worry so much. I’ve been doing better, actually.”

I let out the breath I’d be holding. “That’s wonderful.”

She pulls the end of the scarf over her shoulder, absently fingering the ends just like Renee sometimes does with the tips of her hair.

“I’ve been reading a lot of these books.” She nods to the stack of self-help books.

“Do they help?”

“Sometimes.” She shrugs one shoulder. “You’ve got to do something, right?”

“Me?”

She tilts her head slightly. “All of us. There’s no easy path through. We’ve got to take the help where we find it and keep stepping forward. Maybe this one”—she taps on the book tented in front of her—“won’t have the answers I need. But maybe one of the others will. Everyone’s answers are different.”

“Answers,” I repeat. “That’s why I’m here, actually.” Nervousness winds around me and fumbles with the staggered words in my mind. Benny’s right. I’m selfish and unkind and can’t think beyond my own invisible prison. But I can’t let this go. The questions will eat at me.

So I let out a breath that contains words I’m terrified of saying. “You knew my mother.”

She stills. Her index finger taps the book. Her gaze flips to the chives. A car drives past, and the clock in the kitchen ticks an even rhythm.

“Yes.” She rubs the side of her neck with thin fingers.

I want to crawl under the table and away from my own questions. But there’s nowhere to go but forward. “What do you remember about her? The things she did. The way she would flip so suddenly. The reason she left…”

Laura tilts her head, still staring at the windowsill. “I’m not sure anyone knows exactly what your mother was thinking.” Her eyes are watery green, like lily pads floating an inch below the surface. They alight on me. “No one could have, Ella. And—”

“You knew me too.” The truth crashes into me. “Before she changed her name. Before she left town with us. You knew us when we were little.”

Laura presses thin fingers to her lips and nods.

“Were you friends?” I ask.

“You don’t want to know.” She leans forward, her eyes still watery, but somehow also certain. “It’s in the past. She’s going to be… where she is for a long time.”

I brace my hands flat on the table. Painted yellow flowers look up from between my fingers. “You don’t know that.” I consider telling her about my mother’s pleadings, but it’s still such a long shot that I don’t know if I should worry her with it. “Why did she change her name?”

“The past is useless. Think about today instead.” She places a cold hand on mine. “You have to let it go. When I said answers, I didn’t mean these kind. I meant for yourself.”

“I can’t let it go,” I say. “My mother. My brother. They aren’t just part of the past. She’s still alive. And Anthony is out there somewhere.”

“Laura?” Benny’s voice winds from the front of the house. The door shuts before he shuffles through the living room. He stops in the kitchen doorway with an armful of baguettes. He crosses and sets them on the table between us.

“What’s wrong?” He hardly notices me. His hand falls on her shoulder, his eyes focused on her. “What is it? Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m fine,” she says, but her voice trembles. “Ella came to ask about Mira.”

He leans down to wrap his arm around Laura, staring at me from over her head. “I told you not to ask.”

“I had to.” I reach out toward them.

Benny shakes his head. “But I told you. I…”

Laura sniffles.

“Get out,” Benny says quietly.

“What?” I blink at him. I couldn’t have heard him correctly.

“Get out of my house.” The words resolve as he repeats them. The hardness from earlier fills up his face.

“Benny, I just had some questions. I didn’t mean to—”

“Leave.” He says something low in Laura’s ear and releases her. His finger shakes as he points toward the door. “Get out of my fucking house.”

“Benny,” Laura says sharply. But it’s like he doesn’t hear her at all. He’s glaring at me. Flipping the way my mother used to.

My legs push back the chair, and it scrapes across the floor. I open my mouth to explain. For seven years, Benny has been steady and kind. I don’t understand what’s happening now.

“Benny.” I say his name softly, hoping that it will bring him back to himself.

He grips the table, veins popping out of his arm. He shoves it forward, and it slams into my thighs. Baguettes roll onto the floor. I let out a surprised breath and catch my balance. Just as I do, he slams the table forward again, knocking me backward into the wall. I brace my hands behind me to keep from falling.

“Stop it!” Laura grabs his wrist and yanks it down to her. It must hurt her, because she lets out a small groan. But that also seems to wake up Benny.

His hand falls on her shoulder in a protective arc. I don’t think he’d harm her, but now I’m not so sure about me.

Laura gives me him a confused look and then turns to me. “Please just go.”

I shake my head. So confused. “Will you be—”

“Get out,” he orders. No kindness lingers in his voice.

He… changed. Just like my mother used to.

Run.

My mother’s voice echoes in my head. Laura’s eyes tell me to do the same thing. This time, I listen to them.

I run. Out the front door and past the tire swing and away from the old Victorian house and the people who took me in with no questions. Away, away, away.