TWO DAYS LATER, NONNIE PASSES away in her sleep. The doctor warned there was a chance this could occur, but I thought Nonnie was stronger than the odds.

Saylor and Peach were with her. Peach explained she’d been wearing her favorite headscarf, listening to her favorite music with some of her favorite people—that she really believed she was finally content. I believed that, too, but it isn’t enough to repair the slow ache of her loss.

I don’t go to school on Friday. Saylor holes himself up in the guest room with Wallis, and nobody disturbs him. I sleep on and off, hoping to wake up into a different world where I’ll see Nonnie and her sky-high hair rollers and with her red Freddie Mercury cape wrapped around her. I have to believe she’s somewhere good now. I hope she’s met the real Freddie Mercury. I hope he’s everything she imagined.

My dad and Peach make funeral arrangements over the weekend. I can’t seem to be in the same room with them without crying. Saylor quits his job and continues to isolate himself, not wanting to contribute to the funeral. He’s still in denial. We all are, I think.

Wallis keeps Saylor company, but he knows something’s wrong. I find him whining in front of the guest bedroom door, Nonnie’s room. When I open the door, I wish I hadn’t. I wasn’t ready for her familiar scent of rose and patchouli. It’s another aching reminder that she was here, and now she’s not.

Later, when I pass by the guest room, I notice Wallis has curled himself onto her hand-knitted blanket. His ears perk up when he hears me pass, but he lies his head back down when he realizes I’m not her.

My heart breaks for him.

The night before the funeral, I can’t sleep. When I close my eyes, I see Nonnie’s blue ones beneath her turquoise frames. I hate that I didn’t get to know her better, especially when she was so kind to me. She admitted her faults and hardships without hesitation, and all I tried to do was send her away.

Guilt and sadness cling to me like summer humidity. I’ve been stupid and selfish toward the people who care about me.

I wish I could talk to Grams.

Being back at Merciful Heart brought up the devastating memories of losing her all over again. She was such a huge source of comfort, and the deep expanse of loneliness without her here is gutting. There wasn’t a tough situation she couldn’t handle. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to be the strong one without her.

My phone reads 1:03 a.m. Since the dull emotional ache in my chest won’t dissolve, I decide to creep quietly downstairs. After Grams died, Dad put her clothes and linens in weatherproof storage containers and kept them in the garage. And right now, I want to be as close to her as I can.

I try not to make too much noise as I move aside my dad’s toolkits and boxes of Christmas decorations. The navy containers are toward the back, but something clinks loudly when I begin to pull the first one out. I discover the source of the noise, spotting a large handle of vodka rolling on its side.

Hot anger snakes through me. I have no doubt it belongs to my dad—a ghost of his past life he attempted to hide. It’s dusty and unopened, which makes me think he must have forgotten about it when he came back from the ranch.

Still, I can’t shake my anger and resentment. I was there. I was there for him the whole time. He didn’t have to drown his loneliness when he had me. We could have gotten through our grief together. I was his daughter, his support system, but he’d chosen this instead.

I’d spent the first month in Portland wondering if I should have reached out to him more or tried to talk to him more, despite Aunt June telling me otherwise. I was so sure I could have prevented his addiction. But that wasn’t true. No matter what different scenarios I created in my mind, the result would have still been the same.

Thinking about it makes me furious. After everything with Grams, it wasn’t fair that I had to watch my dad spiral.

How could he do that to me, knowing I was grieving for her just as much as he was?

I ignore the vodka, opening the tops of Grams’s storage containers. I’m hit with a scent that was remarkably her, and my anger is instantly replaced by tears. The memories of her—her cashmere sweaters and crocheted blankets and flannel button-downs—are here, abandoned and alone. She’s not coming back, just like Nonnie. This is all we’ll ever have.

The sorrow and guilt and shame lie thick under my skin. Maybe I couldn’t have done anything to change my dad’s trajectory, but I could have cared more about Nonnie. I didn’t have to give her such a hard time whenever she reached out. Her heart was so big, and I acted so terribly. Not only to her, but toward Saylor and Peach. Toward Alex. I was cold and ungrateful. Cruel, even. Nobody deserved the way I treated them.

Knowing I’ll never get another chance to get to know Nonnie or tell her how much I appreciated her brings back the bitter ache I’d felt when Grams passed. The anguished, miserable feelings I never thought I’d have to endure again.

The reality of it stings.

I slide into a sitting position on the concrete floor, then pick up the handle. When I crack open the top, the cheap, sharp smell hits my nose. But I don’t care. I don’t want to think anymore—about anything. Not Grams or Nonnie or Alex. I wish things had been different with each of them, but I can’t change the past. I can’t change anything.

Closing my eyes, I take a drink. My immediate reflex is to gag. This burns, and not in the good way. I lose grip of the bottle’s cap and it clangs to the floor, rolling away. I let it go and force another sip down. Then another.

“Kira?”

Before I can even think about putting the bottle back in its hiding place, Saylor steps out from around my dad’s car. I watch his expression drop as he looks from my eyes to the handle of vodka.

I feel all my defenses rise, but he surprises me by calmly sitting down next to me. “What’s that going to solve?”

My brain already feels foggy as I try and process my answer. “Not feeling like this.”

“Sad? Angry? Guilty? Confused? Lost?” Saylor rattles off everything I haven’t expressed. “I’ve been there, too. We all have.”

“Well I have more.” My grip tightens on the bottle. “Grams is gone. Now Nonnie is gone.”

There’s sympathy in Saylor’s eyes. “I know, and it’s unfair. But this?” He gestures to the handle. “It doesn’t help. You know it only makes things worse.”

“I’m fine.” I wish he would just leave. “Seriously.”

“You’re drinking alone on the floor in a dark garage,” Saylor replies. “I’d hardly say that’s fine.”

The emptiness in my chest expands, numbing my somber thoughts. I’m not acting like myself. This isn’t how Grams would want to see me coping—and neither would Nonnie.

“How are you okay with this?” My voice cracks. “She’s gone.”

“I’m not okay with it.” His eyes are heavy with sadness. “Are you?”

“No.”

His next words come out softer. “I didn’t know where I was going to go after Sober Living. When your dad extended the invitation to come here for a little while, I said yes because I knew Nonnie was coming, too.”

I hug my knees to my chest. “Why?”

“Our stories paralleled, in a way. We’d ruined relationships with nearly everyone around us, and we were all out of second, third, fourth chances.” He thinks for a moment. “She saw herself in me. That’s what she said. Wanted to make sure I succeeded in the ways she didn’t—not until the very end, at least. I knew if I came here, came with her, that I wouldn’t be tempted to go back to substance abuse. Because she made me believe in myself.”

Tears sting behind my eyes, making my nose run. I wipe it on my sleeve. “But what about now? Now that she’s gone?”

“Just because a person is gone doesn’t mean their impact is gone, too.” Saylor places a hand on the storage container. “The way you still feel your Grams’s love? I still feel Nonnie’s strength. Her resilience that encouraged me to be better. I’ll always carry that with me.”

Now I let my tears fall freely. “She meant a lot to you.”

When he looks over at me, I notice his eyes are red. “She did.”

We fall into silence, absorbing the comfort of each other’s company.

“It took me a long time to realize that you don’t have to go through the tough and terrible things alone,” Saylor finally says. “And your dad and Peach and I are here to help you through this, you know?”

I nod, trying to swallow the painful ache in my throat. He’s right. Sitting here in the dark with this giant bottle makes me feel horrible for abusing it in the same way my dad used to.

Saylor produces the vodka cap that had rolled away. “I’m not going to lecture you anymore. You already know everything I want to say about this.”

I take the cap from him. “How did you know I was out here?”

“I heard you. I couldn’t sleep, either.” He stands up, then offers me a hand. I take it. “Let’s go pour that out.”

I follow him into the kitchen, bringing the handle with me. I tip it over into the sink and watch as the clear liquid disappears down the drain. When it’s empty, he tosses it into the recycling. He doesn’t falter once, not even when he could have drunk it with me in the garage. His strength brings shame to me all over again.

It’s strange how, at one point, I wanted nothing to do with them. Despite what I thought, they’ve changed me in the very best ways. I didn’t know Nonnie for very long, but I’m glad I knew her at all. If she’s taught me anything, it’s that you should take time to get to know the people you care about.

I gesture outside. “Have time to talk?”

Saylor nods, and we walk to his hammock in the backyard. There’s a slight chill in the air. I tuck my hands into the sleeves of my sweatshirt.

“Please don’t tell my dad,” I say, my head fuzzy from the liquor.

“I won’t… as long as you promise to talk to one of us in the future.”

“I swear.” The tightness in my throat makes my voice small. I’m grateful and embarrassed, but if Saylor notices he doesn’t say anything.

“We can talk about her,” he says gently, “if it helps.”

I think back, wishing my dad had asked me if I wanted to talk about Grams after she passed. Instead he’d clammed up and turned to alcohol, just like I’d tried to do. And I don’t want to be the person he once was. I want to talk.

So I do.

“Was Nonnie her real name?”

Saylor tucks his hands behind his head. “No, but that’s an interesting story.”

He tells me her real name is Nancy and that she never had kids of her own. When her brother’s kids had kids they sort of adopted her as another grandmother. Nonnie’s part Italian, and Nonnie is Italian for grandmother.

I bet she made a pretty great faux-grandmother.

We stay out there a few more hours, lying side by side on the hammock. He tells me more about Nonnie—how she wore her Freddie cape to the top of the Empire State building. How she always told him she’d break a bone if she tried to do yoga. How she wanted to buy a house of her own so she really could save every dog in the Cedarville shelter.

I don’t ask about her life before Sober Living. That’s not the Nonnie I want to know, and that’s not the person she’d want me to remember. It doesn’t matter anyway, because in the end she was the best person she could be. That’s what counts.

I prop myself up a bit so I can see Saylor better. “I never apologized to you. About… how I treated you.” I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. For everything. You’ve been so good to me, and I’ve been awful.”

Saylor just looks at me. “Kira, I already knew how you felt—I knew you were sorry.”

I furrow my brows in confusion. “You did?”

“Your essay that I helped you with? About The Crucible? You weren’t talking about John Proctor. You were talking about you. And despite your existential crisis that’s clearly unrelated to John Proctor, I knew you cared about us.” He looks right at me. “And Nonnie knew, too.”

I sniff, and my next words come out watery. “Why have you always been so nice to me?”

Saylor leans back in the hammock. “We don’t just learn how to recover in Sober Living, you know. We learn how to be better people in general.” He gives me an amused look. “Plus, you’re like the younger sister I never had. I hope I don’t make your life too miserable.”

“I acted that way at first,” I admit. “But I don’t feel that way now.”

And for the first time in days, Saylor smiles.

Nonnie’s funeral takes place on Sunday, and it’s as unbearable as I thought it would be. The weather has shifted, bringing in a biting wind. I don’t know most of the people who attend, but my dad and Peach make sure to introduce themselves. I don’t feel like joining in on the politeness, not even when the casket is lowered into the ground and Queen’s “One Year of Love” plays.

I sit outside with Saylor and Wallis during the memorial afterward. I can’t make myself go inside and see all the pictures of Nonnie and meet the people who were in her life before me. It still makes me feel guilty. I should have tried to know her better.

“I’m going to head home,” I tell Saylor as we begin to see more and more people leave. “Do you want a ride?”

He shakes his head. He must be freezing, but he doesn’t complain. “I’ll wait for Peach, but thanks.”

When my dad was making funeral arrangements, I was afraid it would bring back awful memories of losing Grams. That was the trigger that made him seek absolution in alcohol. I kept a close eye on him, but he remained focused the entire time.

Trust.

I’m walking to the car when I hear a screech of tires in the parking lot. I look up, surprised to see Lin’s mother’s Explorer hurtling in my direction. Lin jolts to a stop beside me, then rolls down the window.

“I’m sorry!” she says, her voice rising in panic.

It’s unlike Lin to be in such a frenzied state. It puts me on edge. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes—well, sort of. Raegan’s mom is in labor!”

I feel my mouth fall open. I’d nearly forgotten her due date was near. “It’s happening?”

“It’s happening!” she practically shouts. “I tried to get ahold of you, but—”

I shake my head. I’d left my phone in my room before we came because I didn’t feel like being connected to technology today. Raegan must be freaking out. I can’t even imagine. She’s been anticipating this day for so long.

I run around to the passenger’s side. “I’ll go with you.”

Lin speeds all the way to the hospital. My stomach drops when she pulls up to Merciful Heart. It’s the largest hospital in Cedarville, so I should have expected Raegan’s family would be here, but it doubles my pain of losing Nonnie.

Lin parks and we run into the building, then we take the elevator up to the maternity ward. Whitney is standing in the waiting area, waving us over.

“They went back there half an hour ago. It shouldn’t be too much longer, I think.” She turns to me, taking in my black dress. Before I can comprehend what’s happening, she wraps me in a quick hug. “I’m sorry.”

When Whitney breaks away, Lin quickly says, “I’m going to find some coffee.”

I turn to Whitney, surprised by her warmth and sympathy. “Thank you.”

“I’m been so prideful and stupid,” she says, tears filling her eyes. “You’ve apologized and tried not to make things weird, and I held all that against you. And now you lost someone, again, and… it makes me so sad. It’s so unfair.”

I’m shocked at her confession. “It doesn’t matter, okay? We both messed up, but we’re here now.”

She sniffs, wiping her eyes. “God, sorry. I’m blubbering all over you when you’re the one going through a hard time.” She meets my gaze. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” I admit.

She hugs me again, this time not letting go as quickly as she did before. I let myself hug her back. I know she’s flawed—we both are—but I miss her. Even if we aren’t as close as we used to be, even if we’ve grown apart, I still want her to be my friend.

When we break away, I ask, “How’s Raegan?”

“Absolutely freaking out. She snapped at a nurse for something I didn’t understand. She must have done more research than we thought.”

“Shocking.”

“Right?” Whitney looks around. “Poor Lin. Does she even like coffee?”

I laugh, knowing the answer and appreciating her giving us our time.

“I know it’s not my place to say this,” Whitney says. “But knowing you and your dad, I have to know that Nonnie had a great last few months of her life with you guys.”

I think of Nonnie laughing out in the backyard as Saylor toppled over in his headstand. How she paraded through the house in the Freddie Mercury cape. How she teased Peach’s overly polite southern mannerisms and taught my dad all the words to “Bohemian Rhapsody.” How she was never going to give up on Saylor—or me.

I have to believe she loved it here, too.

“Thank you,” I tell her. “That means a lot.”

Lin returns a moment later, and I tell them all about Nonnie. It feels good not having to pretend with them anymore. I never should have in the first place.

An hour later, Raegan bursts through the doors.

“I’m a sister!” she exclaims. “She’s so tiny. And beautiful. My mom’s okay, although this one nurse poked her three separate times before sticking an IV in. But they say she handled the pregnancy very well for her age.”

A wave of relief rolls through my chest. “That’s so great.”

Raegan turns to me, squeezing me tight. “Thank you for being here.”

I try and return her smile. “Can we see her?”

“Yes!” She’s swelling with pride. “She’s in the hospital nursery. Follow me.”

We follow her past the double doors and around the corner of a long hallway. Raegan stops in front of a long window where half a dozen babies are resting in beds that resemble high-tech shopping carts.

“That’s her,” Raegan says, pointing to the farthest bed on the right.

My eyes land on this tiny bean of a human, small and safe, gently wrapped in a soft white blanket. She’s beautiful, already so loved by so many in this world. In Raegan’s eyes, she’s perfect—but she’ll make mistakes. It’s impossible not to. But I can tell by the way Raegan is gazing at her, she’ll love her through anything. And maybe that’s all anyone can ask for.