Mom was a mess.

She had glass in her foot. I got her to the bathroom and pulled it out with tweezers, then cleaned and wrapped her wound while she sat at the vanity.

She looked like she hadn’t been sleeping. She had circles under her eyes and the robe she was in was stained.

Neil wasn’t cheating or lying to her. I knew how busy he’d been at the hospital over the past few days because for the most part I had been with him. But Mom didn’t do well with abandonment—even the perceived kind. Which was funny, because it’s the very thing she’d subjected me to for most of my life.

Neil brought in a change of clothes, set them on the counter, and bent to kiss her gently on the top of her head. She leaned into it, and I figured the chaos was over for the moment, so I took that as my cue to leave. I left the house to find Maddy waiting and Justin gone.

For the next few days I was small.

Maddy knew it and gave me my space. Justin was also giving me my space, but not for the same reason.

I couldn’t even think about what had happened with him by the garage. My brain was too exhausted to revisit it. I didn’t have the bandwidth.

I texted him the once-a-day obligatory text to meet the requirements of our curse-breaking agreement, and he matched my energy with a single line back.

Our fourth date was coming up in a few days. Our last date.

I don’t know why, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. Not because I didn’t want to see him, because I did. I just… I didn’t know.

Five days after Mom’s incident in the driveway, Neil surprised her with a little getaway to Mexico, trying to make up for his long hours at work. They’d left yesterday. Maddy had also left yesterday to her parents’ for their anniversary. So I was alone.

I planted the rock cress and hostas I’d recommended to Neil. I didn’t plant the rosebush. I couldn’t bring myself to leave it on this island where no one would see it or take care of it, but I didn’t know what else to do with it. It wasn’t like the other plants I’d left behind. This one meant something. I wanted it to be loved and safe. But where?

My mind kept going to Justin’s. That’s where everything was loved and safe. But would I ever go to Justin’s again to put it there?

I couldn’t deal with thinking about it. So I just left it, sitting on the end of the dock in its pot like it was watching for its lover to come home from a journey at sea.

I navigated the pontoon twice through a miserable rainstorm by myself just to get to work and home. Somewhere in there my DNA test came back. I’d opened the email and looked at the results. I was Irish and German. Lots of other stuff, but mostly that. It’s funny because when I asked Mom what I was, she said she didn’t know.

It was always like that with her. Didn’t remember, couldn’t recall. Like everything’s a secret, like my whole past had been smudged with an eraser. She took a broom and brushed the sand behind us so I could never look back and see where I’d been or where I came from. All I had was where I was going and I could never stop moving forward because of it.

I thought for a split second about changing my privacy settings on 23andMe to see if I had family. Then I immediately decided against it. I was feeling too small to handle it right now. Maybe when Maddy came back, I’d let her do it. She could sift through the information for me, tell me if anyone was out there, happy to know I existed.

Sarah had been snapping me. Pictures of her hair, and one with her friend Josie. A few of Chelsea and several of Brad. I guess the Dahl kids had never had a dog before. They were very excited.

I liked the messages. I messaged her back to ask about Alex and Chelsea. Never about her oldest brother though. It was so strange to be barely speaking to Justin but to have a running conversation with someone in the same house.

Sometimes the pictures Sarah sent had traces of Justin in them. His keys on a coffee table. His hoodie on the arm of a sofa.

I was at work, eating my lunch alone, when she sent a picture of Brad in the kitchen. I could see Justin in the background. He was standing at the sink. Probably doing dishes. It was a shot of him from behind, just the waist down.

I stared at that photo for so long, I didn’t even finish eating my lunch. I must have studied every inch. Justin’s phone in his back pocket, the one he used to send me a generic “good morning” or “good night” reply to my daily obligatory text of the same thing.

He was wearing the same shirt he’d had on that day at the mall. I knew how it smelled. I knew how it would feel if he hugged me against it.

I don’t know why, but I had to clutch a hand over my heart. It actually hurt to look at him. Even just part of him.

And the weirdest thing was that while the kids were the biggest reason I didn’t want to keep seeing him, I wished I were there with them. I wondered what Justin was making them for dinner. I could picture sitting with him on the couch watching Frozen, docked in the docking station, with Chelsea and Brad curled up with us. I wanted to chat with Sarah in person and hear one of Alex’s animated stories of what he was up to.

When I went back to work after lunch, I wasn’t feeling well.

I stayed two hours later than scheduled, so I was exhausted when I finally got the boat docked. When I got to the cottage, I realized we barely had any groceries. I’d go tomorrow. I was getting a headache and I was too tired to do anything other than peel off my clothes and climb into bed.

A few hours later, the nausea woke me up.

I felt for my phone on the nightstand in the dark. 2:42 a.m. I rolled onto my back, hoping if I lay still enough the feeling would pass.

It didn’t.

I barely made it to the bathroom.

I hated throwing up. Hated it. Probably something I picked up at the hospital, or maybe something I ate. I retched up everything I had, holding my hair back at the nape of my neck.

When I was done, I rinsed my mouth out and brushed my teeth, tied up my hair. Then I spun and vomited again.

By 6:00 a.m., I’d given up trying to make it back to my room. The stomach upset started a little after the vomiting did. During the short breaks I got from puking and sitting on the toilet, I lay on the semi-damp blue bathroom mat in front of the tub, my head pounding.

I wanted water.

The kitchen felt a million miles away so I pulled myself up to the sink and drank from the tap. It was awful. It tasted like rust and smelled like sulfur.

It was worse on the way out.

I rifled through the medicine cabinet for something, anything, but there was nothing that would help me. Band-Aids, Visine, nail clippers, some NyQuil but that wouldn’t stop the vomiting. I moved some peroxide and found an ancient bottle of Pepto. It had separated. The top half was a watery layer of milky-looking liquid. I shook it and the contents came back together a little, but it still looked spoiled. I checked the date. Expired in 1994. I blanched and put it back and slid down on the floor again.

I called in sick to Royaume.

Maddy called around 8:00 a.m. “Hey, just checking in.”

“Okay,” I croaked.

“You all right? You sound like shit.”

I shifted to my back and put an arm across my forehead. “I think I have norovirus. I’ve been throwing up since last night.”

“Ick. Diarrhea too?”

“Yup.”

“Ugh. Well at least it passes quick.”

“I hope so.”

There was a pause. “Janet and Beth asked about you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut against another rolling wave of nausea. “Oh. Tell them hi.”