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“Oh,” she breathes, fingers rising to her lips, her whole face melting. Her eyes shine. “She named it after him.”

“We officially adopted her after seven months. Grady made a banner. Misspelled officially. She still has it, top shelf of her office closet.” I swallow. “Two Halloweens later, it happened.”

Her voice fades to nearly nothing. “The thing that shattered your family?” She hesitates. “Did…did he die?”

A tremor shudders through me. I stare at the tree line swallowing the last of the sun until I’m ready to face her. “Worse, Jubilee. So much fucking worse.”

She doesn’t answer. She just reads me, every locked door behind my eyes. A second later, she rises onto her toes, slides her arms around my neck, and pulls me down. I bury my face in her shoulder. Something I haven’t felt in a long time rolls through me. Grief. It’s been years since I opened this door, even a crack.

“You never think you’ll be the statistic on the news,” I say into her hair. “It was Halloween. He was nine. He was Batman, and he was so goddamn proud of that costume. He and Maisie worked on it for a month. She painted the bat on his chest. But trick-or-treating is too much peopling for her, so she stayed home. And it was the first year Grandpa didn’t come with us. His knees. I told him I had it.” My jaw locks. “I was sixteen, almost seventeen. I had it.”

I straighten and take her face in both hands. Sympathy floods her eyes. Compassion. No flinch.

“It was me, Jules. He wanted to walk with his friends, and I let him. I hung back a block because I didn’t want to look like a babysitter. One block.” My thumbs shake against her cheeks. “I’ve lived inside that night ever since. I shouldn’t have let him go ahead. I should’ve known how easily a black costume can disappear after dark. His costume didn’t have pockets, so his inhaler was in my jacket. Did he need it? Did he call for me, and I didn’t hear him over forty other kids screaming for candy? Did I walk right past the man who took him?” The last of my voice tears loose. “What the fuck happened to my little brother?”

I break down.

My knees give, and she goes down with me into the leaves without a word, her hands locked at the back of my neck like she’s holding the pieces in place. I fist the back of her dress. The wind picks up and shakes loose a storm of maple leaves; they fall around us as I fall apart in her arms.

She doesn’t shush me. Doesn’t rock me. She just holds on. I don’t know how long we stay there. Five minutes. Fifteen. I memorize her touch, her warmth, her scent, and count primes in my head.

“Cops were there in ten minutes,” I manage finally, breathing onto her neck. “The whole town turned out. Flashlights. Dogs. Farmers walking the ditches in lines. Maisie disappeared that night. I didn’t ask where she went.”

I drag in a breath. “Most missing kids come home within a week—nearly all of them within a month. So, you count. Every morning, you tell yourself you’re still inside the good numbers. Day twenty-nine. Day thirty.” My throat closes. “On day thirty-one, you learn the other math. When a stranger takes a child, the worst usually happens in the first few hours.” I close my eyes. “While we were still yelling his name into the hedges.”

“Oh, Gage.” Her voice fractures. “I’m so sorry.”

She holds me tighter and cries with me. Not for me. With me.

Eventually, I can’t stay on the ground. I need to move. I stand, pulling her up with me. “Walk with me.”

She takes my hand in a steady grip, and we follow the shoreline. Water laps at the bank in soft, patient slaps. Overhead, a ragged V of geese honks its way south, and somewhere in the trees, an owl hoots an evening call.

Near the old dock, Jubilee stops and bends for a stone. “Let’s skip rocks.”

Something loosens in my chest. “That’s a perfect idea.”

She hurls the first like it owes her money. Plunk. She throws another before she’s even looked at the water. Plunk. The third nearly takes out a mallard, which flies away, honking out its trauma.

“Jules.”

She makes a face. “The pond is rigged.”

I choose a flat stone, thin and smooth. “Low. Sidearm. Index finger on the edge. Snap your wrist.” I let it fly, and it kisses the surface six times before sinking into the gold.

When I turn, she’s staring at me, one hand on her hip. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

I chuckle. “I can’t sew worth shit. The one thing Nana couldn’t teach me. Why do you think I had your Ren Faire gown custom-made?”

Genuine horror crosses her face. “I can’t sew worth shit either. So, we’re destined for a life of patches and perpetual rips.”

I blink. “Jules. I’m a millionaire.”

“Oh.” A beat. “Right.”

A real laugh rushes out of me. “I love that you forget that.”

She picks up another stone, narrows her eyes at it, and copies me. Low. Sidearm. Snap. It skips three times, and she shrieks, jumping up and down, the bow flying, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than Jubilee York triumphing over a pond.