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“Mostly we just both try to make the game last until the next day so that neither one of us has to do it,” the woman says, eyeing me up and down. “Damn, you look like your dad.”

“This is my mom,” Bristal says, by way of introduction.

“Hi,” I say, not sure what else to tack on.

“Madison Jamison,” she says, holding her hand out. “And I’ll just spare you the whole part where you wonder why I never married the girls’ dad. It’s mostly ’cause I don’t need the government or any church’s blessing to legitimatize my personal relationships.”

“Oh,” I say, nodding and trying to hide my surprise.

“Yeah, we’re not all dumb out here,” Bristal says, seeing right through me.

“Also, my name is badass,” Madison adds. “And it kinda sounds like a porn star. Madison Jamison.”

“So Dover is your brother?” I ask Madison, and she nods.

“I need to apologize to both of you then,” I say, drawing in a deep breath.

“Nah,” Madison says, waving me off. “Dover’s a dickhole. Anything you said about him, he probably deserved.”

“Ummm . . . well, I actually accused him of murdering someone who is still alive, so yeah, I think I need to apologize.”

“Bristal told me all about it. But—beers first,” Madison demands, smacking a hand on the table. “Take it from me, honey, apologizing is a lot easier if you’re drunk.”

Bristal hops up and grabs three beers from the small fridge. I look at mine dubiously as Madison cracks hers open.

“What? You watching your calories? Bristal, grab Lydia a light beer.”

“No, it’s—”

“Illegal,” Bristal finishes for me. “Lydia doesn’t do illegal things.”

“Huh.” Madison regards me carefully, as if I were in a zoo.

“No, it’s not that,” I say, turning to Bristal. “I need to apologize to you, and I should be sober when I do it—you deserve that much.”

“’Kay,” Bristal says, eyeing me over her own beer. “Let’s see if you’ve gotten any better at it.”

“I’m sorry,” I say simply, then take a deep breath and dive in. “I’m sorry that I thought the worst of Dover and your family. I’m sorry that I left you behind at the prison. I’m ashamed that you physically defended my house, my family, my parents, and I still let others cloud my thinking about what kind of person you actually are.”

Bristal and Madison both consider me, Madison nodding a little.

“That was pretty good,” she says to her daughter. “I’d let her off the hook.”

“Fair,” Bristal says, tipping her beer toward me. “But I still think there’s a stick up your ass.”

“I was born with that,” I tell her, and Madison chokes out a lungful of smoke.

“So,” Bristal says. “What’s the story on Denise?”

I explain about Michelle Denney finding Denise online, and how Mom connected with her as well. By the shared friends count on her Facebook page, I’m guessing there was a pile-on of requests from Henley people that left Denise feeling more well-liked than she’d ever been when she actually lived here. Bristal takes my phone from me, scrolling through the pictures.

“I’m glad she’s not dead, but damn . . .”

“What?” I ask. “You seem disappointed.”

“She’s all—” Bristal waves her hands in the air, trying to find the right words. “Suburban, and shit.”

“Did you want her to be in prison?” I snap back, then regret my words. “Sorry.”