“Time away?” I’d frowned at him.
“Time to focus on you. On healing.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You mean a psychiatric hospital?”
He cringed a little. “There are nice places. I was looking online and there’s a private clinic in New Hampshire, in the White Mountains. It’s pretty pricey and it looks like our insurance would only cover about a third or so of the cost.”
I narrowed my eyes until I was squinting, making him seem smaller and smaller. “You actually looked into this. Without talking with me?”
He nodded. “It seems like a great fit. And we could find a way to manage the expense. They offer a payment plan. I think it would be really helpful. They specialize in—”
“You have to be fucking kidding me,” I’d said.
He took in a long, slow breath. “Okay. Let’s take things one step at a time. We’ll meet with your therapist and see what she thinks.”
PENNY AND LOUISE’Sliving room was packed with people—some I knew, others I didn’t. There were members of the art guild Pennyand I belonged to, women in fancy dresses, a man wearing a set of stag horns. Across the room, a woman in a green dress sported a pine wreath around her head, lit up with little LED candles. She saw me looking and waved. It was Carmen, who owned the occult store in Burlington—the one who’d given Penny the herbal protection pouch my mother hated. I waved back and continued scanning the room. There were candles burning on every surface, cheerful Celtic music thumping from an unseen speaker, a fire crackling in the fireplace. It was warm and cozy and I was very glad to be there.
“Where’s Louise?” I asked Penny.
“In the kitchen, putting some finishing touches on the cake.”
Each year Louise made a very elaborate Yule log: chocolate sponge cake rolled up with whipped cream, covered with sculptured chocolate-frosting bark and even marzipan mushrooms.
“There’s a big pot of warm grog in there.” She waved her own half-empty cup to show me. “You should go grab yourself a mug.”
I knew from past solstice parties that Penny’s grog was potent stuff, very heavy on the rum.
“I definitely will,” I said, then added, “Thanks again for sitting with my mom the other night.”
“Hm? Oh, it was no trouble,” Penny said, looking away.
“I wanted to ask,” I said. “You seemed… a little shaken when you left. Did she say something? Do something?”
Penny shook her head. Her cheeks were flushed. She took a sip of her grog. “It’s just—”
“What?”
She lowered her voice. “Did you tell her about Daniel?”
I shook my head. “Of course not.”
“Could Mark have mentioned it?” She looked at me, brow furrowed.
“I don’t know why he would have.”
While Penny and Louise talked openly about the son they’d lost, and kept beautiful photographs of him around the house, it was not a subjectthat Mark or I ever brought up with them. And we certainly wouldn’t bring it up with anyone else.
“Well, your mother knew about Daniel. She knew things that were—” She stopped herself.
“Things that were impossible for her to know,” I finished.
Penny nodded. She opened her mouth and then stopped. Her face twisted with anguish.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” Penny turned away, looked into her nearly empty cup. “I think she was just pulling my strings, trying to get a reaction.”
“What did she say, Penny?”
