Vivienne entered the foyer from the kitchen. She wore the jadependant at her throat, Leah's Mother's Day gift to her. She'd told me the jade was for protection. For health and good fortune.
Her hair was up in a clip. Her face was bare without makeup, a collapsed, stricken version of itself.
She saw me first. For half a beat, her expression softened.
Then she saw Mia. Everything in her went rigid.
Mia's fingers crushed mine.
My tongue felt too big. Words slid sideways. "Viv."
Vivianne's eyes didn't leave Mia. "How could you come here?"
Mia's shoulders folded in. "Mrs. Cho, I…"
Viv's nostrils flared. She looked up at the ceiling, blinked twice fast, as if shoving tears back by force. When she dropped her gaze, her eyes were dry. Cold. "I can't look at her."
"Viv," I said again. "Mia wanted to apologize. To explain."
"I'm not interested in her apology."
"It's not like that?—"
"The police told us where they found Mia's DNA," she said. "Do you know that, Dahlia? Under my daughter's fingernails."
Mia made a raw sound in her throat.
"Don't." Vivienne lifted a hand, her palm out. She turned to Daniel, who hovered behind her. "I can't do this."
Mia's chin dropped. "I loved her. I loved Leah. I would never try to hurt her."
Viv's face pinched as if the word itself hurt. "Don't say her name."
Daniel took his wife's elbow. He stood near her, attentive, protective, his face creased in concern. "Viv," he said gently. "Maybe this isn't the best conversation to have right now."
"I can't do this." She stepped back. "Please leave."
Mia flinched like she'd been struck.
"I'm so sorry," I said to Viv and Daniel. The words felt like stones in my throat. "I didn't mean to make either of you upset."
"I know." His red-rimmed eyes darted to Mia again. He looked like he might be about to say something. Instead, he shut the door in our faces.
I stared at the painted wood six inches from my nose. The spring wreath hung there, its fake leaves brittle. A spiderweb ran from the brass knocker to the trim in a thin silver string. A bird chirped somewhere, too brightly.
Beside me, Mia's breath hitched. I squeezed her hand. I kept my voice light, though I wanted to curl up into a ball and weep. "We'll try again, some other time."
We trudged down the front path like we were leaving a funeral. Mia shuffled half a step ahead with her hands jammed in her pockets. "It's not your fault."
She didn't answer.
We walked in somber silence. Mr. Handler was kicking a soccer ball around in the front yard with his five-year-old son. He averted his gaze and ignored us as we passed.
At our driveway, I stopped. I couldn't go inside yet. My chest still ached from Vivienne's house. "Let's walk the beach. You need air. So do I. Apollo, too."
Ten minutes later, we had Apollo leashed and walked to the beach access, then descended the stairs to the sand. The wind off the water had more teeth down here. The gray sky pressed low over choppy slate water as gulls argued overhead.
Mia walked beside me, chin tucked down. The wind had pulled strands of hair free. They whipped her cheeks.
