Ten minutes later, someone called my name.
I turned. Rowan and Chloe came down from the public access stairs. Rowan wore black leggings and a long cardigan, sunglasses perched on top of her highlighted hair. Chloe wore ripped jeans and a cropped sweatshirt.
Their expressions were careful, like they were approaching an injured animal.
"We were hoping we'd find you down here," Rowan called.
Mia's spine straightened. Her gaze went back to the water.
"Hey." My voice came out more guarded than friendly.
Apollo circled Rowan, nose to her calves. She reached down, patted him once, eyes still on Mia. "I'm so glad we ran into you. Iwas going to text, but you know, we didn't want to overwhelm you."
Chloe shifted from foot to foot. She stepped closer. She glanced at me, then back at Mia. "Can we talk for a sec? Just us?"
"I'll keep your mom company," Rowan told Mia, brightly. "Go ahead."
Mia followed Chloe up toward the drier sand. Chloe slowed so they walked side by side, their heads tilted toward each other.
Rowan moved in beside me, facing the water, her arms folded, her hands under her elbows. "Don't worry about collecting the photos for the memorial on Sunday. You've got plenty on your plate. We're covering it."
"I'm happy to do it."
"Chloe's going to speak. She loved Leah so much. She wants to celebrate her. Share good stories. Sleepovers. Beach days. Normal girl stuff. She's been so… haunted. She needs closure. We all do. It'll be good for the community."
Images from the Instagram account flashed through my mind. The cruel words from Leah's journal. How could anyone find closure with Leah's killer still out there? With our daughters all bearing at least some culpability? But I didn't say anything. I wasn't sure how to form the words.
Up the beach, Chloe and Mia stood facing each other, their heads down. Chloe's hand hovered near Mia's arm, not quite touching her. Their mouths moved, the wind shredding their words.
"You said you were looking for us," I said.
"Yes." Rowan shifted. Sand squeaked under her sandals. "Chloe's been struggling. Her nightmares are getting worse. Her therapist is calling them night terrors. She's waking up crying, screaming. It's like they're real to her when she's trapped in one."
"What happens in her night terrors?" I asked.
Rowan's skin was ashen, dark circles makeup couldn't conceal shadowing her eyes. "She keeps seeing Leah falling, and she can't save her, over and over. Last night, Mia was in her nightmare, too. They were both trying to reach Leah, but they couldn't."
"That sounds awful. I hope the therapy helps her soon."
"I'm sure it will." Rowan forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She stepped closer and lowered her voice, though the beach was empty. "But how are you? Brooke told us she saw a police cruiser passing by when she was at the playground with Falcon yesterday, and she heard from Whitney that it went to your house."
"Brooke hears all the gossip, I guess."
She rolled her eyes. "You know Brooke. She made it sound like SWAT."
"Someone broke in sometime on Thursday while we were out. They vandalized a painting of Mia's that Leah had painted for her."
Rowan's hand fluttered at her collarbone. She looked appalled. "Dahlia. Why didn't you call me?"
Because I didn't know which side you were on.I didn't say the words aloud. "It's been a lot. We've changed the locks."
"You should get security cameras. Honestly. I hate saying that about our neighborhood, but here we are. And after Leah, after what happened at your place. I'm genuinely worried for you two."
"The detective suggested the same thing."
"If you want Gregory to recommend anything, just text. Or I'll send links. Honestly, he'd be happy to come over and help you install them."
Rowan's husband worked so much that hardly anyone ever saw him. I doubted he had time to help me with anything. "That's a generous offer, but I think I'll tackle this project myself."
