Page 80 of Philippa Flynn’s Year of Panic and Piracy

Philippa: Neither. Both. I don’t know

Louisa: I still bet he’ll be back

Philippa: See above, RE: an entire novel about his fear of abandonment

Louisa: A novel he wouldn’t have shared with you if he wanted to cut ties

Philippa: He needed to give me a truth so he could challenge me with a dare

Louisa: Did he though? Did He?????

Philippa: At least I understand why he didn’t want to stretch out a long goodbye

Eleanor: You sure you still want to be alone?

Haley: Echoing El here. Our spare room’s available anytime

Philippa: Thanks. I’ll think about it

Haley: Heartbreak and a hundred bottles of rum do not a good combination make

Riley: Dylan wrote a book about a dead horse?

Louisa: Seriously, Ri? At least read the entire thread when you jump in late

Riley: He wrote a book about an abandoned horse?

Louisa: You are so not helping here

Eleanor: Just take care of yourself, Phil. We’re here anytime

Philippa: Thanks. I love you guys

My siblings all respond with love and heart emojis. I take comfort in knowing they’ll be there for me no matter where I end up in five weeks, five months, or five years.

I get up to rinse out my mug, catching a glimpse of the sea through the window above the sink. The sun is setting, and pink-limned clouds streak across a periwinkle sky, reflected in the waves below and turning the tree-covered islands rosy. From here, I can see the last few feet of the dock peeking out below the edge of the rocky outcropping, waiting for a ship that belongs there, one that’ll be ready to sail here from the shipyard in only a few weeks.

Setting aside my mug, I turn to look at the fridge, where I’ve left up Dylan’s dare.

Be braver than I am.

Maybe, I think. Maybe. Then I make myself some shitty pasta and eat it outside while watching the stars appear from a wicker chair I now know is better suited for two.

Chapter Thirty

The Saturday I’m due to send my acceptance to Idaho, I text Haley to ask if I can come over. She tells me of course, and by the time I arrive on her doorstep a few hours later, Eleanor’s already there with a box of my favorite herbal tea, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies are cooling on the stove, and Frank and Mischa are bundling the kids to head to the park, giving us time alone.

“Who are you and what’ve you done with our sister?” Haley flicks the shawl I’ve draped around my shoulders. It’s the one Grams was wearing in the photo in the stairwell, and I found it in her bureau. It’s old, soft, big, bright, and beautiful, and I kind of love it.

“It was one of Grams’s favorites,” I say. “I wanted a piece of her with me today.”

Haley draws me into one of the comforting hugs she’s so good at. “You look great.”

“This much color will take some getting used to,” I say. “But it’s time.”

She smiles as she pulls away, though the grief in her eyes mirrors mine. It’ll always be part of us, but so will the memories, and the belief Grams had in all of us, the belief I lost hold of when she wasn’t here to remind me, though it’s with me now, just as loving, just as strong.

“Any word from Dylan?” Eleanor asks as she starts the kettle.