Beth returned with a broom and dustpan, a grocery bag tucked beneath her arm. Will positioned the dustpan and she swept the glass into it. Ivy couldnʹt see Bethʹs face, but she saw Will look up and study her for a moment, then reach to where her left hand gripped the broom handle, putting his hand over hers. ʺAre you okay?ʺ

ʺYeah.ʺ

The expression on Bethʹs face must not have been convincing, for Will kept his hand on hers. ʺYouʹre sure?ʺ

ʺIʹm sure,ʺ Beth said, pulling her hand higher on the broom shaft and continuing to sweep.

Ivy frowned, annoyed at herself for agreeing to the séance. After months of people watching over her, she had interpreted Bethʹs concern as another example of her friend being overly protective. She should have realized that Beth, too, needed protection from last summerʹs memories and fears.

They had just finished cleaning up when Aunt Cindy arrived in a yellow rain slicker. ʺNeither rain, nor snow, nor the gloom of night stops Aunt Cindyʺ was how Beth had once described her favorite aunt. She was in her late thirties, petite but strong, with a mane of shoulder‐length hair the same fading red as Dustyʹs.

ʺI meant to give you these the other day,ʺ Aunt Cindy said, opening a carton with three battery‐operated camp lanterns. She handed one of them to Will, then eyed the cat. ʺWhatʹs wrong with you, Dusty?ʺ

The storm spooked him,ʺ Ivy answered.

Youʹve never been afraid of storms before,ʺ Aunt Cindy chided her cat. ʺI think youʹre faking it. Youʹve discovered a good thing, with four girls here to feed and cuddle you.ʺ She turned to Will. ʺDonʹt get any ideas. Youʹve got your own place.ʺ

Will laughed good‐naturedly. ʺAnd thatʹs where Iʹm headed.ʺ ʺOkay, does anyone need anything else?ʺ Aunt Cindy asked. ʺNope,ʺ Kelsey replied.