Jamie was making her blossom in a way she’d never been sure was possible. The idea made her smile to herself as she pulled into her narrow driveway. Getting out of the car, she grabbed her purse and her overnight bag. She went up the stairs and unlocked the front door, eager to get inside, to get things ready for work in the morning so she could climb into bed, close her eyes and remember every detail from the weekend.

She shut the door behind her, pulled her cell phone from her purse and, dropping her bags on the floor, she texted Jamie.

I’m home safe and sound!

Good girl. Glad you made it home. Get some good rest, baby. Love you so much. Call me if you need me.

Love you, Jamie.

Her body warmed all over. Even in text she could feel him.

With a smile on her face she walked through the house, turning on lights as she went, heading to the kitchen to make some tea. She flipped on the lights—and stopped.

No!

Madame lay on the kitchen floor, her fluffy white side sunken in, her legs stiff, her blue eyes wide.

She felt as if she couldn’t breathe as she sank to the floor. Reaching out, she touched the cat, knowing she wouldn’t feel anything but death. When she finally managed to catch her breath, she smelled it in the room.

“No!” she wailed, her fingers clenching and unclenching in the still-soft fur. “No, Madame. Please don’t . . .”

She stumbled to her feet, ran into the living room and came back with a throw blanket, laid it carefully over the cat’s body as tears poured down her cheeks. Her mind was going blank. She couldn’t think of anything but the tearing ache of loss in her chest.

Closing her eyes, she held on to the counter for support, whispering, “Please no. No more death. No more, no more.”

Unwanted visions of Brandon flashed through her mind. She remembered her last day with him. The fight they’d had that she’d never told anyone about, not even Dennie. She’d tried to sneak into the house after a night out partying with her friends and found Brandon waiting for her at the kitchen table, looking tired and annoyed.

“Summer Grace, what do you think you’re doing creeping into the house at six o’clock in the morning?”

“You’re not my father, Brandon.”

“No, but I am your brother, and this is not okay. You’re not even seventeen years old yet! You can’t have everything your way, Summer Grace, just because that’s how you want it. What the hell were you doing all night?”

“Nothing that’s any of your Goddamn business!”

“Keep your voice down. Do you want to wake up Mom and Dad?”

“What’s wrong, Brandon? You don’t want the scolding father role taken away from you? Well, I’m not your kid. I’m not your responsibility. So get over yourself.”

She’d marched upstairs, leaving a fuming Brandon behind, knowing she’d disappointed him. Knowing he cared as much as their parents did, maybe more. Tears had stung her eyes—tears of guilt and wounded pride. What a fool she’d been. And so careless of her brother’s feelings. So careless . . .

Fuck.

Her eyes flew open. Had she forgotten to leave food for Madame? She ran to the back door, but there was plenty of food and water in the cat’s dishes. She turned to glance over at the blanket-covered body on her kitchen floor, but had to look away.

Pressing her fists against her eyes, she begged, “Please, Madame. Please, please don’t be dead.”

Hadn’t she said the very same words when Brandon died? Hadn’t she begged him to come back to her? For months. But he never had. Her parents hadn’t, either. Even Jamie had abandoned her. They all had. They’d left her alone and she hadn’t known how to handle the world—the entire big, fucking scary world at sixteen years old! She’d felt . . . orphaned. Lost. And she damn well wasn’t going through this again. First it was Brandon, now it was Madame, then it could be . . . What?

She couldn’t stand to think of it. Couldn’t stand to look at Madame’s body on the floor. She was dead and there was nothing she could do about it. Death was so damn final. But it was just as final when someone chose to turn away from you and broke your heart.

Brandon.

Her parents.

Jamie.

Madame.

Jamie!

“Oh no,” she moaned.

She was so, so cold. She wrapped her arms around her chilled body, but she couldn’t seem to get warm. And the tears were coming faster than she could wipe them away.

This was the universe warning her. She was not going to be allowed to keep anything. Anyone.

Jamie.

“You can’t have everything your way, Summer Grace . . .”

Brandon.

Somehow she managed to find her way to the front hall, to dig her phone out of her purse, to dial.

“Den? Something’s happened.” She had to stop as another sob caught in her throat, choking her. “I need you. Please come.”

“Oh, honey, what is it? No, never mind—I’ll be right there. You just hang on, you hear me? I’ll be right there.”

It wasn’t until she hung up that she realized she was on the floor, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was drowning in helplessness. Powerlessness. All she could do was wait in this house filled with death. God, it was all too familiar, the quiet of it.

The house was so quiet after the funeral, even though her mother and father and her grandparents were there. No one was saying anything. No one asked her if she was okay, if she needed anything. No one offered to read her to sleep, or to make her hot chocolate, and she knew at that moment that part of her life was gone forever, and she was on her own. On her own except for Dennie, and thank God for her.

“She’s coming. She’s coming,” she whispered to herself, wiping uselessly at her wet cheeks. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and bowing her head as if she could hide from the world. “Please hurry . . . please.”

*   *   *

MONDAY MORNING JAMIE was just opening up the shop when his phone rang. He juggled his coffee in one hand, tossed his leather jacket over the back of the office chair with the other before pulling his cell from the pocket of his jeans.

“Hello?”

“Jamie?”

“Dennie? What’s up?” His stomach dropped. Why did he know already something terrible had happened?

Death magnet.

Fuck!

“Is it . . . is it Summer Grace? Is she okay? What’s wrong? Tell me.”

“She’s okay. I mean, she’s not okay or I wouldn’t be calling. She hasn’t been in an accident or anything. She’s not sick. But listen, Jamie, she’s not in great shape, my poor girl, and she asked me not to call you, but I thought . . . I thought I should. I thought you should know.”

“Know what? What’s going on?”

He heard Dennie blow out a breath on the other end. “She found Madame dead last night—her cat. And she just . . .” She paused, lowered her voice. “. . . she freaked out. I mean total meltdown. She’s been at my house since last night crying like the world has ended, and I can’t get her to stop. She hasn’t slept. Well, neither have I. I won’t leave her like this. My grandmother has been helping me sit with her, but we don’t know what else to do.”

Jamie ran a hand over his hair. “Wait. Her cat died? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I know it doesn’t make much sense on the surface . . .”

“I don’t know. It does and it doesn’t. What is she doing now?”

“Still crying. I really think you should come.”

“I do, too. I’ll be right there. Let me call Duff and see how soon he can get here to cover me.”

“Thanks, Jamie.”

Ten excruciating minutes later he was in the truck on his way to Dennie’s house out in Lakeview. He cursed at the morning commute traffic, his fingers tight on the wheel. On the inside he felt like he could easily burst open—like some torrent of anger and grief would come pouring out. He swallowed it down like bile.