“Oh, sweetie.” Her mom shuddered visibly.

The memory made Caroline shudder, too, recalling the shock and horror that had enveloped her that day. She would never be able to un-see the scene in the apartment. “It’s terrible in a really . . . special way. You look at this person and realize she’s just gone. An empty shell. She’ll never feel anything again. She’ll never feel love or joy or sadness or anger. All her potential vanished. The things she might have done with her life—for the world, for her kids—are over. They’ll never happen. That’s what went through my head during the longest fifteen minutes of my life. That’s about how long I waited for help to arrive. I had to set my phone on the table in order to use it, because my hand was shaking so hard. I could barely touch the numbers to call 911.”

“That must have been so tough,” her father said. “So you never knew about her drug use?”

“I didn’t know a thing about it. Nothing. She seemed to be in a great place in her career and with her kids. Except . . . some guy was hitting her. The therapist I’ve been talking to online told me that it’s not uncommon for a victim of violence to get hooked on drugs. Heroin completely eliminates pain—physical and emotional. But I thought I knew her. How did I miss the fact that she was using drugs?”

“Addicts have a thousand ways to hide their addiction,” Virginia pointed out. “As far as you know, she was new to using. Could be she had a bad mix. Or maybe she was in recovery and no one knew. And then this was a relapse. A lot of overdoses happen in relapse, because the addict loses her tolerance for the drug.”

“That’s what the EMTs said, and the police investigator agreed. So did the medical examiner. They said the signs can be subtle if you don’t know what to look for. There were little details I didn’t make sense of until it was too late. Like I noticed razor blades missing from my sewing kit, and I kept running out of foil. I had no idea those were dots to connect. My God, it was surreal.”

“You told us on the phone that it’s complicated,” said Mom. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

In the swift exodus and journey west, Caroline had given her family a massively oversimplified explanation. With the kids present nearly every moment since the day of Angelique’s death, she had not been able to go into detail about the suspected abuse, the overdose, their uncertain immigration status. She wanted to be absolutely truthful with them, answering their questions in simple, straightforward terms. But she was wary of giving them too much information before they were ready to hear it.

Now she tossed her tissue into the fire and watched it incinerate. “It’s complicated on so many levels. I mentioned Angelique was Haitian. One thing I didn’t tell you is that she was also undocumented. At first she had a visa. It’s actually not that uncommon for high-fashion models to come on a temporary work visa and overstay. Or they come without a visa at all and work off the books. Angelique did it both ways. Her visa expired and she was working off the books. Turns out her agency was taking advantage of her, too.”

“Does that mean the kids are also undocumented?” asked her father.

“I suppose so. She arrived in New York when Flick was one and Addie was an infant. See my dilemma? I don’t know what on earth to do about it. I’m worried about asking too many questions about their status, because God knows what would happen if they were targeted for deportation now.”

“They’re little kids,” Jackson said. “That would never happen.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Virginia told him. “These days, anything can happen. When I worked at the law firm, one of the associates had a case where a nursing mother was separated from her baby. It was awful. Just heart-wrenching.”

“Do you know of any friends or family Angelique might have had in Haiti?” asked Mom. “Anyone at all?”

Caroline shook her head. “There’s no one. That’s why I agreed to have my name on the guardian slip for the kids’ school. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time. Friends do it for each other all the time.” She couldn’t remember the precise moment she realized her life had changed irretrievably. Now she realized that moment had happened the day she’d casually agreed to be named the kids’ guardian.

“And you’re confident there’s no other family.”

“Yes, but even if they did have relatives there, the kids have no memory of Haiti. Angelique was an only child, raised by a single father who died when she was a teenager. She had it really rough.” Caroline paused and decided not to get into exactly how rough it had been for Angelique in her native country. That would take all night. “She never knew her mother. Made it on her own as a model. She was discovered on a shoot in Haiti and eventually managed to get herself to New York. When I first met her, she was at the top of her game, constantly in demand, making gobs of money. That’s how it looked to me, anyway. To everyone who knew her. As it turns out, her life in the city was rough, too, but I found that out too late.” She shivered despite the heat from the fire.

“You did the right thing, coming here,” said her mom.

“Did I? Flick and Addie still don’t have a home. They don’t have a family. All they have is a failed, unemployed designer who doesn’t know the first thing about children—except how to avoid them.”

“You’re overwhelmed,” Dad said. “You’ll feel better after another glass of wine and a good night’s sleep.”

Leaning back, she felt the familiar ripple of ocean air on her face. She was still getting used to being home, the scents and sensations and flavors that were part of her blood and bone. Oh, she used to yearn to be away, certain her life was meant to be lived amid the bustle and excitement of the world’s capitals. She looked around at her family’s faces, so gentle in the kindly light of the fire. “I want you to know, I do appreciate this so much. It means the world to me to have a place to go while I sort out this situation.”

“It’s good to have you home,” said her mother. “We’ll do everything we can to help. You know that.”

“Fern and I are not going to be staying in the guesthouse forever,” Virginia said. “You can live there once I get my own place.”

“The three of us don’t need the guesthouse,” Caroline said. “What I need is a plan.”

“Well then, what’s the next logical step?” asked her dad. His favorite question.

“For the first time in my life, I honestly don’t know. That’s why being responsible for these kids is so scary. How will I provide for them? What if something happens to one of them when I’m not paying attention?”

“Every parent’s nightmare,” Virginia said. “Welcome to the club.”

“I didn’t join the club. I got drafted.”

“You’re safe and sound here,” said her father. “You can take all the time you need to figure things out.” He reached over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You just got home, C-Shell. Give yourself a break.”

She stared into the fire as if the answers might magically appear amid the sparks and the flames. “I’ve had three thousand miles to come up with an answer,” she said. “I still don’t know.”

“Let’s take this one small step at a time.” Dad was always the voice of reason.

There was no rhyme or reason to this situation. She had no idea which step to take. But he was right. She was exhausted and needed to regroup.

“What are your options with the kids at this point?” asked Virginia.

“At the emergency hearing in New York, they said I had the option to surrender them to the state. The caseworker assured me it’s not a horrible choice. They’d go immediately into temporary emergency foster care, although with no guarantee they’d stay together. She told me that they might grow up in the foster care system or they could be adopted. I couldn’t imagine simply walking away from them, so I kept them with me.”

“I don’t blame you for stepping up,” her mother said. “That was an incredible thing to do.”

“I don’t feel so incredible. I just couldn’t stand the idea that they’d end up with strangers, and maybe even lose each other. Now that I’m in Washington State, I’ll need to apply to be their permanent legal guardian.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“I . . . God, Mom. That’s like making them my kids,” she said.

“And?”

“It was never my plan. I never even wanted kids. I can’t seem to find a serious boyfriend, let alone someone who makes me want to have his babies.” She used to believe the one thing that would change her mind would be falling in love, falling so hard that she’d yearn to make a life with someone, make a family.