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He came and sat on the side of the bed.

“Close your eyes. I’ll switch the light on.”

I squinted away from the light, and my head buzzed with the white noise. “I was just about to call out for my mother, and then I remembered.”

“That bad, eh?” Dylan said gently.

I nodded.

“Oh, Emily, it will just take time.” He leaned over and stroked my hair.

“I keep thinking it’s going to get better.”

“It will.”

“I wish it would hurry up.”

“It’s only been a few weeks since the funeral.”

“I miss them so much.”

“Of course you do.”

I glanced up at him, his blue eyes soft and warm but haunted by the same sadness I knew was carved on my face. “You mustn’t blame yourself,” I whispered. “We were all so excited about coming here.”

“I know.” He squeezed my hand. “I try not to.”

“Bad shit happens.”

He snorted. “It sure does.” He released me. “Are you hungry?”

I shook my head, and in that moment, I knew I would always carry the loss of my family with me.

Forever.

It was my burden to bear. It was my baggage. And it would be with me until I died.

“It’s about two in the morning. What do you want to do?”

“I’ll go back to sleep. You should go back to bed.” I didn’t want to inconvenience him more than I had, and I was struggling with the magnitude of my realization.

“I’ll stay if you’d like.”

“I’ll be okay, Dylan, thank you,” I added quietly.

“Lie down, then.” He tucked me in and kissed my forehead. “Try for sweet dreams,” he whispered, and he left.

I stared at the ceiling. Was this ever going to be any less painful? What had he said a few days ago? Two steps forward, one step back. This felt like four steps back. I curled up and let the fresh tears flow while I waited for sleep to claim me.

The following morning, I woke, exhausted, and my head was foggy—so much so, it felt disconnected from my body. My friend Numb was back, and I was pleased she was.

Without bothering to wash, I put on my cut-off shorts and one of the strappy tank tops we’d bought yesterday, then ambled down to the kitchen. Lulu and Dylan were drinking coffee. Madame Gombert was cooking eggs and bacon. The smell, normally so enticing, made me feel nauseous.

Dylan rose. “Good morning, Emily,” he said.

Lulu smiled tentatively at me. “Morning, Emily.”

I forced the sides of my mouth up. Dylan’s mouth pressed into a hard line, and he ran his hand through his hair. He collected a glass from the large cupboard by the table and poured me some orange juice.