Rowan had been crying. I knew that the second I walked back into her mother’s room, but the brilliant smile she flashed assured me that her tears were the best kind. I waited until we were alone in the car on the way home before satisfying my curiosity to know more. “Feeling better?” “I’m still in shock,” she said dazedly. “Shock?” I’d thought she’d started to process the whole Stetson incident even though it had only been twenty-four hours. She looked at me with such raw vulnerability that she could have been six years old again. “For sixteen years, I believed I was responsible for my sister’s death. Sixteen years. And I learned today that it wasn’t my fault.” I’d told her that, but if it took talking to her mom to truly believe it, then I was glad. So long as she got the message. “I’m gl
