The night before the harvest banquet Beck slept curled around Melissa’s back, one arm draped heavily on her rib cage, a reassurance. At five thirty, her alarm sounded. Beck slipped out of bed and went downstairs. Drowsily, Melissa slid her hand along the warm, flat empty space where he had been, remembering the way he used to show up in the minuscule hours of the morning. She was drifting back to sleep when the door hinges creaked. Daphne entered in pyjamas, sat down heavily at Melissa’s feet and tugged the curtains open. Looking outside vacantly, she spoke in an uncharacteristically soft tone.
“She seems happy. Positive. Stoked to be home.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. She had a great time.”
Daphne spun a finger meditatively in a lock of hair, winding it like thread on a spool. “My mom and I
