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statistical anomaly.”
    “You sound like Sean,” said Kate. As ever, she was simultaneously proud of and irked by her daughter’s intellect, which she suspected was vastly superior to her own. Although Kate remembered being smart, sharp, quick-witted when she was younger—vaguely.
    “I need things for the trip anyway,” said Chelsea, the pragmatist. “So it’s not like I’m hanging out aimlessly.”
    “What do you need?”
    “Fleece tops and a pair of Keens.” She shrugged. “Outdoorsy stuff.”
    “You can use your card.”
    Kate and Sean had given Chelsea a credit card when she turned fifteen, one that attached to their own account. But there were strict rules for use, and purchases had to be approved ahead of time, except in emergencies. They’d never had a problem with Chelsea; she was her mother’s daughter—a straight arrow. Brendan, their youngest, was another story. They wouldn’t be so quick to get him his own card when he was old enough. He was sweet, but he was wily. And he had a rebel’s heart.
    The mall stood white and meticulously landscaped, like some smug monument to excess. Kate pulled up to the entrance and watched her daughter gather her things and undo the seat belt.
    “I’ll meet you back here at six,” said Kate. “Do you have your phone?”
    “Of course,” said Chelsea, leaning in for a quick kiss. She opened the door and hopped out.
    Kate rolled down the window. “Text me,” she called after her daughter. Chelsea lifted an acknowledging hand but didn’t turn around and then was swallowed by a huge revolving door.
    Even though she hadn’t thought about it in ages, Kate found herself remembering the tearful preschool drop-offs. Chelsea used to cling like a spider monkey to Kate, wailing, Don’t leave me, Mommy (possibly the four most devastating words in the English language).
    Mommy always comes back, sweetie. Try to have fun , Kate wouldsoothe, while gently extracting herself from Chelsea’s small but powerful arms. She’d leave feeling simultaneously sick with guilt and desperate for a few hours to herself.
    Brendan, on the other hand, even as a toddler, would run off without a backward glance. He was the more secure kid, not a child who, like Chelsea, had suffered through a bitter and violent divorce. Brendan’s world had always been solidly intact; Kate’s marriage to his father, Sean, was loving and rock-solid. Chelsea, on the other hand, had been born into the misery of Kate’s first marriage. Kate was sure it had imprinted on her somewhere, even though Chelsea thought of Sean as her dad, and most of her life had been happy and peaceful. But her father, Sebastian, remained a destabilizing influence even today. Kate tried to breathe through the guilt and anger that inevitably arose when she thought about these things. She tried to release it. What could she do? Life wasn’t perfect—not for Chelsea, not for anyone.
    She was pulling up to the soccer field when her phone rang. She thought: What now? She didn’t have any reason to think that. The day had been relatively uneventful, except for the call from her ex-husband, which was always guaranteed to put her in a crappy mood. That attitude—the what now attitude—belonged to Kate’s mother, always beleaguered or put-upon by things like the ringing phone or the doorbell, as if she were so in demand that she couldn’t possibly keep up. Kate shook it off, as she did anything within herself that reminded her of Birdie.
    “Hello?” She forced herself to sound bright and open, hopeful.
    “Hey.” Her brother. There was something about his tone. She knew exactly why he was calling.
    “Don’t say it, Teddy,” she said. No, not Teddy, which was what she’d called him all his life. Theo was what he called himself and had for over a decade. All his friends, his partner, his colleagues knew him as Theo. Only she and her parents still called him Teddy.
    Kate saw Brendan waving at her from the soccer field. He