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she started kindergarten. She loves extreme sports, white-water rafting, waterskiing—anything with a high degree of risk. Ever since she was tiny, she’s had a wild streak running through her. I’m not sure why. Maybe because we worried and fussed over her so much when she was born, or—”
    â€œMaybe she gets it from me,” Jessie said, knowing the thought had crossed her sister’s mind.
    â€œI won’t take that cop-out,” Luz said. “I got the daughter I raised—that’s how it works. Ian and I aren’t perfect… Ah, Jess. Time slips by so quickly. I was always so busy when the boys were little. Even now, I barely have a moment to go to the bathroom, let alone psychoanalyze my daughter.”
    Jessie’s gut lurched at the words my daughter. Leaning back in her chair, she absorbed the blow. With some barely acknowledged part of herself, she understood that Luz loved the idea of Jessie being fifteen thousand miles away. It was so much easier that way.
    â€œShe’s been getting in trouble at school, acting out, that sort of thing. You saw how she acted toward me. My sweet little fairy child has turned into a demon, skipping school, sneaking out at night, climbing the water tower, rappelling off the train bridge, skinny-dipping in Eagle Lake. I keep tellingmyself it’s a normal teenage rebellion, she’ll get over it and we’ll all survive, but it keeps getting worse. Her grades are going south, I don’t know her friends anymore. She’s going through all the things you read about in those scary books about adolescents. Ophelia is alive and kicking.”
    â€œSo what are you doing about it?”
    â€œWe’ve been talking to the school counselor, but I don’t know if it’s doing any good.”
    â€œSo does the counselor know—”
    â€œOf course not. If we haven’t told her, we’re not about to tell some stranger. Only Mom knows, and she’s never, ever mentioned it.”
    â€œMaybe Lila’s having some sort of identity crisis.”
    â€œShe’s fifteen and a half. Everything is a crisis when you’re that age.”
    Evening light fell over Luz. How different she was now. Yet how much the same. Over the years Luz had sent dozens of beautifully composed photos. Innumerable portraits and informal snapshots infused with the rich honesty that was Luz’s trademark. Most pictures showcased the kids, but a few had featured Ian. He was always playing with them, flying kites, setting off homemade rockets, running along beside one of the boys on a new bike, paddling a boat. Luz’s place had always been behind the camera. Like Jessie, she’d studied photography in college, and her photos were remarkable and crystal clear. Photography had been a passion for both sisters. Yet Luz had given up her ambitions to raise a family.
    Jessie stood and stretched her arms toward the sky, arching her back. “I’m going to hit the hay. I don’t even know what day it is.”
    Luz stood up and hugged her. “Ah, the jet lag. You must be bushed. I’ll let you get to bed. Ian took your luggage over.”
    In the house behind them, lights glimmered in the windows, and the low hum of the air conditioner swished through the gathering twilight. The thump of rock music vibrated from one of the upstairs windows.
    At the path to the cabin, Luz paused and squeezed Jessie’s hand. “How long are you planning on staying?”
    â€œI don’t know. Look, if it’s a problem—”
    â€œOf course it’s not a problem. You belong here for as long as it feels like home to you.”
    Jessie squeezed back, even as she bit her tongue. She’d never tell Luz, but this place had never felt like home to her. No place ever had. “I don’t know what’s next for me.” It was probably the most honest thing she had said all night. “I called Blair LaBorde as soon as