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sounded as if there were imperfections with Bailey. That sweet child with the long hair that curled up in little wispy waves at the very ends. The one who sucked on her index and middle fingers so much that she talked with a lisp until she was eight. So adorable, with those big brown eyes and the freckles across her nose. So deep, those eyes. Jean had always felt as if another child were lurking somewhere beneath—another child that nobody would ever truly understand or know.
    “What happened, Laura?” Jean whispered, and at the sound of her voice, Laura stirred, chewing out a garbled sentence that made Jean worry that she’d awakened her. She backed away from the bed and left the room, unsure of what to do next. Stay here? Go find a hotel? Turn around and go home? Curt hadn’t made it exactly clear what he’d brought her here for.
    She walked a ways down the hall and happened upon a small cut-in that housed half a dozen chairs and a silent but running TV. Curt was slouched in one, a bottle of water in one hand, his other hand holding his forehead. His elbow was propped on the arm of the chair so his face was tipped downward. A man in a pastel pink sweater and khakis sat in a chair across from Curt, leaning over so that his elbows rested on his knees. He was saying something in a low voice, and Curt was nodding. When Jean paused in the doorway, the man stopped talking and looked up at her.
    “Oh, excuse me,” Jean said, feeling as if she’d interrupted something important.
    Curt looked up. “No, it’s okay. This is Will. He’s our pastor. Or . . . used to be. We . . . stopped going to church a while back.”
    The man in the sweater stood up and offered Jean his hand. She shook it and stepped in just far enough to perch on the very edge of the chair closest to the door, even though it had a stain on it that would have normally made her choose somewhere else. “I’m Jean,” she said. “Laura’s mother.”
    “Wonderful to meet you,” the man said, his voice gentle and kind with an undercurrent of cheer that Jean found somewhat off-putting in the hospital surroundings. A pastor in the hospital, to Jean, inspired gravity.
    “He was just telling me about a program over at Blue Serenity,” Curt said between gulps of his water.
    “I’ve had a couple of parishioners get good results there,” Pastor Will added, as if he were talking about a used car dealership or a tanning salon. “We’re confident we can get Laura back on the right path. A little detox, a lot of prayer.”
    Jean nodded, but directed her attention to Curt. “Her wrist. You have no idea?”
    “Nope. Two months ago it was four stitches on her forehead, another time a sprained ankle. I’m almost afraid to leave her alone with her doing this, getting so drunk she’s falling and hurting herself and not remembering anything.”
    “And you say Bailey is misbehaving,” she said. “Is it because of this? Is it because of what’s going on with Laura?”
    Curt shrugged. “Who knows why Bailey does anything she does? She never speaks, and when she does speak, it’s lies. When she gets off the couch, it’s to do something unbelievable. Shoplifting ridiculous things like wrenches and shoe polish, shit she doesn’t need—sorry, Will.”
    “I understand.”
    “Breaking stuff, sneaking out at night, smoking cigars of all things, and then burning holes in my suit coats with them. Just bizarre stuff. I can’t get through to her. I don’t think anyone can. The girl has no friends. Her teachers see her as a problem in the classroom. She’s just a mess. I predict jail.” He took another drink, swallowed. “Soon, if this keeps up.”
    Jean’s heart was half-broken, half-frightened. She hated the idea of her granddaughter struggling, her daughter suffering, but dealing with the flailing had never been her strength. She’d barely survived Wayne’s demise. She was just getting her control back. She was just getting to normal again. Even