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When the defectors raised a fuss and left town, it was a surprise to most of us that Becky and her mother didn’t go with them. It seemed there was nothing to keep them here, and yet they stayed, Mrs. Purcell ceding her water gift as if it were a pot roast instead of her legacy.

Syd smiled at Len, then at Becky. “Good to know some things never change, Len. Seven years and you haven’t even bothered to take out your trash.”

Becky shot from her chair like a startled bird. The Sheriff had her in a headlock just as quick, which was lucky for Syd. After Becky quit ballet she’d put on more than a few pounds of muscle baling hay for the McMahons and helping her family’s trout fishery. “Enough. Both of you.”

“You were right, Cas,” Syd said. “This has been informational.” In three long steps she was back out the door we’d just come through.

I must have made a move to get up. Len sat back down beside me. “Let her go.”

Becky pulled loose of the Sheriff and made a beeline for Len and me. “You shit-eating hypocrites. Aren’t you supposed to reject those who don’t buy in to your precious Sanctuary?”

Len grinned beatifically. “The Spirit shines on us all. Even you, it seems.”

“You can close your mouth now, Casandra,” she spat.

It was a long class.

Len and I finally located Syd back at the diner, drinking chicory this time. The blue journal was open, the lock discarded alongside with a bobby pin still jammed into the bottom. On the lined page, there was handwriting, small and neat enough that I couldn’t read it from across the table.

Len pointed to the lock. “Used the brute force method, I see. One of my favorites.”

She looked up, eyebrows scrunched together. “Did my dad move a big herd of horses in the last few months?”

“He might have taken some down to Klein,” I said, feeling awful all over again as I took another mental trip down the last few minutes of Cal Turner. Cal was one of the few who had a permit to deliver letters and pies and whatever else those in New Charity needed to pass along to their relatives in the towns nearby. “There are still a few here, though. One of the Sheriff’s deputies took a few others to keep an eye on. Pi’s been feeding the gray, right?”

“Him and, um, the Sheriff?” she said, shaking her head at the pages. “Sheriff Jayne. She’s about Perry’s age, right? Maybe she was away at school when we were young; is that why I don’t know her?”

Len nodded. “I think so. She doesn’t talk about herself much. She was one of the cabin families. Her kin died long before any of this happened, though.”

I reached over and touched her hand. She flinched, but stayed still. “I’m sorry about Becky.”

“Don’t be. She wasn’t wrong. The thing is, I forgot her. I sort of forgot everybody. I mean, except for you two.”

Len flicked imaginary dust from his shoulders. “We’re not easy to forget.”

“Class won’t be so bad next time,” I said.

She barked a laugh. “And what gave you the impression there’ll be a next time?”

“You said you wanted to learn about it. How they built it. Why it’s closed.”

I barreled on before Syd could ask any questions about the reservoir. “Look, once you understand, you’ll see why it’s so dangerous,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t call my bluff. But of course she did.

“Like, what, the water might be too wet for the people downstream? Save it, Cas. I’m the wrong demographic for your propaganda.”

“It’s not propaganda, Syd. How can you just show up with all your preconceived notions and be sure you’re right?”

“They aren’t notions. I’m using my brain to think up logical conclusions. You might try it sometime.”

I gripped the fork in my right hand hard so hard the cheap metal warped under my thumb.

Beside me, Len stiffened. “Don’t. Don’t start fighting.”

“This is why you don’t remember anyone,” I said. Len slumped into the booth beside me. “You were—you are—completely oblivious to other people and their thoughts and opinions.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you tried respecting this place, the people in it, then maybe people would be nicer to you. I mean, why couldn’t you just tell everyone about your life here before you left? Your life after you left? You practically bit the Fenton kids’ heads off.”

“I did not. What do those baby jackasses need to know anything about me for?” She leaned over the table, her face close to mine. “I’m only here to exploit your wonderful idyllic little town.”

“Syd, you know we don’t think that.”

“What do you want from me? You want me to beg these people for some sort of forgiveness? Absolution for leaving in the first place?”

“You could at least act like you’re glad to be here. Like you missed us. Like you missed Troy or your uncle or the town. Anything that you left behind when you made up your mind your dream was more important than we were. Like you don’t think everything we are, everything this place is . . . is garbage.”

“
Everything this place is?
This place doesn’t belong to any of you. I don’t care what your crazy Sanctuary gospel preaches: this is just a place like any other place.”

“How can you say that? Len and I have spent our lives proving the Spirit shines on New Charity.”

“Speak for yourself,” snapped Len.

Len, once more somewhere other than in my corner, made me even more incensed. “All I’m saying, Syd, is that if you just tried a little harder not to be so . . . so you.” The words felt like cold water over the coals in my throat. I desperately wished them unsaid.

“Whoa, Cas,” said Len.

“Well, I don’t see anyone forcing you to be here,” Syd said, her voice far away. She closed the journal and slid it into her back pocket.

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just you’re so, you know, like you don’t care.”

“Because I
don’t
care, Casandra.”

I threw my hands in the air. “I’m not saying it’s right that people are judging you, I’m just saying they
are
judging you.”

She stood up, still spotless, unwrinkled. “So I should change. You think that would do the trick: one big attitude adjustment?”

“No. Of course not,” I said. “But you could meet them halfway or something.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Syd, please wait.” She tried to surge ahead, but had to stop as the door of the cafe swung inward into her path. In tumbled Perry, Troy, and the Governor, who’d clearly been in the back room of the mercantile—where the Willis boys were some of the most loyal consumers of Bill’s bootleg beer.

“My lucky day,” Syd said, straightening her bag. “A whole Willis posse.”

Tess met us at the door, shoving a box of turnovers into Syd’s hands. “You look like you might need a bit of bolster there, honey. Take those home for you, and you tell your uncle to come see us real soon, you hear?”

“Go ahead. Go. If you leave now, you might still get those back to your precious City before they rot,” I muttered.

“Just what in the hell is your malfunction?” Syd asked, giving an apologetic shake of the head to Troy, who tried to corral her. She shouldered her way out the door.

No one was listening by the time I admitted I had no idea.

I left Len at the diner with my brothers and headed down the street to spend some time reading at the Sanctuary—letters from the parishioners about worries they wanted Len and me to ask the Spirit to show us during Tuesday services. It had been a long time since Len had joined me in these duties, and normally I didn’t mind. But today my work was distracted and halfhearted and eventually I gave up and scuffed my boots all the way down to the courthouse.

I found Sheriff Jayne in her office. She wasn’t alone when I swung myself around the doorway; instead she was chatting in hushed tones with Deacon Pious. It was either about Syd or Cal, and as much as I wanted to eavesdrop, I resisted, clearing my throat instead.

“Afternoon, Casandra.” Deacon Pious smiled. “Rumor has it Syd’s first day at Retraining was a bit rough.”

My stomach sank again as I realized how much harder I had just finished making it. “Yeah. Some people hang on to old grudges,” I said. Back when all of us girls shared ballet classes, Syd had outshone just about everyone at the dance studio. I don’t even know if she knew she was doing it, either. Some of us found other things to occupy our time. Others, like Becky—like me—found resentment, though Becky’s was age-old and deep while mine was a small and needy thing. One I was deeply ashamed of.

The Deacon stood and gestured to the chair he’d been sitting in. “Please. I was just heading off, in fact. I’ll see you for services tomorrow evening.”

The Deacon’s shoes barely made a sound across the scuffed linoleum. “Must be genetic,” I said.

“Pardon?” the Sheriff said.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just they’re both so . . .”

“Scut around like clouds, those two. Exact opposite of Cal. Man never met a door he wouldn’t slam.” Sheriff Jayne smiled to herself.

The Sheriff, the Deacon, and Cal had a strange and unlikely friendship, uniting to placate the need for companionship present in even the most solitary of souls. Tongues wagged around town, trying to ascribe some sort of sin or deviance to their gatherings, but the accusations rolled off like water on a mirror. They were three introverts, three enigmas, and their loyalty bolstered and protected each other in a way I hoped to have one day.

“I haven’t seen you since the funeral,” I said, sitting gingerly in the warm chair. “Have there been any new, um, developments?”

“It was a heart attack, Cas,” she said, a grim smile on her dark red lips. “It’s not like we can chase down a pot of mac and cheese.”

“But I mean, was anyone with him? Who found him? Is there anyone who knows more?”

She sat up. “Where’s this coming from, Cas? Did you hear something? See something?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. Maybe Cal really did have a heart attack. Maybe the Bishop had been too late. Maybe he just didn’t hear the cries for help.

“Look, I’m sorry, but unless you have, this is uncomfortable. These questions. They don’t bring him back.”

I wanted the information for myself, to put my mind at ease, but it was to the detriment of everyone else. “You miss him.”

“I do,” she said. Her voice was thick but didn’t crack. Her sorrow was buried deep, the few tears at the funeral and her refusal to say many words about Cal the only symptoms of her pain. “Pi’s in worse shape, though.”

“He’s got Syd, now,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow. “Or Syd’s got him.”

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have brought her today if I’d known . . .”

“Loss makes people unrecognizable,” she said, looking at her hands. “Becky’s had a bit. And Syd’s had ten times her share and then some. I don’t think you get it, Cas. The way she is isn’t about you. Or New Charity. Caring for her is courageous, not weak.”

If she was right, then why did I feel so insubstantial?

I was wiping tears away in the middle of the street, the dusk to the west settling in deep orangey blues. I’d been looking up at the Acolyte apartments above the Sanctuary, wondering what it would be like to live for good on the other side of those floor-to-ceiling windows. Would I feel high up and revered, or independent like Syd? Would Len be there with me, or would he keep slipping away to the back room of the mercantile, or into the arms of Al Truax?