If the sirens were off, it couldn’t be a big deal. No real rush.

I watched as the paramedics took a gurney out of the back, rolled it up the driveway, and lifted it up the front steps.

Mom huddled close with the other women. And when they wheeled the gurney back out, they gripped each other’s arms and bowed their heads. There was a lumpy mass beneath a white sheet, pulled taut over the top. They wheeled her out nice and calm and slow. Because there was nothing to be done. She was dead.

I ambushed Mom at the door. “She’s dead?” Something was rising in the back of my throat. Grief, maybe. Or fear. Whatever it was, it tasted like eggs and orange juice.

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Of course she’s dead.

“When? When did she die?”

“I’m not sure. Her son calls every morning to check in. When she didn’t pick up the phone on his third try, he called the police to check on her.”

I thought of the shadow from last night. “How did she die?”

“Emphysema, naturally. And . . . exposure.”

“Exposure?”

“Yes, it looks like she forgot to close the windows. Look, nobody expected her to make it through the winter, honey. That’s why her son called every day.”

“I’ve never seen a son.” Maybe that was him in her yard last night. Maybe he was itching for his inheritance. And the curtains. Nobody was moving them from the inside. It was the wind, the cold air, billowing in from the outside, killing her.

“Do the police want to talk to me?”

She scrunched up her mouth like she’d eaten a lemon. “Why would the police want to do that?” Maybe Dad hadn’t told her.

“Because of what I saw. Last night. In her yard.”

“No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” And then she gave me her end-of-discussion look and started scrubbing the already clean countertops. And as she scrubbed at a particularly elusive but nearly invisible spot, her scrubbing slowed. The circles grew smaller. She looked out the back window and seemed to be thinking of something unrelated to water spots.

She dropped her cloth and turned slowly to face me as I rummaged through the pantry. “Delaney?”

“Hmm?” I responded, mouth full of pretzel.

“Don’t tell anyone about last night.”

“Why?” I said, spewing crumbs, but Mom didn’t seem to notice.

“Just . . . don’t.” And then she left her rag on the counter and the crumbs on the floor and stood at the front window, watching the scene unfold down the street.

Dad came home way before dinner in a very un-Dad-like move. There was a lot of whispering and slamming of cabinets while I attempted to teach myself the last two weeks of precalculus. It wasn’t going well.

There was a knock at my door and both my parents came in and sat on my bed. I spun my desk chair around. “We want to talk about last night, honey.” Mom looked to Dad for reinforcement.

“Okay.”

“What were you doing at Mrs. Merkowitz’s house?”

“Nothing. I just saw something, so I went to see what it was.” And my brain itched and my fingers twitched and I just had to be there.

Mom and Dad exchanged a bit of mental telepathy. I could guess what they were saying. At two in the morning? In her pajamas?

“Your father says . . .” Mom cleared her throat. “Your father says you were staring at the house. At the windows.”

“I don’t . . . I wasn’t . . .”

“Is there something you want to tell us, Delaney?” Dad ran his fingers through his hair, but it didn’t move. It was solidified in gel. “It’s okay. You can tell us anything. We won’t be mad.”

“I saw something. I already told you.” I didn’t know what else they were trying to get me to say.

“Look.” Mom threw her hands in the air. “Did you open her windows?”

“Did I what?”

“Her windows. They were open. They were all unlocked, but only her bedroom windows were open. And you were there. So did you do it?”

“No!” I pushed my chair back, grinding it into the wood of my desk. “Why would I do that?”

“Maybe she doesn’t remember,” Dad whispered.

“I’m not deaf.”

He turned to me. “Maybe you don’t remember. And that’s okay. We don’t blame you. It’s not your fault. You’ve been having hallucinations.”

“And really,” Mom interjected, “she was going to die anyway.” Like that made killing her acceptable.