My sister the whirling dervish, I thought as I looked around the trashed room. The cyclone leaving ruin in her wake. She’d go on massive shopping sprees, start a renovation by sledgehammer, or decide she wanted to delve into her Scottish roots by taking up the bagpipe—then she would decide everything was complete shit. She’d call me sobbing, despondent, and suicidal. I’d spent a good part of my life helping Lexie clean up her messes, coaxing her back on her meds.

I glanced at the floor, saw an old photo of Lexie and me as kids. We were standing in front of the pool she had just drowned in. Lexie looked to be about twelve, which would make me nine. We were wearing bright bikinis, arms around each other, squinting into the camera. Behind us, the dark water shimmered obsidian, our reflections watching to see what we might do next.

Closing my eyes, I sank back into the cushions.

The smell of the pot reminded me of Lexie and, with my eyes closed, I could let myself imagine, for a half a second, that it was her beside me, not Diane.

I could almost hear her: Hey, Jax. Long time no see.

Something brushed against my left calf, a tentative touch at first, then firmer, more sure.

My eyes flew open, and I screamed.

Diane jumped, dropped the joint.

“What the hell was that?” I asked as a small black blur raced across the living room floor.

“Pig,” Diane said. She sounded relieved.

“What? That was so not a pig,” I said. But it occurred to me that at this point, I wouldn’t be too shocked if Lexie did have a pig living in the house.

“It’s Lexie’s cat,” Diane explained.

“Lexie had a cat? Since when?”

“A couple of months now. He was a stray who just kept coming around, and she kept feeding him. They kind of adopted each other, I guess.”

I shook my head in disbelief. A cat. Lexie had a cat.

“She called him Pig,” Diane said.

I stood up, looking for the cat. He had hidden underneath the antique sideboard in the dining room.

“Who names a cat Pig?” I asked, getting down on my knees, peering at the little black cat. His golden eyes glared back at me. I’d clearly scared him as much as he’d scared me—he was up against the wall, flat on his belly, ears back. “Come on out, big guy,” I coaxed.

He hissed.

We were off to a great start.

“We’ll have to catch him and get him to the shelter,” Diane said.

“Can’t you keep him?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I’m allergic.”

“Well, don’t you know anyone who might want him?”

She frowned. “I can ask around. You know lesbians and cats—it’s one of those stereotypes that I’ve actually found to be true.”

“Let’s try to find a good home for him rather than drop him off at the shelter. In the meantime, I’ll take care of him.” I’d never had a cat, or any pet at all for that matter, but how hard could it be?

* * *

Why didn’t you pick up the phone, Jax? my sister whispered in my ear.

Then she had her hand around my wrist and was pulling me down, down under the brackish water of the pool. It was dark and deathly cold as I struggled against her. But Lexie was stronger. Lexie was winning. Water filled my nose, my mouth, my lungs, and Declan’s nightmare fish creatures were there: black with sharp teeth in open mouths, long tentacles reaching out, wrapping around me, helping my sister pull me down.

I sat up, gasping for breath.

A dream. A guilt-fed, grief-driven dream.

Forcing myself to take deep breaths, I saw that I was in my summer childhood twin brass bed where I’d fallen asleep exhausted hours before, intending to rest a few minutes, then get started on picking up the mess.

I rubbed at my wrist, sure I could still feel the tight grip of Lexie’s fingers wrapped around it like a manacle.

“You can’t stay here,” Aunt Diane had said, spreading her arms, gesturing to the chaos, her bracelets jingling. “It’s not fit for human habitation. Come to my place. I insist.”

“I want to stay here. This place was a second home to me growing up.” I swallowed my next thought: that I’d always thought it would be my home one day. Until my sister got it all. And now she was gone. “I can start cleaning. I need to be here,” I’d assured Diane. “It was Lexie’s home. If I’m miserable, I can switch to your place tomorrow. Besides, I won’t be alone. I’ve got Pig. We can look after each other.” I’d finally lured the cat out by leaving an open can of tuna on the floor. He gulped it down, eyeing me suspiciously between bites.

“There’s no way I’m leaving you here on your own,” Diane said, looking almost panicked.

“Please,” I said. “It’ll help me start to process everything. It’s what I need to do.”

Diane had relented at last, insisting that I call her if I changed my mind. “Or just get in Lexie’s car and drive over, anytime, even if it’s the middle of the night.”

Now here I was, deeply regretting my decision. The moonlight cast a dim blue glow over the room—the small pine dresser with a mirror above it, the shelves once lined with Nancy Drew books and the treasures Lexie and I found in the woods behind Sparrow Crest: a cut-glass doorknob, a silver fork, broken china, pieces of blue ceramic tile with a flower pattern, a porcelain faucet handle with COLD printed on it. We knew that years ago, before Gram was even born, an old hotel had stood in the very spot where Sparrow Crest now was: the Brandenburg Springs Hotel and Resort. People came from all over by train and car to stay in our little valley, to take in the healing powers of the water at the springs. I found it weird to think about—that something else had existed on the same land before Sparrow Crest, before our family. Gram didn’t like to talk about it, and whenever we asked her about the hotel, she’d shake her head and say, “That’s ancient history.” I remembered showing Gram our treasures, excitedly telling her that they were from the hotel.

“You shouldn’t play back there,” Gram warned. “You don’t want to cut yourself on old metal and end up with lockjaw.”

The bookshelves were empty now. I sat up, listening. The house seemed to be holding its breath. Lexie’s was the room next to mine, our beds pressed against the same wall. We’d go to sleep tapping out goodnight codes, knocking again in the morning to say we were up. Lexie wanted to build a trapdoor in the wall. “Like what priests have for confessing. A secret door for whispering the things we’d never tell anyone else. Not even each other in the light of day.”