To her the morning felt quiet and almost disappointed, the way it always did after a big rain, with the slow drip-drip-drip of water off branches and leaves. She crossed the cool bedroom floor in her bare feet. Her room was at the back of the house, on the bay side, which meant she had a view—over the porch roof that sloped down beneath her window, through some feathery branches—of the water and the sky across Cape Cod Bay. If you flew straight inland, her mother had once told her, you would see Plymouth Rock and the fake Mayflower ship they kept moored there for tourons. Max’s room faced south and Jax’s north; her parents used to sleep in the big single room of the attic, right under the sloped roof, with a big glass skylight overhead. Her mother liked to lie in bed and look up at the stars. She walked lightly down the stairs. Rufus was curled up on the runner in the front hall; he’d kept a vigil there every night since her mother had disappeared.
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