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them. The coyotes loped off.
    Jordan collapsed to his knees.
    Abby rushed over with tears streaming down her face. “Jordan, that was really stupid.”
    For once, his sister was right.
    * * *
    Nose pressed to the glass, Emily steamed the window in the bedroom of Mr. and Mrs. Leigh as she watched Jordan remove the binoculars from around his father’s neck. She ached to comfort him.
    Toucan was bouncing on the bed behind her. Emily was certain the toddler had not witnessed the terrifying scene.
    Emily gripped the window sill and braced herself for what came next. Jordan and Kevin and Abby picked up Mr. Leigh and lugged him to a corner of the yard, to a plywood enclosure built around the base of a pine tree. It looked like a playhouse. They set him down and talked some. Then Kevin and Abby lifted Mr. Leigh by his arms, while Jordan took his father by his feet and backed into the enclosure. A moment later, Jordan emerged from the playhouse and threw up.
    Later, Emily approached Jordan in the living room. “I’m really sorry,” she said.
    He covered his eyes with his hand and turned away.
    When she lightly touched his arm, he hunched up his shoulders, a turtle going into its shell.
    “I’m going to my house to get my laptop,” Kevin said. “We need to find out what’s going on.”
    Emily expected Abby to protest, but she looked as distraught as her brother.
    “I’ll go with you,” Emily told Kevin. She needed clothes that fit. There was food to get, too. And she didn’t want him to go alone.
    They stepped warily outside, wearing masks and gripping steak knives. Emily squinted in the bright purple light. A chill rippled down her spine when she noticed the body of the lobster truck driver was gone.
    The bamboo wind chimes on the Patel’s porch clacked in the gentle breeze. They removed their shoes when they stepped inside. Emily breathed in the familiar odors of spices and felt a stab of sadness.
    She remembered how these same spices had been a source of embarrassment. In San Diego, where her family lived before moving here, her best friend Tessa had once warned her that she smelled like Indian food. Emily had no friends on Castine Island. She thought her classmates would make fun of her behind her back, so she kept a bottle of Pink Sugar perfume in her violin case and sprayed it on every morning before class.
    Signs of Mother and Father were everywhere. Family photos hung on the wall. Their lab coats draped over the banister. More memories were upstairs. Emily shielded her eyes when she passed by their bedroom.
    In her bedroom she gathered enough clothing for a week and placed the items, along with a pair of shoes, in her suitcase.
    So much had changed in just forty eight hours—two mornings ago, right here in her room, she had worried that Jordan might see her peeking out the window at him as he carried his baby sister down the driveway to their family car. She thought the boy who sat two rows over from her in class was cute. After that, Emily had hoped she could escape the house for school without Father noticing her clear nail polish. Nail polish on a girl of twelve was something he’d never tolerate.
    Emily grabbed her violin and suitcase and found Kevin in their parents’ room. He was standing at the foot of their bed. She walked over to him, every step a struggle. She kept her eyes fixed on her brother, away from them.
    “I need to build a pyre,” he said in barely a whisper. “Where will I get the wood? Father has a ceremonial robe. How should I dress Mother?”
    After his comment sunk in, Emily shook her head. “No!”
    “I have to.”
    “Kevin, no!”
    “Emily, we’re Hindu.”
    “They’re my parents, too,” she shouted.
    He backed up a step, startled. Then her brother turned on his heels and ran from the room. It broke Emily’s heart to hear him crying. She tried to understand how he felt. He was the oldest son—the only son—and by custom it was his duty to cremate them. Her brother