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Dupree Wright! You still haven’t told her about Gary.”
    April had lived several states away until Gary died. Her sister had only caught glimpses of the happy, inquisitive girl Sierra used to be. She had no idea what it was like to watch the life drain from her own child’s face.
    Her sister leaned forward. “What did you tell her? ‘Honey, Daddy went to Italy and the conference went a little long?’” She began counting on her fingers. “Let’s see, it’s lasted over two years now, right?”
    Sometimes April wondered how her sister could conduct therapy with such a blistering personality. As Hillary was only too aware, Sierra knew her father had passed away. She just didn’t have the whole story.
    Hillary gave a dramatic sigh. “She’s going to find out, and if you’re not the one to tell her, it isn’t going to be pretty. Trust me and my professional experience on this.”
    April cocked her head. “What I hear you saying is you’re uncomfortable with my parenting style.”
    April’s therapist jokes never amused Hillary. She flashed pity April’s way as she stood to refill their glasses. “Well, April, you might as well cover your ears so you don’t hear the time bomb ticking.”
    “Hill, the bomb’s already gone off. Sierra can’t cope now. If I tell her—”
    “If you tell her Gary committed suicide, you think she’ll follow him,” Hillary finished for her.
    Suicide. The word sliced through her. April didn’t think she would ever get used to hearing it thrown around in a sentence.
    Hillary softened her voice. “You tell her you’re going to pull through together. She’ll believe you. No one can motivate people the way you do.”
    April coughed on a bitter laugh.
    If only she had talked to Sierra when Gary died. But after the first few words about Gary getting run over, Sierra fell into such a cataclysm of grief—hysterical sobs, closing herself in her room, refusing to talk to anyone. It had felt best to wait a few days, maybe even a few weeks, until she was stronger, to explain that he’d intentionally walked into oncoming traffic. But Sierra never did grow stronger.
    Hillary answered the unspoken words. “Sierra’s not her dad. She’s bewildered and scared, but she’s strong.”
    But that’s what terrified April. Sierra was so much like Gary. Was she strong too?
     
    As April let herself into her apartment, Ricky Salinas called up to her. “Hey, pretty lady.”
    He supervised a couple of teenage boys in the parking lot as they carted bags of lawn fertilizer from a truck. She waved and smiled.
    “Hold up,” he called. “I’ve got something to tell you.” He left the boys and jogged up the stairs to meet her. “It’s not good. I live in the neighborhood.” He waved his hand in the direction of the bayou. “And I have friends a few streets over. One of them saw Sierra going into an old guy’s house. She doesn’t have a grandpa over there, does she?”
    The hair on April’s arms stood on end. “In someone’s house? You’re sure?”
    April found it hard to believe Sierra would be brave enough to speak to a stranger, let alone go into his house.
    He nodded. “Yeah, not a guy many of the neighbors like either. Mrs. Cisneros, she’s got two teenage girls. So she said she didn’t like girls entering a stranger’s house, especially a weird old man like this guy. She walked right over there and told him he ought to send her away. And he said to her, ‘I don’t believe this is your concern.’” Ricky put on his best la-di-da accent for the man’s words.
    April stared bleakly into the sky. Sierra knew better. So much better.
    Ricky leaned his hand against the brick wall. “I thought you should know. Especially since Mrs. Cisneros is talking about maybe calling Child Services.”
    April swung her head up. The air was suddenly suffocating.
    “You all right?”
    “Yes,” she said weakly. “Thanks for telling me, Ricky. I needed to know that.”
    Only the hum of the air