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void.”
    A void like the one inside her. It was terrifying, the nasty, black, hate-filled pockets of self-loathing, the empty spaces where fear and doubt took up residence. Nothing changed her emotional landscape. Joy never managed to creep into the mix, overtake the darkness, offer hope.
    If my mom ever woke up, I wondered if she’d feel the same way.
    “Well, then, let’s make sure it doesn’t happen again.” I took the coffee cup out of her hand and nodded toward her room. “Just start packing.”

     
    I’d carried the last bag to Ava’s new room in my house when my cell rang.
    “It’s Em,” she said when I picked up. She hadn’t waited for a hello, and she didn’t take a breath before continuing. “After the meeting today, Michael and I had an argument—I mean, a discussion—and now we need you to come downtown.”
    “I don’t do couples counseling.”
    She made a raspberry sound into the phone. “Just come meet us. Have you ever heard of Murphy’s Law Coffee?”

Chapter 7
     
    I

stepped into the coffee shop, and a bell rang over my head.
    I’d walked past Murphy’s Law a million times, but I’d never been inside. I wasn’t one for sitting, and sipping a hot beverage while chatting someone up wasn’t on my list of favorite things to do. Even so, I inhaled deeply, appreciating the mingling smells of baked goods and freshly ground coffee.
    Stunning framed nature photographs hung on every patch of the sunny yellow walls. Shelves were packed tight with new and used books, and a children’s section boasted low tables full of puzzles and toys.
    I found Em and Michael in the front corner of the room at a table surrounded by a grouping of overstuffed orange chairs. They reminded me of the giant toadstools from Alice in Wonderland .
    “What’s so mysterious you couldn’t share it over the phone?” I asked Emerson when I reached them. I dropped into one of the chairs and tried to relax against the fat cushions.
    “Nothing, now,” Em said, gazing out the huge plate-glass window, holding a tiny cup containing something very dark.
    Her voice didn’t hold a tenth of the energy I’d heard when she called.
    “What’s going on?” I asked.
    “I thought I had an answer. To the finding Jack thing.” She tipped the cup and drained it of its contents before placing it on the empty saucer in front of her. “But I was wrong. And stupid. And a terrible friend.”
    “No, you aren’t,” Michael reassured her, touching her lightly on the knee. “It’s not like you asked for a frivolous reason.”
    “She’d never ask me to do something like that.” The trust she had in him—the trust they had in each other—was so intense that I felt alien and intrusive.
    I rapped my knuckles against the table, wishing I had something productive to do with my hands. “I can go … if you need me to …”
    “No, don’t leave,” Michael said. He inclined his head slightly away from the table. “Just give us a second.”
    I followed the smell of baked goods. Even though the building had obviously been around for a while, everything in the place was neat and organized, from the highly polished floor, which was stained a dark chocolate brown, to the selection of books in the bookcases. I reached the bakery display case and leaned down to peer through the impeccably clean glass.
    I spied a sight that enticed me way more than any éclair or doughnut ever could.
    I’d know that back end anywhere. Just last night, my hands had been on it.
    Tiger Girl was behind the counter.
    Knowing she most likely hadn’t forgotten or forgiven, I stayed down and tried to figure out how to escape without belly crawling to the exit. Then she moved out of sight, and I heard the swinging door to the back of the shop open and close.
    I stood and shot back to the table. Emerson and Michael looked up at me in surprise. “You know what? I need to go. Can we meet up later? I’ll find you. Okay.”
    Their focus shifted to something behind