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Lena turned the last page of the album and stared down at the photo of her mother. Lucy looked radiant in that shot, with her brilliant green eyes and reddish gold hair. The color of honey on fire, Lena remembered her dad saying once, long ago. Despite her beauty, Lucy's heart-shaped face was pale. She must have already been sick, thought Lena.

How old would Lucy be, if she were still alive? Lena felt a moment of shame at how little she knew about the woman who had given birth to her. In some ways, she was lucky that Mom—Allie—had filled all her maternal needs so completely that she didn't even miss Lucy.

When she was little—probably Cole's age—Lena had asked her dad a few times what happened to Lucy, but he always said, "I can't talk about it, sweetheart. I'm sorry. Someday when you're older, I'll tell you how we lost her."

What if it's hereditary? thought Lena. Maybe I have whatever disease she had.

She thought of the words I AM FINE being washed away by the waves.

***

Lena's dad fixed spaghetti—his customary meal when Mom was working late. After dinner, Cole cleared the table and said, "Dad? Want to play catch?"

"Uh—"

Before Lena's dad could answer, Lena said, "I need to talk to Dad for a few minutes, Coley, okay?"

"Okay! I'll play basketball." He headed outside to play with his m ini-hoop.

Lena's dad leaned against the kitchen counter. "What's up?"

"Um, I was wondering," said Lena, putting plates in the dishwasher. Then her throat closed as she prepared to utter the next words: if you could tell me how my mother died.

"Yes?"

Lena dried her hands with a towel.

Her father waited. Finally he said, "Honey, we're not going to move. I should never have said that. I—"

"No," said Lena. "It's not that. I want to know—" She forced herself to meet his gaze, and he looked at her quizzically. An image of that old photo—with her young, happy parents holding their new baby—came into her mind, and she could not bring herself to say: how Lucy died.

"...if you ordered my cake yet."

Her dad smiled. "Lena. Your mom plans stuff for a living. Of course she ordered your cake! Why? Did you change your mind about having chocolate?"

"No," said Lena. "I was just wondering."

The sound of the garage door clattering open interrupted them.

Lena's dad looked toward the kitchen door. "Speaking of Mom," he said. "She's had a long day. Will you heat up some spaghetti for her?"

"Sure." She heaped pasta on a plate and put it in the microwave.

Cole banged in through the front door as their mom came in from the garage.

"Hellooo!" she called.

"Mom!" Cole raced up to her and threw his arms around her waist.

"Hi, Coley!" She bent over and hugged him. She looked up. "Hi, guys. Mmm, I smell spaghetti. Is there any left over?"

"It will be ready in two minutes," said Lena.

"Group hug!" yelled Cole. "Dad. Da-ad. Lena, come here."

Dad and Lena joined the other two, and they all embraced.

"I'm beat," said Mom. "I'm whipped. I'm exhausted. I'm ... tired." She opened the closet door and tossed her shoes and coat inside. Then she collapsed on the sofa. "Oh, sofa," she groaned, "how do I love thee?"

Cole jumped onto the sofa next to their mom. "Mom, you know what? It's Monday. Can I watch Monday Night Football? Dad said I had to ask you." Cole was not allowed to watch TV during the week.

Mom groaned again. "Oh, honey," she said. "Mommy is just catatonic from telling people what to do all day. Please don't ask me right this second."

"What's cantatonic?" asked Cole.

Mom chuckled. "I guess it means I can't tell another person what to do today. Dad will have to make the call this time."

"Come on, bud," said Dad. "Let's read some books, then we'll tune in to the game." He and Cole left the room.

Lena took the plate out of the microwave and grated Parmesan cheese on top of the steaming pasta. Handing the plate to her mom, she joked, "I thought you never got tired of telling people what to do."

"Oh, thank you, sweetie," said her mom. "And yes, that's true. Generally, I'm quite comfortable