“Parts of them,” Polly admits. “I remember Mama tucking me into bed at night. I remember Papa swinging me in the air and carrying me on his shoulders. But sometimes…” She sighs. “Sometimes, I’m not sure if I’m remembering my dad or if I’m remembering Uri.” The unshed tears sparkle in the gloom. “He replaced a lot of memories for me. There are days when I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”
“Then it’s a good thing.”
She smiles sadly. “How did your sister die?”
“Cancer. She was diagnosed with leukemia right after we turned sixteen. It was a rough year and a half.”
“I know this might sound… bad… but at least you got to say goodbye, y’know?”
I swallow the acrid taste in my mouth. “You’d think so. But that’s the thing about death: even if you can see it coming, you’re not really pre
