My memory was foggy before the age of seven and I didn’t know why. My childhood was average—better than average if the stories I heard in group were the norm. No messy divorces, no alcoholism or violence. I had two parents who loved each other, my brother, and me. They weren’t weirded out when Justin dyed his hair green and started a punk band in high school. They went to his shows, cheering him on the same way they cheered for me at swim meets. My mom worked long hours managing a nonprofit arts organization and didn’t make much, so we struggled at times when my dad was between carpentry jobs, but before What Happened, we were happy more often than not.

Regardless of this normalcy, all I could remember was flashes—the smell of the library that we visited every Sunday, swinging at a park with Abby, trick-or-treating as Tinkerbell with Justin as Peter Pan beside me—until the summer before second grade.

I launched into something from that time period, hoping it would satisfy Cass. I didn’t look at her or anyone else as I spoke. “I remember going to the pool when I was seven. Justin would have just turned 12. Our mom was there, too, but she didn’t go in the water with us. She would read in one of the lounge chairs while Justin and I swam and went down the water slides.” I almost smiled, recalling the thrill of finally being tall enough to race my brother down the two slides that twisted around each other, one covered (Justin’s) and one open and slightly less scary (mine). “Sometimes I wished she would let us go by ourselves, so we could eat whatever we wanted during rest periods.”

“Hell yeah, pool snacks are the shit!” someone remarked. Looking up, I discovered that it was Chuckie, wearing his usual unbuttoned Chicago White Sox jersey over a black T-shirt. His cousin had been shot in front of him on the porch of a friend’s house. He grinned at me, teeth white as his meticulously clean sneakers, and I couldn’t help but laugh a little bit.

Cass laughed, too, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged in her chair as she prompted, “Go on, Meredith.”

“Well, even though I didn’t get any good pool snacks that day, I was glad my mom was there when a big thunderstorm came out of nowhere,” I continued.

It happened fast. The balmy breeze turned into a gust and blew clouds over the bright sun causing the sky to turn a strange shade of pink like it does around sunset. A few fat drops of rain fell. The kind you ignore when you’re a kid who doesn’t want to leave the pool.

Then, off in the distance, behind Justin and the water slides, lightning flashed.

Justin turned to look when my eyes widened. “It’s only heat lightning,” he reminded me.

He’d explained that concept the week before when we were playing in the backyard at dusk and the sky suddenly lit up. “Heat lightning is so far away that you can’t even hear the thunder. It can’t hurt you. It’s like natural fireworks. Pretty, right?” he’d asked.

I’d nodded and he’d coaxed me into sitting outside to watch it with him until the winds picked up and Mom made us come in. He’d almost cured me of my fear of storms that day by patiently explaining the science behind them.

But my terror returned at the pool. Heat lightning was still lightning and even though it wasn’t followed by thunder, every lifeguard got to their feet and blew their whistle, causing me and several other children to scream.

Justin ushered me out of the water, over to Mom right as the clouds opened up. It rained so hard the droplets hurt and everyone was running and bumping into each other despite the lifeguards’ incessant whistling.

Mom steered me toward our locker room. Justin got caught up in the tidal wave of boys headed in the other direction, and when I lost sight of him, I let loose a bloodcurdling screech. My mother swept me into her arms. I kicked against her, shouting that we couldn’t let Justin go. For some reason, I’d been so certain that we’d never see him again.

Remembering how scared I’d felt, I hated myself for sharing this stupid memory. I should’ve held my ground against Cass and insisted that the cute baby carriage story was my memory not family lore.

Downplaying my emotions, I summarized, “When it started pouring, there was this huge crush to get into the locker rooms and we got separated from my brother. I made my mom go straight out to the lobby so we could find him, but we didn’t see him right away. I was sort of freaked.” More like hyperventilating. “Then I hear my mom. She points through the front door and there’s Justin out on the lawn doing cartwheels in his swim trunks in the rain.”

I could hear his voice, which was still boyish then, not the guttural scream he’d hone in his band a few years later. “Come on, Mere, it’s only water. Nothing to be afraid of.”

“My brother loved storms,” I said. “Guess it was fitting that it rained the day he died.”

Shit. The words had tumbled out before I could stop them. Now I was standing on the precipice of What Happened.

Cass nodded solemnly, urging me to jump with her eyes.

I shook my head, thinking, Nice try, I’ve said more than enough for today.

Then someone called Cass out for me. “That’s the memory you really want us to tell, isn’t it? How they died?”

I recognized Kat’s ragged voice and couldn’t help but look up even though I’d carefully kept my body pointed away from her end of the circle. If she’d spoken up on my behalf, I couldn’t tell. She didn’t so much as sneak a glance at me; her heavily made-up brown eyes were locked on Cass’s.

Defiant as Kat seemed with her pierced nose, combat boots, spiky hair, and all of that black eyeliner, she couldn’t faze our fearless group leader.

Cass merely raised her eyebrows in response to Kat’s accusation. “You can talk about what happened if that’s what’s coming to you, but no, I wasn’t trying to force it. It seemed like Meredith might be ready.”

Her gaze shifted back to me me. I wanted to ask, “If I give you that, will I graduate? Do I get a diploma or certificate of some sort that says Meredith Bell has successfully completed all five stages of grief and is officially ready to move on?”

But Justin had gotten the tattooed/unnatural hair color genes. I wasn’t a rebel like him. Or Kat.

“I’m ready,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Cass swiveled her head to the right, dreadlocks spilling over her left shoulder. She mimicked Kat’s posture and as she crossed her arms, the sleeve of her gray tee rose to reveal her birdcage tattoo. The cage was open and empty and there was loopy handwritten script on a ribbon that hung from one of the bars. It read, “Secrets lead to sickness.”

“First day back and you’re ready?” Cass deadpanned.

Kat matched her tone. “Maybe that’s why I’m back.”

Maybe there was a grief group certificate and Kat wanted it.

Cass flicked her chin upward indicating that Kat should spill.

The determination in Kat’s eyes wavered momentarily like a kid at an amusement park who’d spent the whole time in line bragging about what a piece of cake the roller coaster was and almost chickened out upon stepping into the first car. But then she blinked and her expression hardened once again.