ONE OF THE THINGS Josie liked best about autumn was the color of the sky. On cloudless days, the dome that sheltered the city was a shade of blue so pure that it made her think of bells ringing. Whenever this particular blue lingered overhead, the air cleared. Staten Island stopped stinking of garbage and sweat, and the yellow fumes that sometimes hung over New Jersey seemed to dissipate.

It was perfect weather for running. Whenever Josie began to feel overwhelmed by memories of Maine, she would slip on her special new sneakers and just go. Around and around the block.

On an afternoon in mid-October, after school had let out for the day, Josie was doing just that. After the third loop past her driveway, she finally broke a sweat. She didn’t time herself anymore like she had whenever she’d run with Lisa. Time wasn’t as important now — or speed wasn’t, rather. Time itself felt more precious than ever.

A couple of weeks after returning home from the island, Josie had sent Eli a handwritten letter, and she was still waiting for a reply. At first, she worried that maybe the people from the government had intercepted her writing and were considering how they would punish her family for breaking the promise they’d been forced to make. This promise was why she’d stayed away from email, away from her cell phone, away from texting and messaging, where people with the right technology could steal a look at whatever she had to say. Though it was still risky, a letter had seemed like the safest way to reach out. But with every passing day and no response — not from Eli, or the government agents who had interrogated them in the wake of the tragedy — Josie figured that the only thing interrupting the communication was his reluctance to write back.

She didn’t blame him. She couldn’t imagine what he must be feeling. If she’d lost her father and her sibling like he had, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get out of bed ever again. And on top of that, the fact that he’d have to tell anyone who had questions the vague story that the agency had invented for them, instead of the truth … When a dangerous storm suddenly threatened to flood the wedding venue, the entire party thought it best to escape to the mainland, but they’d been overcome … well, it was enough to make Josie boil. But the people from the agency had promised that no one would be prosecuted for what had happened on the island if they all kept their mouths shut. Everyone understood that this meant Bruno wouldn’t be prosecuted, and despite what they’d seen him do, they knew he should not be held accountable for his actions. If Eli was simply trying to protect Josie’s brother, how could she possibly be hurt by his silence?

Fourth time past her driveway. Sun was starting to set. Josie picked up the pace.

At night, she worried about her brother. She worried about her mother. She worried about Eli and Cynthia and Margo. And Sonny and Rick Thayer and their broken Sea Witch. She’d thought sending Dory’s diary to the wedding planner might quell some of her worry, but Margo had not replied either, and that had only jump-started another cycle of panic. Would things ever feel the same again?

Six times around. Seven. Eight.

She wished she could talk to someone about her storming thoughts. They were as frightening to Josie as the nightly dreams from which she woke, screaming in alarm. The following mornings, when the sky turned that bell-tone blue, Josie managed to push the nightmare away into the ghostly world of her memory and imagination, where the island rose up from the wicked ocean like a bastion in the darkness.

“Josie! Dinner!” Her mother was calling to her from the stoop of their brick colonial.

At the end of the block, Josie dropped away from her sprint, slowing to a brisk walk as she continued toward her house. She waved at her mother to let her know that she’d heard.

When she reached the steps that led up to the front door, her mother smiled. “I made spinach lasagna.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Josie said, trying to catch her breath. “Nice of you.” Ha, she thought, wiping her forehead with her arm, realizing how a tiny thing like the prospect of a favorite meal with your family could make you forget, for just a moment, everything else in the world. She chuckled, feeling the cool air blow in from behind her, sending chills across her warm skin. Gather up enough of these moments and maybe —

“A letter came for you today,” said Vivian, stepping aside, holding up her arms as if trying to avoid touching her sweaty daughter. “I put it on the table next to your plate. Open it after you wash up.”