Wheeling Gull Isle Revenge of the orchestra.

Towhee had the sense that Dinah was processing out loud, so she stayed silent. She blinked and stiffened at the mention of someone named John harming her sister, though she bit her tongue. It was a shame about her brother, though it wasn’t unusual for siblings not to get along. Caracal himself had grown up in a fairly volatile dynamic with the twins. Towhee couldn’t make sense of the remark about Dinah’s parents, who basically never left the island.

Look, kiddo, I could blow smoke up your ass all day long. And for what it’s worth, I think highly of you, despite the tendency for waterworks. But at the end of the day, only you—not God, not mom and dad, not grandma, not anybody—only you can decide your worth. And only you get to live your life, so you should spend it however you like. My best advice is to try to do that without hurting others, although that’s honestly not always possible.

She let that sink in while she gazed around at the purple flowers swaying in the sea breeze. Towhee had come here to kick back and sip a few Long Island iced teas. Instead, she was having one of the heaviest conversations of her nearly seven years with a small child. Man, what a weird life she led.