In that moment, she wishes that Delilah—however she is—were here. Cora knows how pathetic that makes her. She’s twenty-four, not fourteen, and she should know how to navigate without her sister. But she has always felt like she’s out at sea with only a star map and no stars at all overhead, voyaging somewhere far and nameless, and Delilah always knew where to go. All Cora can do is tread water until her arms grow numb, and float on her back and let the current rock her like a piece of garbage. It is a slow and quiet drowning, to not know your destination.
