I barged into Darby's room. She lay sprawled on her bed, head propped on her forearm, until she jerked up with wide eyes.
"Don't you kn - " she started.
I dragged her small, bony shoulders off the bed and shook them. "Why did you take Dad's book from the trash?"
"What book?" Tears leaked out from behind her glasses, and I knew right then that she knew exactly what book I was talking about.
"The book, Darby." I crushed her arms under my grip and shrieked at her face. "Tell me. Why did you take it?"
Dad filled the doorway, breathless. "Leigh, stop."
"The book." The words came out like a plea, a plea for her to understand how horribly wrong it was for her to even think about that book, let alone use it. "The one that would bring Mom back."
Memories stabbed through the wall of fog in my brain and crumpled me to the floor in a heap of sobs. I buried my head in my hands and wished them away.