Hannah texts every five minutes and calls every ten minutes for the first hour that we're driving. I read her texts and listen to her voicemails, but I don't respond. A lot of the things she says are about how worried she is. Some are reactions to what I said. And a few are combinations of both. I watch another voicemail notification pop up and sigh as I listen to it.

"Look, Mona." She sounds resigned like she's finally realizing I'm not going to respond. But it sounds like her voice is raw like she's been yelling—which she has been for a few of the voicemails. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blame you for what happened to Morgan." She laughs softly. "I'm just scared. We lost Morgan almost a year ago, and I was scared we'd lose you, too, okay? You always just disappeared when you were mad or upset, so I thought if I could keep you from getting mad or upset or really doing anything that would get you excited, I thought that meant we could keep you a little longer. That you'd be safe."

Hannah pauses, but the voicemail is still going, so I wait to see what else she has to say.

"You're annoying a hell as a little sister," Hannah finally says, her voice thick with emotion like she's on the verge of crying. "But you're still my little sister. Maybe you think I'm annoying as hell as an older sister, but I did everything I did because I was scared to lose my annoying little sister like I lost my annoying little brother.

"Mom and Dad already told me what I've been doing and what I said wasn't okay, and I get it now. I just hope you're safe, and I'll tell you how sorry I am in person when you come back. I'll stop calling and texting you as long as you come back. Just don't disappear, okay? I'll see you on your birthday."

The voicemail ends there. I look down at my phone before dropping it on my lap. I take a deep breath and look out the window, watching the snow swirl around in the illumination of the street lights. Out of habit, I find myself counting my breaths even though I know Nathan is driving even more carefully than he usually does with me in the car.

I feel a hand on my knee. I glance at Nathan's hand as he gently squeezes. I still expect us to crash, but he's keeping the car steady.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I nod, staring straight ahead. "Yeah. I think so. I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

"Trailing stars."

Clara pokes her head between the two front seats. "You two need to explain to me what the fuck a trailing star is."

Nathan smiles at me. "You explain. You thought of it."

I quickly tell Clara about how Nathan and I came to the conclusion that stars can trail you but you can also trail stars and what makes a trailing star a trailing star. I finish with, "I think Hannah's a trailing star right now."

Nathan squeezes my knee again. "What about her is a trailing star?"

I flip my phone in my hand. "She told me she was sorry in her last voicemail. That she was so overprotective because she was scared I'll disappear like Morgan did. I think I've always known that, but it makes me feel bad hearing it directly from her."

Clara shakes her head. "I don't think you should feel bad about it. It's not your fault that Morgan is gone, and it's not your fault that your sister is so scared and worried all the time."

I let out a breath. "That's not how I feel."

Clara puts a hand on my shoulder and rests her temple against mine. "You did nothing wrong, Mona. You're not doing anything wrong now."

I put my hand over hers. "Reader-writer differences."

Nathan glances at me. "Maybe sometimes the writer should listen to the reader. There's always insight in feedback."

Yeah. Maybe. It makes a lot of sense, but in this case, it feels like knowing and feeling aren't going to align for a long time. Maybe for some things, it never will, and I just have to trail my stars instead of letting them trail me to make knowing and feeling align. Especially when I'm sure they should align.

"Is everything a trailing star?" Clara asks.

Nathan shrugs. "No, but a lot of things could be." His eyes flicker to me. "Especially major things."

That one look makes my chest feel warm. It spreads, creeping up my neck to my cheeks. It doesn't help that his hand is still on my knee and his thumb is still slowly swiping back and forth. A part of me wants to ask him to stop, but a bigger part wants him to keep his hand there where it feels nice and comforting.

I swallow, nodding. "Yeah. Major things."

"Like seeing your brother's grave," Clara suggests.

I nod. "Yeah. That." I look at Nathan's phone right when we drive into the cemetery. There are ten minutes to midnight and Morgan's grave should be about a five-minute drive. "We're almost there."

Nathan glances at me. "Nervous?" I nod. "It's okay to be. It shows you care."

I hope so.

Nathan parks the car on the block Morgan is in, but according to Mom's text, his row is a few yards ahead of us. Nathan cuts the engine, and I feel him and Clara look at me. I stare through the windshield, playing with my phone in my hands. There are flurries in the air, swirling in circles with the wind. But somehow I still see stars in the sky. They wink at me like they know I'm trailing after them now instead of the other way around. And like at home, they're right in my hands, but they're not mine. Not yet.

"Do you want us to come with you?" Nathan asks.

I shake my head, inhaling. "No. I think this is something I need to do by myself."

Clara rests her temple against mine again. "We'll be right here."

I lean my head against hers. "I know."

I take a deep breath and get out of the car. I shove my hands into the pockets of Nathan's jacket and count the row numbers as I pass them. I pause when I reach the fifth row, but I force my feet to move down the line, scanning the headstones. I zero in on each name, scared I might miss Morgan, but the moment I'm in front of his grave, I don't think I could've missed it from a mile away.

There are decorations all around it. A lot of it seems new like someone was here just this morning. It's nice to know that people still care about Morgan, but I hate all of it on his behalf. None of it is white. Morgan used to tell me that if he died before me, he wanted everything to be white because it's supposedly the purest color of death. It was probably all a big joke, but it doesn't feel like one right now. I really should've made sure he got what he wanted no matter how things ended between us.

It's a little too late to do that now, but there's still time to catch at least some trailing stars.

I check the time on my phone. It's a minute before midnight. I start the countdown at 11:59:57 PM.

"3... 2... 1..."