Fitch’s first book, White Oleander, was populated by damaged women, some poisonous, some merely confused, but all interesting. This second book features a series of weak, incomplete characters who aren’t especially interesting. The revelatory event: that someone you love and think you know could have been lying to you about everything isn’t all that revelatory. It doesn’t help that Fitch chose to take on a huge subject: how to cope after the suicide of someone you love. She bit off more than she could chew, I think.