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“The question,” Sandra said, “is—what will you do? Where will you go?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re designing again,” Mia pointed out. “You can start over.”

“I burned a lot of bridges.” Lucy explained the attitude of the boutique owners who’d sent back her designs after learning she was mass-producing the necklace. Meredith Van Loan had sent a snobby note saying, “We don’t cater to the masses.”

“Maybe they only look burned?” Mia asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lucy said. “I don’t have any materials. Or equipment. I had to sell it all.”

“Lucy,” Sandra said. “I’m not without money.”

“And I’m not going to take it, Mom. Besides, I don’t even know if I really want to do this. I don’t…know what I want to do just yet. I’m still figuring it out.”

Mia nodded. “That’s allowed, I suppose. But the taxi thing?”

“Over,” Lucy insisted. “Over before it really started, except for taking Aaron to some hockey—” She stopped. She imagined she wouldn’t be taking Aaron anywhere anymore. Tears burned hotter behind her eyes. Quickly, she blinked them away, surprised at the pain.

“Well, you’re staying here,” Mia said, wrapping her arms around Sandra’s waist and Lucy’s shoulders. “As long as you need. This place has been empty too long.”

“Thanks,” Lucy sighed, grateful for the invite.

“Come,” Sandra whispered, kissing both her girls on their foreheads. “Let’s have something to eat.”

“I can’t, Mom. Not just yet.” She grabbed her keys off the counter.

“Where are you going?” Sandra asked.

“You’re going to go chase after Jeremiah,” Mia said, her feelings about the idea more than obvious.

“I have to try and talk to him. Explain why I lied.”

Sandra looked between Mia and Lucy. “Is there…is there something between you and Jeremiah?”

“I like him, Mom, a lot. And if I let him cool off he’ll convince himself he should never speak to me again. He’s a mess like that.”

“Maybe he’s sensible like that,” Mia said.

“Whose side are you on?”

“The side that causes less bloodshed.”

If Jeremiah had his way he would never speak to her again. Never see her again. Certainly never meet her at the hotel by the highway. And the thought opened up a hole in her chest.

He’d left not even an hour before and she missed him.

Missed the idea of him. The prospect of the boys.

“I have to try.”

“Wait, honey, at least until he settles the boys down. Give him a chance to deal with what’s on his plate before you go rushing in to explain yourself.”

Mom was right. It would be selfish to go charging over there right now. She could wait a few hours. A few very painful hours.

The boys stood behind Jeremiah. Without even looking at them he knew how they would be arranged.

Ben, of course, would be slouched against the wall under the phone, his arms crossed over his chest. His nine-year-old glare getting sharper by the second. Jeremiah knew this because the skin between his shoulder blades itched.

In the doorway, Casey would be cozied up to Aaron. As the stress in the kitchen got deeper and thicker, Casey would contemplate putting his thumb in his mouth, but then he would remember the number of times Jeremiah had yelled at him to stop sucking his thumb like a baby and instead he’d grab Aaron’s hand.

Aaron would squeeze his brother’s hand but stay silent, just like Jeremiah had told them to—barked at them, actually—the second they’d gotten into the truck to leave the Rocky M.

How much longer will that last? Jeremiah wondered, picking up the book bags that covered the kitchen table and chucking them in the corner. How much longer before Aaron started yelling back to protect his brothers from their crazy uncle who didn’t know what he was doing?

Who yelled too much.

Who never seemed to say the right thing.

Once the table was cleared, he spun.

“Sit.” He pointed to the chairs. His temper, his confusion, it was a boiling hot mess in his chest and he thanked the Lord that Ben didn’t mouth off.

Because he didn’t know what he would have done otherwise. He really didn’t. His back was so far up against the wall he was lost in the paint.

Ben sat. Casey and Aaron followed.

“Why are you mad?” Casey whispered. Looking guilty and worried and scared.

“I don’t like being lied to.”

“I didn’t lie,” Casey protested, and Jeremiah took a deep breath. Counted to ten.

“I know, Case, but…but we’re having a family meeting.”

Casey looked at Aaron, who shrugged.

“It’s our first.” Jeremiah took a deep breath and reached deep inside for his heretofore unseen internal Dr. Gilman.

He’d been seeing the psychiatrist for months now; something had to have rubbed off.

“We need to talk,” Jeremiah said. “Not yell. Not go stomping off when we get mad. We need to sit here—” He spread his hands across the faded and scared wood of the old table. The table he’d grown up at, the table his sister had inherited and was now his—full circle. His fingers got stuck in old maple syrup. “—and talk stuff out.”

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