Fine. This would have to wait till after dinner. The woods were too big, and I really had no idea where Sully had put the body. I’d ask, he’d tell, and maybe Poe would bury old Tweety if I paid her. A lot.

Just as I was coming back to the house, I saw something coming right at my head, and instinctively, I swung the shovel and hit the thing square on, like Big Papi sending one over the Green Monster at Fenway.

It was Tweety.

Fuckety fucking McFuckster.

I’d killed Tweety twice in one night. He lay on the ground, burnt yellow wings spread. One flap. I swore he turned his head to accuse me with his eyes. Maybe I could splint him if he was just hurt, make a tiny neck brace... No. He was dead. His ickle chest rose no more.

Shit.

“Nora?” My mother stood in the doorway. “Is that... Aw, Tweety!”

“Mom, I’m so sorry.” Guilt caused sweat to break out over my whole body. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“He dive-bombed me and, uh...”

“And he hit the window,” Poe said loudly. “I saw it, too. So sad, Gran.”

Mom stood there, her face blank. Then she shrugged. “Ah, well. He was old. Glad he didn’t suffer. Thanks for burying him for me, Nora. That’s real sweet of you.”

With that, she went back inside. Poe patted her shoulder as she passed, then widened her eyes at me. “Bird killer,” she whispered.

“Not funny,” I said. I mean, yeah, someday it might be funny. In three or four decades.

Sully came out. “I think I missed something,” he said.

“Lazarus here tried to attack me.”

“Can’t say I blame him.”

“And I hit him with the shovel.”

“So we shouldn’t get a bird, is that what you’re saying?” He took the shovel from me and scooped up the poor little bird. “You want to check his pulse or anything?”

“No. He’s a goner for real this time. Sorry, Tweety,” I said.

“Go back inside,” Sullivan said. “I’ll take care of this.”

* * *

There was no dessert, of course. Mom reminded me to come over some night this week, refused my offer to help clean up and told me to go on my way.

“Sorry again about Tweety, Mom. I know you loved him.”

“Well. Pets die. Whatcha gonna do?”

I tried to give her a hug, the kind she’d given me that night at St. Mary’s of the Sea. “Yeah, okay, Nora, let’s not get hysterical,” she said, pulling back. “See you, Sullivan. Be good to my girl.”

And that was that. We said goodbye to Poe, who was in far too good of a mood, and got into Sully’s truck and, since he had to watch the road and not my face, drove in silence the ten minutes into town.

I kept seeing Tweety’s sad, not-quite-yellow body on the ground.

“So that was fun,” Sully said as we pulled up into a narrow driveway. His house was small but charming—a modified bungalow, two stories, the requisite gray shingles, white shutters and trim. A little grass, some tiger lilies by the white picket fence. There was a porch with two planters filled with purple flowers.

Teeny Fletcher stood on the top step, her arms crossed.

“Hello, Ma,” he said.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said. “Don’t hello, Ma me. Lukie told me you were out with this one.” Lukie. He was doomed if he was thirty-five years old and his mother still called him that.

“I was out with this one,” Sullivan said. “I still am.”

“Hi, Teeny,” I said.

“You’re nawt dating my son,” she said.

“I actually seem to be,” I said. “Go figure.”

“You’re so high and mighty, aren’t you? Little miss doctor, think you’re too good for us.”

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” I asked.

Sullivan sighed. “Mom, go home. Okay? I’m old enough to pick my own—”

“What about Amy? What does she think about all this?”

Sullivan walked up to his mother, put his arm around her shoulders and walked her down the steps. “Have a good night, Ma. Talk to you soon.”

“You’re not good enough for my son!” she said as she passed.

“See you around town,” I said.

She gave me the finger as she got into her car.

“What a sweet lady,” I said as Sullivan came back toward me.

“Sorry about that. Come on in and make yourself at home. I’ll get us something to drink.”

“Make it strong,” I said, but his back was turned. I’d have to get used to this way of talking. Or not. I wasn’t here for that long.

Maybe we could have a long-distance relationship. I guess we’d see.

I liked Sully’s house immediately. The front door opened into a great room with a comfortably worn couch in front of the TV cabinet. I could picture him and Audrey here, watching a ball game or movie. There was a big armchair and a red-and-cream rug, a bookcase with paperbacks and DVDs. At least a dozen pictures of Audrey, Audrey and him, Audrey and Amy and him, even.

And one of Audrey and Luke, taken in the not-too-recent past. Last summer, maybe? Audrey looked about the same size as now and was wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt. They were squirting each other with water guns, both of them laughing, the sunshine making little rainbows on the water.

So Luke loved his niece. And she loved him, too. It was reassuring.

Sully came in holding two glasses of white wine. “Kind of a shitty date so far,” he said, sitting next to me.

I nodded. “I can’t disagree.” Took a big sip of wine. “I like your house.”

“Thank you.”

“How’s Audrey? Is she feeling good? Any problems?”

“She’s great. You saw for yourself.”

I nodded. Tried to think of something to say. Came up empty.

So did he. We glanced at each other at the same time, offered each other a pained smile and averted our eyes.

Bird killing seemed to put a damper on things.

He took a deep breath. “Well.”

“Yeah.”

“I heard that nurse is dating your old boyfriend.”

I jerked, slopping wine onto my dress because why not, right? “Wow. Did you? It’s true. They met at a Starbucks near the ferry station in Boston.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you if you don’t look at me.”

“Shit. Sorry.” I faced him square on and repeated what I said.

“Small world,” he said. “You okay with that?”

“Oh, sure,” I lied. “I mean...I guess. I don’t think he’s being completely honest with her. I know he’s not, in fact. He lied about me, and she doesn’t care and this is when you really hate being a woman, because guys seem to handle this stuff much better.”

He nodded.

I nodded, too. “You wanna make out?” I asked, because conversation was just not going to be our thing tonight.

He laughed, and then I felt something stir in my belly, a lovely warm squeeze of attraction. At the same time, we both leaned forward to put our wine on the coffee table and bumped heads. Hard.

“Ow,” he said. Just what the guy needed. Another brain injury courtesy of yours truly.

“No, it’s just part of my sexy dance,” I said. “You could be my next Tweety.”

“What happened with that bird, anyway?”