Author: Kristan Higgins

He had almost nothing to pack—just a duffel bag with his clothes and his tools.

First stop, Mary Elizabeth’s.

As always, seeing his sister lifted his spirits. They took a walk. She didn’t ask about Parker, but he saw that her room was filled with Holy Rollers crapola—a big poster from the movie, Manga versions of the book and several stuffed animals, including a kitten that could flatten out as if roadkill, then pop open again, with wings coming out of a zippered compartment in its back. Sick, really. Carol at the front desk told him it had come from New York the week before.

“I’m drawing a horse,” Mary Elizabeth announced now, reaching for the crayon box.

“I’m drawing a cow,” he said.

“Don’t draw a cow, James,” she chided. “You can’t ride a cow.”

“This is a riding cow,” he said. “You’ll see. It could beat your horse in a race any day.”

His sister looked up at him, her eyes so blue, and laughed her squeaky laugh, then went back to her artwork.

What would life be like if she’d listened to him that day? If he’d been a better brother, a better babysitter, paid more attention? Would he have left Dresner, or stayed and become a carpenter? He’d probably be married by now. Maybe a couple of kids, even.

He remembered Nicky’s warm, sweet weight as he’d lifted the boy from the car. The joy on his face when James had let him use the nail gun.

“You think I’d be a good father?” he asked his sister.

“Aren’t you a little young for that?” she asked, sounding for the life of him like a normally functioning adult.

“I’m thirty, Mare.”

She looked up from her drawing. “You are?” He nodded. “Is that old enough to be a father?”

“Yep.”

“You give good presents. That’s important. Presents are important.” She bent back over her drawing.

He smiled.

“You always take good care of me,” she added, and her words clamped like a vise around his heart.

“You take good care of me, too,” he said unevenly, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

She glanced at his picture. “That’s the worst cow I ever saw.”

* * *

THE LAST TIME HE’D BEEN in Dresner had been two Christmases ago, at his brother Peter’s house. He’d stayed out of the way, gave all the kids the latest model of iPod and counted the minutes till he could leave. Only Mary Elizabeth, who left Beckham Institute for holidays and one weekend a month, had been really happy to see him.

He hadn’t been to his parents’ house in, oh, maybe seven, eight years.

The place looked the same. His father’s pickup was in the driveway, along with Mom’s old Buick. Not that she drove much anymore.

He knocked on the door, heart pumping in slow, heavy beats. His mother answered. “Yes?” she said.

“Hi, Mom,” he said.

“Oh, James! Hello! Come in, honey! What a nice surprise.” She was slurring, and her hair was matted on one side, as if she’d just woken up.

He kissed her cheek dutifully. Yep. Thems were Jack Daniel’s fumes.

“Frank, look who’s here! It’s James!” Mom weaved into the kitchen and sat down. “You want some coffee, honey?”

“No, I’m good,” James said. “Hey, Dad.” He extended his hand; his father shook it, not looking him directly in the eye.

“So what brings you here?” Mom asked, taking a sip of her own doctored beverage from a mug.

“I’m on my way home,” James said, sitting down.

“You still working for that Ponzi-scheme guy?” his father asked.

“Actually, I’m unemployed at the moment.”

“So your brother tells us.” Frank Cahill looked both pissed off and pleased.

“It’s good to see you, honey,” his mother said, smiling. She’d always been the kind of drunk who thought she covered well.

“You, too, Mom.” He shifted in his chair, the same worn vinyl chairs they’d had since he was a kid. “I just saw Mary Elizabeth.”

“My angel,” Mom murmured, her mouth wobbling. His father rose to leave.

“Dad, wait. Please. I need to ask you guys something.”

“Frank, sit down!” Mom said. “James is hardly ever here.”

His father sat back down. “What?” he growled.

James took a deep breath and looked at his parents, his bleary- and blue-eyed mother, his angry, bitter father. “I want you to forgive me,” he said.

“Ah, Jesus,” his father said.

“Dad, Mom, I wish—”

“You wish! Who cares what you wish? You were supposed to take care of your little sister!” his father barked, slamming his hand down on the table. “You said you’d stay home and watch her, and instead I come home to find her half-dead! All because you wanted to watch the f**king television!”

“I know.”

“And look at her now!”

“I know.”

“So how dare you ask us to forgive you? Your mother’s never gotten over it. Neither have I. And Mary Elizabeth…” His voice choked off. “She has to be cared for the rest of her life.”

“I know,” James said. “And I’ll always take care of her. I’d have her live with me, if you’d let me. I’ve asked you that before.”

“Right. So you can ignore her again? She’s got the mind of a seven-year-old, James! You can’t take care of her!”

“Yes, I can. And I would. I’d—”

“No. You can’t.”

James looked down at the table. “Okay. She’s your daughter.”

“Damn straight.” Frank sat back in his seat and folded his arms.

James sighed. “I’d still like you to forgive me.”

“Let’s not talk about this,” his mother said, pulling a tissue from her pocket and wiping her eyes. “This is not pleasant.”

“Look,” James said, looking at the scarred tabletop. “I screwed up. But I was twelve years old, and you know how she was. She did what she wanted, and we all let her get away with it. I told her not to go swimming, and she didn’t listen, and yeah, I should’ve watched her better. But, Dad…kids screw up. I tried to save her. I did my best. I did everything I could, and I’ll always be sorry it wasn’t enough. I would’ve given my life for her. But I can’t keep living under what happened when I was twelve. It’s killing me, Dad.”

“You don’t look dead to me,” his father said coldly. “You destroyed this family.”

James nodded wearily. “But I love my sister.”

Frank gave a disgusted snort. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

How easy, James thought, staring at his father’s face, to pin all the blame on someone else. His father had spoiled Mary Elizabeth most of all, had made excuses for her not listening, had let the rules change according to what Mare wanted. His father had been the decision maker in the family, the one who deemed James old enough to watch his sister for the day.

Maybe Frank blamed him because to acknowledge that he’d failed Mary Elizabeth, too…maybe that was more than his father could bear.

It had been worth a shot. James paused, then stood up. “Take care, Mom,” he said, kissing his mother’s head. She sniffled in response. He dropped a hand on his father’s shoulder. “See you, Dad.” He removed his hand before Frank could shrug it off and walked through the house.

There was the funky little closet where Mary Elizabeth always hid during hide-and-seek; James and his brothers would have to pretend to be stumped, wandering around the house, saying, “Where could she be? I can’t find her anywhere,” as she giggled wildly inside. There was the railing Pete had encouraged him to slide down, neglecting to warn against the ball-busting newel post at the bottom. The dining room, which had always looked so magical at Christmas, filled with Grandma’s cut-glass bowls, the candles and the good china, which only came out on holidays.

Once upon a time, this house had been a happy place.

It’d be good to be back in Rhode Island, where nothing had ever been too complicated. Saturday-morning basketball games, the occasional bike ride, beers with the guys, flirting with some girls.

Maybe he’d call Harry’s friend from Goldman. It might not be too late.

He opened the door and went out, closing it quietly behind him. Crossed the tired yard.

“Jamie. Wait.”

It was his mother, shielding her eyes from the sun. “What is it, Mom?”

She came up to him. “Your father’s sorry. It’s hard for him.”

“I know.”

“You know how he is. He’s strung so tight, and your brothers, well, they’re not much better. Tom’s exactly like him—they’re peas in a pod. Petey’s not bad. You should call him more.”

“Sure, Mom.”

“Good!” His mother beamed.

“I should go. It’s a long drive.” He opened the truck door.

“You’ll be her guardian, you know. Once your father and I die.”

James froze.

“We signed the papers when you graduated from law school. You’ve always been a good brother.”

“Mom—”

She waved her hand. “And this problem of mine, the drinking… That started before. Long time ago.” She gave a shaky smile, then ran a hand through her hair, making it wilder than ever. Then her eyes filled with tears. “Honey, that day…as horrible as it was, my God, and it was…I thought I’d lost you both. We’d just pulled into the driveway, and I happened to look over at the lake, and there you were, trying to save her, screaming her name. When you went under, I thought you were both dead.” His mother wiped her eyes, then smiled apologetically. “Sometimes, afterward, I’d wake up at night and think you really did drown, and I’d sit by your bed at night and pet your hair and just look at you. My baby boy.”

“Mom…” His voice broke.

“I know you tried, honey. I watched you try. Without you, she’d be dead. Don’t you forget that.”

James rubbed his forehead, looking at the ground. “Mom, if you ever wanted to come live with me—”

“Oh, honey, why would I want to do that? I love your father. Even if he can’t get over what happened with Mary Elizabeth. He’s very good with her, you know. He visits her twice a week, Wednesdays and Sundays.”

“I know. I see the visitors’ log.” He paused. “Well, you don’t have to live with me, but I sure would like it if you visited.”

His mother smiled, looking her age and then some. “Maybe, sweetheart.”

“I’d come get you.”

“That sounds nice.”

He hugged her then, hugged her for a long time, breathing in the scent of whiskey and shampoo and the musty smell of his childhood home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

SEVEN WEEKS AFTER arriving back in Rhode Island, Parker opened a flower shop.

Blossom was on the far side of Mackerly, away from the little green. It had occurred to Parker that while Ethan and Lucy were hugely important in her life, she probably shouldn’t take a storefront on the same block as their restaurant and pastry shop. So over to the other side of the island, next to a pizza place and a shoe store. An old, Lavinia-style flower shop was going out of business, and the timing had been perfect. A little construction for a new counter, made by Gianni, who was grumpy in his retirement and looked for odd jobs to keep him out of the house. A cozy little corner with a wing chair, a love seat and a coffee table, should a bride come in for a consultation. Parker had ordered some giant Georgia O’Keeffe posters and hung them on the brick wall, stocked up on tissue paper in every conceivable color and ribbons to match, and gotten to work.