The porch light flicked on. The front door opened. Cody called out, “Mare, is that you? And…Mom? What are you doing here?”

“We’re just chatting. And I wanted to drop dinner off, dear. I thought you and Marin might like to try this recipe I found. It was one of your great-grandmother Alvera’s favorites. Supposedly it was the last meal she made her family before she disappeared. With everything that’s happened with Vera, it made me think of it.”

It was eerie, the mystery that circled the Portman-Fields family. Cody’s great-grandmother disappearing shortly after giving birth to her first—and only—child. No suspects ever identified. Her body never recovered. Vanished, as if she had never existed. All that remained of her was a recipe.

“That’s so…thoughtful, I guess?” Cody’s compliment lifted with awkward gratitude.

“It’s just food. You’ve got to eat, right?”

“Thanks, Mom. Oh, I might as well tell you both that I just got promoted to manager of a second location.”

Debra brightened. “So you won’t have to sell used cars anymore?”

“Yeah, Mom, the boss knows I’m no great shakes as a salesman, but he likes my personality, my style, and my people skills. The customers seem to like me too. The boss thinks I’ll make a better manager than a salesman.”

“Well…I guess it’s better than nothing. Will it be twice the money?”

“Not yet, but maybe eventually, if the other location does well,” Cody explained.

I felt mortified for Cody, always trying to impress his mother and always failing. Cody could never compete with Oliver, and I understood why. While Cody worked hard, he didn’t have the looks, or the drive, or the natural business sense that his older brother did. While Oliver pursued academia and went on to college earning his bachelor’s in business and working his way up the ladder of a prestigious marketing firm, Cody scraped through high school and flipped burgers to earn cash that he’d blow at the bar. From burger flipping he eventually got nudged into management because his boss saw something in him that Cody didn’t see—something worth more than minimum wage. When he got tired enough of coming home smelling like cooking grease every day, he switched to used cars.

My husband was the ongoing butt of every joke, unable to live down the stigma associated with used car salesmen. Sketchy. Sleazy. He endured the taunts and epithets because he hated his job anyway.

I handed the casserole to Cody and invited Debra to join us.

“No, I already ate hours ago. Plus your father is waiting at home for me. I’ll see you soon.” She kissed Cody on the cheek, gently squeezed my arm, and left.