“She didn’t say. If things were normal, it would be fun for us to be together, but I don’t have time to entertain her. Neither do you. You’re writing a new book, you must have more soap to make, and you have to start pulling things together to decorate the rooms and common areas. There isn’t time for Mom. But she doesn’t take the word ‘no’ very well.” His brow furrowed; his eyes squinted as if he were in pain.

Annie remembered that Kevin’s life had not been perfect. After his father left, aside from Donna and her parents (who’d died when he still was young), Kevin had had no family. Not like Annie, who’d had her adoptive parents, two aunts, one uncle, and four grandparents. They were all gone now—had been gone for some time—but she’d never felt alone during her growing-up years.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m busy, too.” She didn’t dare say she’d forgotten about choosing the touches of art and decorative items for the Inn. When she’d agreed to do it last fall, the deadline had seemed far into the future. After hesitating a moment, she added, “But my book’s not due for months, Kevin. And I’m only going to do a couple of the festivals this summer. I’ll need to make more soap for those, but maybe I can enlist Donna to help.”

“Our mother? Making soap? Wow. You really don’t know her, do you?”

An unexpected needle pierced Annie’s heart.

Kevin’s cheeks turned ivory, the color of the natural stone that Annie had selected for her kitchen counters. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “I’m sorry. I am the stupidest person in the world.”

Annie knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her. He’d become important in her life, and she knew the feeling was mutual. So she laughed. “You’re right! I hardly know her!” She stopped herself from reminding him that it was partly her own fault, because when Donna had first contacted her, Annie hadn’t responded. It had taken years for her to be ready.

“Well, now you know her son’s an ass.”

“I’ve known that for a while.” Annie got up, bent down, and gave him a hug. “But you’re the only brother I have, and I won’t trade you for anyone. Now,” she added, standing up and squeezing his shoulders, “let’s talk about dinner. Did you come back with outstanding fish from your camping adventure?”

His shoulders drooped. “Nope. Turns out I’m a crappy fisherman, too. Freshwater ponds are open. But nobody told the fish. Or maybe somebody did, so they swam away. Squibnocket maybe. Or Ice House Pond. Anyway, we spent most of our time wrapped in our sleeping blankets in front of the campfire drinking beer.”