Across the way the On Time was docking. It would only take a few seconds for it to unload, then load up again. Her time was running short. But maybe it would be enough for her to extend a drop of water to him.

“I don’t blame you for the video,” she said. “In fact, I don’t blame you for anything. You’ve been a victim most of your life, thanks in no small part to your grandparents. For what it’s worth, I admire not only how you’ve handled yourself, but also how you’ve seemed to thrive. Now that you’re here, now that you’ve been reunited with your mother, please don’t let old gossip push you away. And don’t let it mess up your relationship with Taylor. I know it must he hard, but she’s your mother, Jonas. And she loves you. She always has.” Annie’s voice fluttered, as if she’d been talking about Donna.

The On Time was reloaded and heading back to Chappy. Annie didn’t know if anything she’d said had gotten through to Jonas, any more than she had a clue as to why she was defending Taylor. She wondered how much of that had to do with Donna. After all, Donna and Taylor had both been mothers whose children were taken from them. As for Jonas, if Annie had learned anything over the years, it was that running away hurt other people. Not to mention that it often wrecked the life of the person who’d done the running. Or so she’d fantasized after Mark had run from her.

In the few seconds she had left, Annie figured she had one more chance. “And we’re coming into season,” she said brightly. “It would be a shame if you missed this chance to get your career started. With all the summer people flocking to this ‘weird’ place, it’s a perfect time to sell your paintings and get your work known. Lucy told me that the Sculpin Gallery wants your work. And that it’s going to be at Featherstone. Most artists I know would trip over one another to try to get into either of those venues, let alone both. You’re in the right place, Jonas. The buying power here comes from all over the country; it’s radical in the summer.”

The On Time docked; Jonas’s eyes filled with tears.

“The diner?” Annie asked softly.

He nodded.

* * *

“She killed him,” Jonas said, after Esther—the sweet, soft-spoken waitress—delivered a burger and a Coke to him, and a mug of tea to Annie.

Annie gripped the handle of the mug. “What?” She wasn’t sure she wanted details; she hoped he wasn’t going to tell her something she’d have to tell John, and have him think that she’d been meddling in police business—again.

“My mother killed my father.”