“Oh-ho, no,” Joy laughs. “We’re staying here. Things are just getting interesting.”

Her tone is too cocksure for comfort. She knows something I don’t.

I look up at her, but she’s still facing the boat. The engine starts, then idles while Jack releases the last of his lines. I don’t have to look to know this. I lived it too many times to forget. “What things?” I ask.

“Anne’s boyfriend is coming to dinner.”

Jack’s boat leaves the dock with a huge, crescendoing growl.

My goal for dinner is to mend fences with Anne. I usually know the right thing to say to people, but I’m not doing so well with her. She liked that I like her shop, but when I mentioned our bluff and the Hartleys, the good will vanished. She’s my sister. I accept that our memories of childhood differ. I accept that she resents Margo and me for abandoning Dad. I accept that his health creates a dilemma. But there has to be common ground.

Determined to find it, I join her in the kitchen early to see what I can do to help. Billy—Bill, Mallory, Bill—Houseman is there with her. From the moment Joy said he’d be coming, I repressed the thought. With so many other battles to fight, I can’t afford one about Bill. But here he is.

How to deal with him in a way that doesn’t worsen my relationship with Anne?

I remember him having greasy hair and a stringy beard, wearing jeans that sagged and biker boots. I remember him holding a can of beer in his hand, always a can of beer. He had attitude written all over him, and he reinforced it with petty crimes, from shoplifting to “borrowing” people’s cars to painting graffiti on the schoolyard wall. I remember him being a smoker.

He isn’t smoking now. Nor do I smell it on him. His hair is short, his five o’clock shadow respectable enough. He wears nice-fitting jeans, an untucked shirt rolled at the cuffs, and flip-flops, and he holds a bottle of what looks like craft beer. The only thing I see that is even remotely rebellious is his ink. It covers both arms and climbs one side of his neck.

Even with that, he looks reputable. I might guess that he’d done it just for tonight, except that he seems at ease with himself. In fact, that’s the one thing that hasn’t changed about him—the insolent look. He knows that I remember the old Billy and is daring me to comment.

I smile and extend my hand. “Bill. Wow. It’s been a while.”

He hesitates, wary, before saying a measured, “It has. How’re you doing, Mallory?”

“Great. It’s really something being back here.”

“Is that good or bad?” Anne asks over her shoulder. She is at the sink husking corn.