If I tell her about Ronald Doe, I’ll have to get into the whole thing about Elizabeth’s estate, in which case Anne may jump to the worst conclusion and go to the police herself. So no to that, too.

I can tell her some of what Jack and I discussed, and what I say will be true. But it won’t be the whole truth. Then again, does that matter? We were raised on the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. Looking at our lives now, though, with everyone either hiding something, looking the other way, or simply forgetting, that mantra is a joke.

Anne begged me not to side with Jack, and I’m not doing that. He and I will check things out, then share with the others. The danger, of course, is that Anne learns what I’ve hidden first, in which case the fragile détente she and I found earlier this evening may break.

What to do?

“So?” she asks when I’m far enough up the stairs that she doesn’t have to shout over the sound of the surf. “What did Jack say?”

“The PI is quitting.” I climb the last few steps and sit beside her on the dry planks. “He says he likes Lily too much.”

“But he’s sticking around?”

“I guess.”

“Will he be trouble?”

“As in, going after Dad? I doubt it. What can he find?” I change the subject before she can answer. “Where’s Joy?”

“At the piano with Dad. He asked her to play. He remembered she could. It’s really good for him that she’s here, Mal. And it’s good for me, too. Can she come to the shop with me tomorrow morning?”

“Sure. She had an awesome time there.”

“It’s awesome having her there.” She sounds wistful. “My niece.”

I wiggle closer to her. “You’d be a good mom, Annie.”

“You think so?” she asks.

“Of course.” But I sense her uncertainty. “Don’t you?”

As dark as the night is, I know that her eyes are a clear, honest green. Her voice is clear as well. “I’m not the most realistic person. Would I know what’s going on with my child, or just see what I want to see?”

I’m relieved that she knows this. She’s never expressed it before, certainly not to me. It’s definitely an admission.

Taking her hand, I face her. “You, sister, have bought into the image you created. Sunny Side Up? That’s optimism, and there’s nothing wrong with it. But just the fact that you asked this question is an answer. You’d know what was going on with your child, because you’d know to look deeper. You’d know to be realistic when realistic counts. Besides,” I add, grinning, “you’d have me to point things out.”

“Promise?” she begs. “I’m going to need you.”