“Sure did,” he says with a snide grin. “Naturally, she took it totally the wrong way, like I’m a relative looking out for her welfare. But I’m just being realistic. She can go back to Boise and do research if she wants. She can do research from wherever. If she’s here, she’s visible.”

“I buy her interpretation,” I say. “You’re a softie.”

“It was a decent thing to do,” Paul adds

Jack straightens. Unfolding his arms, he extends one behind me so that the side of his hand hits my shoulder. He doesn’t hold me exactly. But it’s a statement. “Some of us do know what decency is.”

“Jack,” I warn, knowing where he’s heading.

But Paul is up for the challenge. “Okay. Spit it out.”

“She grew up being hurt.” No doubt who the she is. “With Tom dead, that’s over. I don’t want it starting up again from you.”

“And how might I do that?” Paul asks.

“Paul,” I caution, knowing how tenacious Jack can be.

“No, no,” he reassures me, “this is good. Let’s air it.” He sits forward just enough to squarely face Jack. “How might I hurt her?”

“By disappearing again.”

“I never disappeared. I was always here.”

“Skulking in the shadows.”

“I don’t skulk, and if I’ve been in the shadows, it’s out of respect for Eleanor and Tom.”

“And now?”

“Now, what?”

“Are you promising things you can’t deliver?”

“Like what?”

“Affection. Loyalty. Support.”

After following the dialogue, back and forth, side to side, I’m on Jack. “Excuse me, but I don’t need—”

“And you’ve given her those things all these years?” Paul fires back at him. “From what I understand, you’ve been AWOL for twenty.”

“It’s not—” I try but am overridden by Jack.

“We were young and hot-headed.”

“You were hot-headed. I can’t imagine Mallory ever was.”

“Jack and I—” have discussed this, I might have said had I been allowed to finish, but Jack is unstoppable.

“Which shows how little you know her. She’s independent. She does not need anything from you.”

When Paul mutters into my right ear, “What is he to you?” and Jack into my left, “What is he to you?” I’ve had enough. Jumping up from the bench, I raise both hands. My voice is low and fierce. “I don’t like fights. I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding them. If you … boys … need to argue, you can do it without me.”

Whipping around, I head for the house, then whip back. “But I will fight. I have a life and a daughter, and I won’t have either of you interfering with that. Got it?” Before they can speak, I leave.