“Why is Mom doing this? They were done. She didn’t speak to him for years. It’s bad enough both you and she still have a relationship with him, but . . .” Olivia closed her eyes as if she could shut out the words her sister had spoken.

“They meet up occasionally. He’s been wooing Mom. Last week he asked if he could come back home and be part of the family again.” It seemed evident by the way Neve wouldn’t meet her gaze and by the way she picked at a hangnail that she hadn’t wanted to deliver this news. “Maybe it’s time you just—”

“No.” Olivia shook her head as the kettle started a low-pitched whine. “He ruined our family.”

“Liv,” Neve said, tapping the table. “You are a therapist who teaches people how to deal with family who—”

“Not this sort of thing. I don’t have to forgive him. I don’t have to acknowledge him in any way. You don’t understand. You weren’t there when he said I was the enemy, you . . .” Olivia trailed off because she couldn’t tip over into that chasm in her soul. Too dangerous.

Walk away. Close the door. Distract.

“Can we not talk about that right now?”

Neve seemed relieved to set the topic of their family aside for the time being. “Sure. I respect your right to feel as you do.”

“Thank you. Uh, so, Chase is having someone stay next weekend for the festival. I wasn’t sure how long you were staying,” Olivia said, pushing back and rising as the kettle reached train whistle stage.

Neve watched her. Olivia could feel her disappointment, but she didn’t want to talk about her parents. Her mother had lost her damned mind, and her father was a black hole in Olivia’s heart.

“I’m not sure. Maybe a week or two in order to oversee some of the repairs and remodeling we’re doing. Uh, I wanted to broach something with you. I know you had suggested using the cabin occasionally for what you’re doing with Chase, this adulting camp or whatever, but I . . . well, I thought maybe I could live here.”

Olivia jerked around, spilling hot water on the burner. The hissing startled her, and she set the kettle down too hard, splashing some water onto her wrist. “Ow!”

Olivia lunged toward the sink, ran cold water, and stuck her seared flesh beneath the frigid stream.

Neve got up, pushed the spout away, and took Olivia’s hand, turning it over. “You need to be careful. I wish we had some aloe vera to put on it. Granny used to keep some on the windowsill.” Neve grabbed a paper towel and folded it, pressing it gently on the angry welts.

“Thanks,” Olivia said, withdrawing her hand and shuffling back to the table.