I dusted snow from my coat. “A little better. Just two more days of chemo. Once he’s feeling better, you can come meet him.”

“So you had Gabe’s kid, huh?” Ben raised his sparse eyebrows at me, blinking too fast. “And you let another man raise him.” He whistled. “That’s pretty low.”

I flinched, remembering the day I’d found out I was pregnant, hurrying to order a prenatal paternity test, my surprise at the results.

“I don’t think you can judge me for wanting the best for my child when you’re raising yours in a drug den,” I said coolly.

I stormed over to the wooden table tucked under the stairs and threw my purse and canvas bag on it.

Ben opened his mouth, but Gabe moved between us, hands up, the odd peacemaker in our twisted little trio. “It’s fine. I’m sure Emma wishes some things were different. I know I do.”

That wasn’t true. I didn’t regret a thing. I’d made the best decisions for my baby then, and now. But I tossed him a grateful smile anyway.

I needed him on my side.

I wasn’t sure why it surprised me that Ben was so angry at me. Our relationship had been strained for a long time. He was jealous and resentful before our parents died, angry and hateful after. When I was a girl, he was my hero, but somewhere along the way he decided I was spoiled, a princess with daddy wrapped around her little finger.

Once, when Ben was about thirteen, Dad came home late very drunk and very angry. He’d lost a lot of money at the casino. He went to the kitchen to make himself some toast and found crumbs in the butter. Dad lost it, blaming Ben and raging about what a loser he was.

“Can’t you do anything right?” he’d snarled.

Ben had just sat there plucking at his eyebrows. He didn’t bother telling Dad that I’d been the last one to use the butter.

Later, I asked him why. “What would’ve been the point?” he’d said, stony-faced. “You can do no wrong with him. He would’ve turned it around to be my fault anyway.”

He was probably right. Mom used to joke that I was Dad’s Mini-Me. And Dad loved that I was so much like him. Even as a kid I liked to jump higher, run faster, go farther than others.

Maybe Ben got a little lost in my wake.

“I think someone was following me,” I said.

Ben straightened. “Shit! Who?”

“It was a big black truck. Chrome wheels. Double cab. It looked like the one that was at Costco. You know, the one that guy who took the girl out of your van was driving? Like that.”

“Why’d you come here then?”