“Hell,” he ground out, then decided he had to do something—anything to keep his mind off her and his hands occupied. He’d start with the fence. One section of the old boards sagged and that was just the beginning. There were more projects around here to keep him busy. The porch was rotting, the windows losing their seals, and the roof and gutters needed attention. He could keep himself busy for a couple of weeks and maybe do some good for his sister-in-law and her kids. Just stay away from her, Santini. He found his shoes and hitched his way down the stairs. His leg still bothered him, but it was healing without the physical therapy that his mother seemed so focused upon.

On the second floor he hesitated outside Christina’s room, then poked his head inside the partially open door and saw that the little girl was still sleeping. The bed was rumpled, the one-eyed rabbit on the floor again, but the imp was tucked into a fetal position, her thumb near her lips, as if ready to be sucked at any moment. He smiled to himself and walked the few paces to Stephen’s room where he rapped gently on the door, despite the DO NOT ENTER sign hanging from its knob.

No response.

He knocked a little more loudly.

“What?” was the groggy response.

J.D. took that as a sign to enter. He twisted the knob and shoved the door open to gaze upon a mother’s nightmare. The kid’ s room was a mess. Clothes, towels, magazines, CDs and guitar picks were strewn all over the floor. A sleeping bag, unrolled, was kicked into the corner and the wastebasket overflowed with candy wrappers and empty fast-food drink cups. Stephen’s guitar, with one string broken and curled, was propped against the end of the bed and a set of weights was rolled against a wall housing a low bookcase. “What d’ ya want?” Stephen asked, then opened his good eye a crack and spied J.D. His demeanor changed instantly from surly to wary.

“You could lend me a hand.” J.D. stepped inside, crunching a corn chip beneath his shoe.

“Doin’ what?” Stephen rubbed his face groggily and with an exaggerated groan sat up in the bed.

“Some things to help your mom. A couple of downspouts need to be replaced, the gutters cleaned, the rail of the porch should be shored up, there’s a broken step on the back porch, the windows need recaulking—”

“I get the idea.” Stephen flopped back on the bed. “Maybe later.”

“In half an hour.”

“How about three hours?”