“Is there any other kind?”

“Not in this house. I’d love to take a few.”

She packed them up for him and handed him a bag.

Grayson kissed her forehead. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Have a nice time.”

“I will. See you later.” He went out to his SUV and stashed the blanket and muffins in the backseat and then drove down the street to Noah’s house, parking behind the big truck his brother used for work.

Noah met him at the door, wearing his usual winter uniform of plaid flannel and jeans. His dark blond hair was wet from a recent shower and his face freshly shaven, but as usual since his divorce, his gray eyes were wary and an aura of bitterness surrounded him that reminded Gray of their mother. “Come in,” he said to Grayson. “You want coffee?”

“I wouldn’t mind one more cup.”

Noah poured the coffee and put it on the kitchen table along with a container of half-and-half. “You want sugar?”

“Nah, the cream is fine. Mom said you wanted to see me?”

Noah leaned back against the counter and took a sip of his own coffee. “I saw Dad.”

Shocked, Grayson said, “Where?”

“I was up in Westmore for a job. Ran into him at a lunch place there.”

“He’s living in freaking Westmore?” Could he really be that close to the family he’d abandoned?

“Apparently, he’s been there all along. He said he tried to reach you through your office in Boston.”

Grayson tried to wrap his brain around that info. “No, he didn’t. They would’ve told me if anyone tried to reach me.”

“He didn’t leave a message.”

“What’d he want?”

“To tell us he’s sick. He has leukemia.”

“Oh.” Grayson had no idea how he was supposed to feel about that.

“And he wanted to know if we’d consider being tested for a potential bone marrow transplant.”

Grayson heard the words his brother said, but his brain refused to process them. His dad needed a bone marrow transplant, and he wanted the children he’d abandoned twenty years ago to be tested.

“Gray?”

He looked at his brother. “What about his siblings?”

“None of them were a match.”

“What did you say when he asked you?”

“Nothing, really. He gave me his number and told me to call him if anyone would be willing.”

“I can’t even believe he’d have the nerve to ask us.”

“I suppose nerve doesn’t factor in when facing a possibly terminal illness.”

“I won’t do it. I wouldn’t cross the street to talk to him let alone give him my fucking bone marrow.”

“Fair enough.”

“What does that mean? You’re going to do it?”

“Haven’t decided yet. We need to tell the others. Everyone can make up their own minds.”

“I’ll let you spread the word. I want nothing to do with it.”

“Okay.”