Nealy finally understood what this conversation was about, and it broke her heart. She didn’t care whether Lucy wanted to be touched or not. She reached across the table and cupped her hand. “Oh, Luce . . . Mat and I aren’t going to get together, not the way you want. I’m sorry. We can’t make a home for Button or for you.”

Lucy shot up from the table as if Nealy had struck her. “Like I’d want to live with either one of you. You’re so fucking pathetic!”

“Lucy!” Mat came storming toward them with Button tucked under his arm. His expression was angry, and he shot one hand toward Mabel. “Get in there.”

“No, Mat . . . it’s all right.” Nealy rose, trying to stem his anger.

Button began to whimper.

“It’s not all right.” He gave Lucy a blistering look. “You’re not going to talk to Nell like that. If you want to act like a brat, you can do it by yourself. Now get going.”

“Fuck you, too!” Lucy stomped off through the grass toward Mabel.

Mat clenched his fist. “I want to hit her.”

“Lucy can be maddening, but I think—”

“No, you don’t understand. I really want to hit her.”

Button looked up at him, eyes wide, lower lip beginning to tremble. He set her to his shoulder and patted her back. His expression was troubled. “It’s what I used to do with my sisters when I was a kid.”

“Did you?” She was torn between listening to him and going to Lucy. If only he’d been more patient with her instead of flying off like that.

“They used to enrage me, just like Lucy did, and when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I’d haul off and slug them. A couple of times I left bruises on their arms. I’m no damned good at this. It’s why I hate being around kids so much.” He shifted Button to his other shoulder.

“You hit them?” She watched Button poke a wet finger into his ear canal. “How old were you?”

“Ten. Eleven. Old enough to know better, that’s for sure.”

Not all that old. But Nealy knew nothing about relationships between brothers and sisters. “Did you keep hitting them as you grew older?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Of course not. I started to play hockey instead and took out my anger on the ice. During the summer, I boxed a little. Looking back on it, I think sports saved my sisters’ lives.”

“So you didn’t keep hitting them?”

“No, but I sure wanted to. Just like now. She’s such a brat.”

“She’s having a hard time. And wanting to hit her isn’t the same thing as doing it. I don’t think you have to worry too much about being a batterer.”