Eve shrugged, but Claire could see she was avoiding the question. “Shane’s definitely not going to be able to handle it. Boy can’t even let somebody else have the last corn dog, and he doesn’t even like corn dogs. He’s a total control freak.” She fidgeted for a few more seconds, then added, softly, “And I’m afraid for him.”

As Michael came back into the room, Eve jumped up and ran around moving things, stacking things, until Michael gave her a none-too-subtle signal to leave. Which she did, making some excuse Claire didn’t hear, and clattered upstairs to her room.

Michael handed Claire a bowl. “Chili. Sorry. It’s what we’ve got.”

She nodded and took a spoonful, because she’d always pretty much done what she was told…and the second the chili hit her tongue, she realized that she was starving. She swallowed it almost without chewing, and was scooping up the next bite before she knew what she was doing. Shane needed to go into the chili business.

Michael slipped into the leather armchair to the left and picked up the guitar he’d laid aside. He started tuning it as if the whole scene with Shane hadn’t even happened. She ate, stealing glances at him as he bent over the instrument, drawing soft, resonant notes. “You’re not mad?” she finally asked, or mumbled.

“Mad?” He didn’t raise his curly blond head. “Mad is what you get when somebody flips you the finger on the freeway, Claire. No. I’m scared. And I’m trying to think what to do about it.”

She stopped chewing for a few seconds, then realized that choking on her food wasn’t likely to make things any better.

“Shane’s hotheaded,” Michael said. “He’s a good guy, but he doesn’t think. I should have thought for him, before I brought you in here.”

Claire swallowed. The food had suddenly gone a little sour in her mouth, so she put the spoon down. “Me?”

Michael’s fingers stilled on the guitar strings. “You know about his sister, right?”

Alyssa. That was the name Michael had thrown out. The one that had hurt Shane. “She’s dead.”