I shook my head, embarrassed to be crying, embarrassed by everything I was feeling. “The answer is no.”

“We don’t need you,” Lucas said to me. When he was angry, his mouth parted to show his white teeth, like a small angry animal. I always thought of Peter Pan, wild irresistible boy-beast, how he still had all his baby teeth. “There are things about me that you don’t know,” Lucas said. “You think you know who I am, but you don’t.”

I didn’t want to think about not knowing him. It reminded me of the conversation with Ed Frank about my father being a Scout leader, filled me with an uncomfortable sensation, as if I were looking in a mirror but didn’t recognize the face staring back at me. There were too many things about my family I didn’t know already.

“Don’t do this,” Lucas said in a different voice altogether.

“What now?” I said. “What exactly have I done to you this time?”

“Don’t make me choose between you two.”

I shivered all night and didn’t sleep well. I dreamed about secret chambers, about letters. In the morning, very early, unable to sleep, I took my blanket and went down to the porch where I sat filling in a crossword puzzle with one small lamp on. Maybe the words were clues. Adhere. Ode. Derail. Lament. Dawn broke. The water was silver, placid, but I felt raw and edgy. I jumped when I heard a door open and close in the house. Feet on the stairs. Cole settled quietly beside me on the wicker couch, still in pajamas. I pulled the chenille blanket over my chest.

“What’s wrong?” Cole said. “Can’t sleep?”

“Did you stay here last night?”

He nodded. His face was composed, his gaze straight ahead at the bay. The little red houseboat swung on the placid surface, and we both looked at it, not at each other.

“You’re scared of me again,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“We want the same thing,” he said.

“Please don’t tell me what I want.” What I wanted was a mystery as unfathomable as everything else. I wanted to strike him. To bite him. Thank him. Shake him. I wanted to leave and to stay. I wanted my mother. “What I want is up to me,” I said. “And my memories are mine alone, and you know what else? My mother is mine. And so is my brother, and you—”

“Shut up,” he said.

I looked at him in surprise. He was angry, a faint red glow was climbing up his neck, his mouth parted. But then, just as quickly as it appeared, the anger disappeared. It was like watching a sheet smoothed on a bed. The crease disappeared from his forehead. The redness drained from his face. I felt startled by this kind of emotional discipline.