It wasn’t happening, of course, Phillip told himself. He was probably in the first stages of a minor breakdown. He could feel the air against his face, warm and moist. The cicadas were still shrilling, the owl still hooting.

If he was having an episode, he thought again, it seemed only right to play it out. “They’re trying to say it was suicide,” he said slowly. “The insurance company’s fighting the claim.”

“I hope you know that’s bullshit. I was careless, distracted. I had an accident.” There was an edge to Ray’s voice now, an impatience and annoyance that Phillip recognized. “I wouldn’t have taken the easy way. And I had the boy to think about.”

“Is Seth your son?”

“I can tell you that he belongs to me.”

Both his head and his heart ached as he turned to stare out at the water again. “Mom was still alive when he was conceived.”

“I know that. I was never unfaithful to your mother.”

“Then how—”

“You need to accept him, for himself. I know you care for him. I know you’re doing your best by him. You have that last step to take. Acceptance. He needs you, all of you.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to him,” Phillip said grimly. “We’ll see to that.”

“He’ll change your life, if you let him.”

Phillip let out a short laugh. “Believe me, he already has.”

“In a way that will make your life better. Don’t close yourself off to those possibilities. And don’t worry too much about this little visit.” Ray patted him companionably on the knee. “Talk to your brothers.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to tell them I sat outside in the middle of the night and talked to . . .” He looked over, saw nothing but the moonlight on the trees.

“Nobody,” he finished and wearily laid down on the grass to stare up at the moon. “God, I need a vacation.”

FOUR

IT WOULDN’T DO to appear too anxious, Sybill reminded herself. Or to get there too early. It had to be casual. She had to be relaxed.

She decided not to take her car. It would look more like a careless visit if she walked down from the waterfront. And if she included the visit to the boatyard in an afternoon of shopping and wandering, it would appear more impulsive than calculated.

To calm herself, she roamed the waterfront. A pretty Indian-summer Saturday morning drew tourists. They poked and strolled along as she did, dropping into the little shops, pausing to watch boats sail or motor on the Bay. No one seemed to be in a particular hurry or have a specific destination.

That in itself, she mused, made an interesting contrast to the usual urban Saturday when even the tourists seemed to be in a rush to get from one place to the next.

It would be something to consider and analyze and perhaps theorize over in her book. And because she did find it interesting, she slipped her mini recorder out of her bag and murmured a few verbal notes and observations.