“My brother-in-law, Nick. He’s married to my twin and things between them aren’t great right now. He says it helps to talk.”

“Are you identical twins?”

“Similar but different,” she said automatically as she’d been saying for years. Her brain suddenly kicked in. “Are you saying you think he wants to talk to me because I look like Libby?”

“I have no idea. But he’s not happy.”

It was an odd comment for a man to make about a stranger to a woman he barely knew. “Are you a counselor?”

Harry’s face broke into a wide and unexpected smile and then he was belly laughing as if she’d cracked the biggest joke. “That’s classic. I wish Helene was here to hear you ask me that. She was a typical Californian, always banging on about me needing to get in touch with my feelings.”

“Sounds like you have.”

He shook his head and his face sobered. “Nah. I’ve just learned to recognize compatriots in the misery trenches.”

Holly appeared at their sides clutching the bags. “Can we go now?”

“Sure.” Harry looked at Alice. “We have to pick up Hunter from soccer practice, so we’ll be home in twenty. Also, we’ve got a greyhound. Please don’t terrify Brutus by ringing the doorbell.”

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely. Even that scarf you’re wearing could push him over the edge.”

Alice fingered the length of her bright blue, pink and green hand-dyed silk tied around her neck, trying to work out if Harry was being his usual serious self or uncharacteristically deadpanning her. She checked with Holly. “He’s kidding, right?”

“No. Brutus is scared of lots of things. He loves cuddles though.”

Alice couldn’t get a picture. “How do you cuddle a greyhound? Aren’t they too big and bony for that?”

Harry laughed. “It’s a skill. Best if you just come round the back.”

“The back of where exactly?”

“Seventeen Seaspray or as the locals say—”

“Two doors down from where Joe’s garage used to be.”

His eyes crinkled in another rare smile. “That’s the one.”

Chapter Thirteen

It was Libby’s half day and, somehow, she’d managed to get away on time, although she had a strong suspicion that Penny and Ramesh were still taking the lion’s share of the workload. She appreciated they were trying to protect her. Or perhaps they were protecting the patients.

For years, Libby had been well versed on the results of published research focused on the effects of grief and trauma on the body. How the brain releases a cocktail of chemicals that make clear thinking not only difficult, but skews normal thought processes. Someone had coined the phrase “magical thinking” to describe it. Libby had experienced it after losing Dom and now it was back, although in some ways this grief was far more catastrophic.