“I wish I could do something to fix this.” She wished she could do something to fix everything. “Has the sale gone through?”

Norah sighed and leaned up against the kitchen counter. “Tomorrow they’re going to close the deal. At least we’ll find out who the buyer is.”

“I wasn’t much help, was I? Couldn’t even find out who the buyer was.”

“Oh, yes, yes, you were a huge help.” Norah hugged her for the first time. “The gilded wallpaper and the Purbeck stone almost swayed them—I guess they’re really valuable. But they said we used illegal means and there just wasn’t enough evidence to warrant the amount of money it’d cost to buy the island.”

“I’m sorry.”

Revvy thumped her on the back—she considered this a hug. “Stop saying that. You did as much or more than we did. It just didn’t work and that sucks.”

“Yes, it does,” she agreed.

The OWP walked out as a somber group and promised to contact her if they needed anything else in their efforts to protect the ACE basin. She opened the boxed dinner and smiled at the vegetarian lasagna, the whole-wheat bread and the largest chocolate chip cookies she’d ever seen. She picked up a cookie and took a huge bite, sat down on the bar stool and ate alone—feeling there was so much lost in all this mess, so much.

The kitchen side door shuddered open, caught on a pile of towels and stopped. Jack poked his head in the crack. “Hey, Mom?” He kicked the door open, spreading the neat pile of towels across the floor.

“Hey, bucko. Don’t mess up my piles.”

“What is all this?”

“I’m cleaning the house—the entire house.”

“In a suit and high heels?”

“Don’t mix those piles up. They’re divided into ‘give away,’ ‘sell,’ and ‘keep.’ ”

“Are you sure you’re supposed to be up doing all this?”

“I feel great . . . fine. I’m going to fix everything.”

“Okay . . .” Jack tilted his head.

“I have a month’s leave of absence from work. I’m going to—”

“Where’s Dad? Is he home from work yet?”

“Did you know he got a promotion?”

“Yeah, he told me last week.”

She picked up the towels Jack had scattered and began to fold them. “Oh.”

“Is he home or not?”

“No . . . not yet. I haven’t heard from him all day.” She turned away from Jack, from his eyes. The sound of the garage door opening and closing on its rusted track vibrated through the kitchen.

“Well, there he is now.” She stood, smiled and smoothed the front of her black sweater. “Oh, my, I’m all wrinkled.”

Jack laughed. “Gee, I wonder why.” He swept his hand over the piles scattered across the kitchen floor, the kitchen table shoved against the wall.