She took it, stuffed it in the back pocket of her jeans. She looked up toward the porch, and waved at Molly. “All packed, except your bag,” she called in a voice he didn’t know, in a voice of family. He felt a stab below his ribs—her family.

“Look at me,” he tried again.

“No.”

“Look at me.”

She slammed down the hatch and looked at him. Her brown eyes were hard, boulder and dirt, for a moment before they turned fluid and full.

“Nick. Stop.”

“Please.”

She turned from him and waved to her daughter coming down the steps.

“Please.” He mouthed to himself, to the universe that had returned her to him.

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

The dusty scent of familiarity surrounded Amy as she pushed open the door from the garage to her home. Phil unloaded the trunk while she walked to the answering machine to check messages. She was anxious to know if there was any news about the island project from the OWP. Among the multiple reminders of Molly’s tennis match (change of location), meeting for the art fund-raiser, and a cocktail party at the neighbors’ house that night, there was a message from Carol Anne about her husband, Joe.

“Amy, I talked to Joe about the island project. He believes he can find out who the buyer is. He’s gonna ask the private eye his old law firm uses.”

Amy let out a whoop and crossed the kitchen, walked down the hall to bounce into their bedroom, where Phil was unpacking the suitcases. He looked up at her.

“Any messages for me?” he asked.

“Just a reminder about the party at the McCanns’ tonight. But guess what.”

He glanced down at the pile he’d sorted into clean and dirty. “I’m not in the mood for a party tonight. Can you call and bow out?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said, ‘Guess what.’ ”

“What?” He stopped and looked up from his task.

“Carol Anne called.”

“And?”

“She said she thinks Joe can do some digging and find out who the anonymous buyer is.”

“Honey.” He stopped unpacking and touched her arm. “You don’t need to get everyone we know involved.”

“Everyone we know? It’s just Carol Anne and she offered.”

“And your college buddy Nick.”

“What?” She shook her head, took two steps back. “He offered, too. I’m not trying to—”

“How can they help but offer? It’s all you talk about.”

“It is not.”

“Forget it. . . . Do you think we can get out of this party tonight? I have a ton of work to do before my seven a.m. meeting tomorrow.”

Amy sat down on her vanity chair and stared up at him. Being ignored came in various forms with Phil—this time it came in a bailout for a party obligation. She inhaled deeply and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“No, we backed out last time.”