Mac found a parking space two blocks from Frank’s house, and after he shut off the engine, he sat there for a minute thinking it through from every angle. One of the lawyers Frank had interned with over the summer had been good enough to look over the contracts for the purchase of the marina and declared them sound. Mac had had the place surveyed, and even though it looked a little rough around the edges to the naked eye, it was structurally sound. He had financing in place for the portion not covered by his inheritance and had built in money for renovations.

It would take years to own the place free and clear, but he still had faith that eventually the investment of his time and money would pay off. And if it didn’t? Well, he was a young guy with plenty of time to recover and find something else to do with his life.

He got out of the truck and walked to Frank’s apartment, which occupied the first floor of a three-story Victorian. Frank was heading to law school at Brown in the fall and lived there with two other guys. The three of them were hosting this afternoon’s party in the backyard. Mac was in bad need of some time with his big brother—not to mention a couple of cold ones.

Mac let himself into the apartment with the key Frank had given him so he could crash on the sofa rather than stay at home, where his mother would want him home by midnight and then sniff him, looking for telltale signs that he’d been drinking. It was easier to stay with Frank, who expected him to smell like beer because they usually drank it together.

“Mac!” Frank called from the kitchen. “Get in here and check out these wings that Brett made. They’ll set your mouth on fire.”

“And doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Frank took a closer look at him. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.”

Leaving the kitchen, Frank took him by the arm and steered him back the way he’d come. They went through the front door to the porch. “Let me ask again—what’s with you?”

Mac hesitated, but only for a second because this was Frankie, his big brother and best friend. If anyone would tell it to him straight, it was Frank. “Am I making a huge mistake buying the marina?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Am I pissing away Grandma’s money on something stupid?”

“Where’s this shit coming from?”

“Something Dad said has me thinking. What if it’s a total disaster, and I lose my shirt?”

“What if it’s a huge success and you make millions? Have you considered that possibility?”

“Not really. I’d be perfectly satisfied to make a decent living from the place. I’m not looking for millions.”