He liked her name, and he’d really liked kissing her. He’d had a very long day with nothing much to do but drive the mower and think about what’d happened at the lighthouse that morning—and how much he’d like it to happen again. The somewhat anonymous aspect to their encounter had been another welcome relief. Everywhere he went these days, people asked about his mom, and while he appreciated the concern, it was nice to spend a few minutes with someone who had no idea what a catastrophe his life had become.

After at least thirty minutes under the cold water, he finally turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around his hips. As he found a clean T-shirt and board shorts, a plan began to form that he hoped he’d be able to execute. He went to the kitchen to find his mother watching Jeopardy! with the TV on full blast and Paul at the table, his laptop open in front of him and a new beer sitting in a puddle of condensation. It was so bloody hot, and his mother was cold all the time, so the AC was off.

“Were you rubbing one out in there, dude?” Paul asked with a snort of laughter.

“Oh my God. Shut the fuck up. I was trying to cool off after a day spent literally in hell. I’ve never been so fucking hot in my life.”

“Alexander, watch your mouth.”

His mother chose the damnedest times to be lucid and in complete control of her faculties. “Sorry, Mom.”

Like he would have when they were teenagers, Paul covered his mouth to hide his pleasure in watching Alex get in trouble. Alex gave him the finger, which made Paul laugh out loud.

“I’m telling Mom,” Paul said.

“Go right ahead.”

While Paul drove him nuts sometimes, Alex had never been more thankful for his brother than since he moved home. He couldn’t imagine facing this nightmare alone.

“Mrs. Garfield left a chicken thing in the oven,” Paul said. “It’s actually pretty good.”

That was saying something, as the brothers had commented recently that they never wanted to see another casserole for the rest of their lives. Even so, as two guys who could barely heat soup without disaster striking, they were grateful to the women from the church who insisted on feeding them.

Alex ate the surprisingly good chicken and had two servings of salad before he assisted Paul with the nightly ordeal of getting their mom ready for bed. The two of them had done things—and seen things—no son should ever have to do or see, and they did it willingly, even if the routine took a vicious toll on both of them.