If nothing else, the annual photo shoots made him keep in shape. Horse riding, workouts in the fancy gym the uncles had set up and turning down desserts had kept him lean and hard-bellied.

He pulled up the door of the cellar and went down the stairs. The last time he’d been on those stairs, he’d felt that his life was over.

Vera was standing to the side, but he didn’t look at her. Instead, he glanced around the place.

Kelly had told him that she’d fixed it up. She said she was using it to attract Vera back home. “She needs to know there’s a place here where she can hide from us.”

The inside was all new and rather posh. He was glad to see that the infamous couch was gone, as was Vera’s big table where they’d made the posters. It was still just one room, but against the back wall was a bed and in front of it was a seating area. There was a cabinet with a fridge, a hot plate and a toaster oven.

Without looking at her, he said, “It’s as fancy as the cabin where you and Adam used to go.”

She sighed. “You’re still jealous of him.”

“Of course I am. And you fell in love with Joe Harding.”

“I did.” She sounded happy about it. “He replaced the father I lost too early. He was also an alcoholic who loved all women. He had every sexually transmitted disease there is.”

Finally, he looked at her. She looked good. News photos didn’t do her justice. Her hair was still wild but she’d tied it back so it was almost presentable. “You didn’t put that in your book.”

“I was being kind to his wife and kids. And saving his image in the world.”

He sat down in one of the chairs and she sat across from him. It was an awkward feeling, so close but so far apart. “Kelly’s kept me up to date on you.”

“I assumed so. She and I became friends, true friends. It was no longer big sister, little sister. When I was shot, she came and stayed with me.”

He nodded, looking at her. The silence between them was heavy. “You’re still angry at me.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? Nothing has changed. You chose what I would do with my life.”

Miguel was calm. “Your mother said you burned everything because you weren’t going to leave. You were going to give up your life for me. Would you have been happy being a Kansas housewife? Kids and cows? Being a travel agent? A life of seeing people go and do while you stayed here?”

“I—” The anger left her. “No. I would have been miserable. I would have made you miserable.”

“And our children.”

“You could have gone with me.”