‘‘I didn’t want to tell anybody. I think Ray knew, and Cam sort of knows. I didn’t want anybody to think I . . . to look at me and think . . .’’ He couldn’t express it, the shame of having anyone look at him and see what had happened, and what could have happened, in those dark, smelly rooms. ‘‘Why did you tell me?’’

‘‘Because you need to know it doesn’t make you less of a man.’’ Ethan waited, knowing that Seth would decide whether he accepted the truth of that.

What Seth saw was a man, tall, strong, self-possessed, with big, callused hands and quiet eyes. One of the weights that hung on his heart lifted. ‘‘I guess I do.’’ And he smiled a little. ‘‘Your mouth’s bleeding.’’

Ethan dabbed at it with the back of his hand and knew they’d crossed a thin and shaky line. ‘‘You got a good right jab. I never saw it coming.’’ He held out a hand, testing, and ruffled Seth’s sleep-tumbled hair. The boy’s smile stayed in place. ‘‘Let’s clean up,’’ Ethan said, ‘‘and go home.’’

FIVE

GRACE HAD A MORNING full of chores. The first load of laundry went in at seven-fifteen while the coffee was brewing and her eyes were still mostly shut. She watered her porch plants and the little pots of herbs on her kitchen windowsill, and yawned hugely.

As the coffee began to scent the air and give her hope, she washed the glasses and bowls Julie had used the night before while baby-sitting. She closed the open bag of potato chips, tucked it into its place in the cupboard, then wiped the crumbs from the counter where Julie had had her snack while talking on the phone.

Julie Cutter wasn’t known for her neatness, but she loved Aubrey.

At precisely seven-thirty—and after half a cup of coffee—Aubrey woke.

Reliable as the sunrise, Grace thought, heading out of the tiny galley kitchen toward the bedroom off the living room. Rain or shine, weekday or weekend, Aubrey’s internal clock buzzed away at seven-thirty every morning.

Grace could have left her in the crib and finished her coffee, but she looked forward to this moment every day. Aubrey stood at the side of the crib, her sunbeam curls tangled from sleep, her cheeks still flushed with it. Grace could still remember the first time she’d come in and seen Aubrey standing, her wobbly legs rocking, her face glowing with success and surprise.

Now Aubrey’s legs seemed so sturdy. She lifted one, then the other, in a kind of joyful march. She laughed out loud when Grace came into the room. ‘‘Mama, Mama, hi, my mama.’’

‘‘Hello, my baby.’’ Grace leaned over the side for the first nuzzle and sighed. She knew how lucky she was. There couldn’t have been a child on the planet with a sunnier nature than her little girl. ‘‘How’s my Aubrey?’’