James studied his sister. He’d missed her. Missed the kids. Maybe now he was back, he could help out a little. Do some maintenance around the house, help babysit or chauffeur. If God had put him here to mend relationships, the best way to start was by mending what was broken on the outside. He could borrow tools from his father…or maybe he’d just visit a hardware store to pick up a few essentials.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re back. Everyone’s missed you,” she said.

He nodded. “It’ll be great to get to know Ian and Abigail.”

“She wants to be called Abby now.”

“Abby.” James had been about thirteen when he’d decided he didn’t want to be called Jimmy. Too old for such a baby name, he’d said. Now, he didn’t care a whit. Jimmy, Jim, James…whatever. He wondered how long it would be before Abigail’s preference evaporated.

He looked deep into his sister’s eyes. He wasn’t much for showing emotion, but maybe if he stared deep enough she’d figure out how much he cared. “I look forward to spending some time with both of them.”

Mary smiled. “I know they’d like that.” She glanced past him and then took a heavy breath. “So,” she said, focusing on him again, “you think you’ll be here for a while this time?”

Her question stabbed him. The evidence that his family couldn’t even trust his word when he said he’d come home to stay, showed how deeply his leaving had affected them all. He deserved this. The emptiness, the distance, the isolation. And he’d have to do more to make them understand he was a man of Go…no, he didn’t belong to God anymore. But he could still be a man of his word. He was obviously still good at the poker face, because Mary didn’t seem to sense his troubled thoughts. Good. “That’s the plan.” He finally smiled, playing it nonchalant.

He searched her face for reassurance as the image of their father materialized in his mind. Glen Moore wasn’t glad James was home. But James would change that—he hoped. “I don’t recall him being like that…Dad…so angry.”

“Oh, Jimmy, it’s been tough on him. For a long time. And then with the fire.”

“I can imagine.” He glanced away so she wouldn’t catch the platitude. He could imagine only to a degree. There was an honest part of him that couldn’t imagine at all. No matter what a man was going through, he shouldn’t shut out his only son.

The fire was what was on everyone’s mind. Yet, as far as James could tell, most of the folks he’d seen and talked to didn’t seem to really know the Pearces. What made them all feel so guilty? Had they realized how fleeting life could be? Had some, in light of the tragedy, tried to reconcile with family, only to be rebuffed? Had they tried to change their own lives, only to discover, as he had with God and with his father, that it was too late? Or was it that their idyllic little town had been besmirched by the fact that some of their own had died needlessly at the hands of someone they’d all thought to be harmless?