“Ian OK?” he asked.

“Oh, you know boys,” she said and sank onto the sofa beside him. “He’s going though that silent stage, marking his territory, but he still needs to know Mommy cares.”

“What happened to him, Mary? He seems so withdrawn. Is it the divorce?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Sure, Rick’s leaving affected him—Abby, too—but they both adjusted to that pretty quickly. Or, at least, seemed to. This…this new thing’s been since…” her voice trailed off, and she focused on the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree as though pondering how to choose her words.

James waited watching the soft glow on her face fade from red to blue to green to white with the cycle of the tree light. He reached over and patted her arm. “Since when, Mary?”

“The fire.” She raised her gaze to meet his. “I told you it hit everyone hard, but Ian seemed to take it especially hard.” She inhaled a deep breath and then released it. “I don’t know why. He and the Pearce boy were friends. A bunch of ’em hung out together. You know how teens are. And at times I thought he might be sweet on the girl.” She tittered softly. “Not that I want to think about that! He’s still just a boy in my mind.”

James chuckled briefly then sobered. “I’m sensing a ‘but’.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “But, the loss seemed to break him more than I think it should. It was tragic, Jimmy, I told you, but for a while there, Ian had nightmares every night. That’s why I check on him each night. And then for months he recoiled any time someone lit a cigarette.

“I know they say Travis started the fire with a cigarette, but it’s not as if Ian was there to see it. Yet, you should’ve seen him around Dad—flinching at the sound of a lighter, goin’ back and stubbing out butts from the ashtray as though he thought they’d spring back to life and start a fire.”

“Did you talk to him about it? Maybe have him see a grief counselor. ”

Mary shook her head. “He won’t hear of it. Says he’s fine. I’m worried about him, Jimmy, but I can’t force him into therapy. It wouldn’t do any good if he’s not willing to let go of whatever it is that’s bothering him.”

James carefully shifted in the seat, so he could face his sister a little better. Abby stirred, but remained asleep. Her little head lolled against his chest, and she snuggled close, right under his heart. Love suffused him again, that this tiny, fragile creature was part of his family.

“D’you want me to take her?” Mary motioned to Abby.

“No, she’s fine. She’s a sweetheart.”

“D’you want a cup of coffee?”

“I’m good.” James wondered if his sister was trying to be hospitable or if her change of subject was an avoidance tack. “So what happened with you and Rick? Was it the woman at the restaurant?” If Mary didn’t want to talk about the divorce, she could tell James so, outright.