Okay, she got it. She’d given up their deep, abiding friendship without looking back, and she was paying the price for that. She was no longer a priority of his. He had his work. And Cindy. Let’s not forget Cindy, with the hungry eyes and sharklike smile. “You’re crazy,” she whispered to herself at the strange stab of jealousy, and yet she watched him go, a yearning rushing through her so strong she had to bite her lip rather than call him back and give herself away.

With a sigh, she went to find the linens she’d promised to fold. The small alcove was decorated like a formal sitting room/dining room. Surprising her, Camille was already there, going through a small stack of new afghans.

Summer pulled one from the box, a soft chenille in golds and auburns and purples like a sunset, and attempted to fold it as effortlessly as her mother. “Joe’s here. He wants to talk to you.”

“Yes. Tina’s going first.”

Summer set the afghan over the back of a light blue chair and smoothed the edges. “I think he suspects arson.”

Camille’s hands went still for a beat. Then she picked up the afghan Summer had just folded, redid it, and draped it over an oak blanket stand. “Doesn’t go with the blue.”

“Yes, but I’m talking about the fire.”

“Well, I’m talking about your horrible sense of color scheming.”

Frustration bubbled from deep within Summer. “Mom. Why do you do that? Hide what you feel from me?”

Camille looked genuinely surprised. “Do I?”

“Yes. Always. Tina and her daughters don’t hide a thing from each other.”

In fact, from the main room came the sound of Chloe and Tina yelling over a phone message, making Camille smile wryly. “They certainly don’t.”

“Please tell me what you’re thinking about,” Summer said. Let me in.

“All right.” Camille clasped her fingers together. “I’m thinking about things that I don’t normally think about. The first warehouse fire. Your dad.” She stared down at her hands and sighed. “Tim was my life.”

Summer’s heart tripped, and she moved closer. “It’s only normal to think about him, since the warehouse burned again.”

“The first time was an accident.” Camille grabbed another afghan and began folding. “They ruled it an accident.”

“Yes.” Her throat ached. “It was a terrible, tragic accident. But then, it was a long time ago.”

Camille tossed the afghan onto a high-legged end table, messily folded. Her only sign of distress. “With you here, it feels like yesterday.”

Summer didn’t know how to respond to that. The last thing she wanted to do was cause her mom more pain. Leaving would help both of them, but leaving was what had caused this distance in the first place, and besides, she’d promised not to go. She might be confused, lonely, hurting…but she still had her word.