Yes, she would follow the Di Lucas’ rules. In fact, in the case of Miranda Phillips, it would be a pleasure to tell them the intern had arrived.

Jamie thought of Miranda’s hand on Dylan’s knee.

She didn’t trust that woman. She didn’t trust her at all.

18

Running…again. Kellen liked it. She ran close to the collapsed caverns where, in World War II, men had watched for a Japanese invasion. She ran through the redwood grove, absorbing the peace of two thousand years of growth. She avoided the Conkles’ home, told herself she was giving them privacy. Tiring early, she turned toward Morgade Hall and slowed as she ran up the expanse of lawn. That gave her time to get her breathing under control. Determined to do her duty to her family—to keep Rae fed and cheerful—she climbed the steps of the back porch and stuck her head into the kitchen. “Olympia, has Dylan delivered today’s produce?”

Olympia jumped and put her hand to her heart. She breathed deeply, turned, put her hand on her hip, and glared as if Kellen had deliberately sneaked up on her. Max confessed that when he hired Olympia, he thought her so without imagination she would be impervious to the big old creaky house and the windswept isolation of the island. But while her cooking remained exemplary, her attitude, never marvelous, had disintegrated, and the previously well-groomed woman was letting herself go. Her T-shirt and denim skirt were wrinkled, as if she’d picked them up off the floor. Her overgrown bangs dangled in her eyes and gray roots were showing. Over the weeks, she had slowly ceased to wear cosmetics and was down to a smear of lipstick. Yet her mustache was in full bloom.

In forbidding tones, Olympia said, “I haven’t seen either one of the Conkles today.”

“Max will speak to Dylan again.” Moving fast, Kellen ducked out. Max, Rae and Kellen had worn a path to the garage, and as she fled, she wondered—how could an island that contained only six people—she and Max, Rae and Olympia, Dylan and Jamie—make half of them crazy?

Kellen supposed she should wonder if the half she considered crazy also considered her half-insane. But no. As an adolescent, Rae had her moments, but they were sane, united, a family. Out of loneliness, desolation and self-loathing, Olympia, Dylan and Jamie were splintering into thousands of pieces.

She walked into the garage to find Max, arms outstretched, bellowing at the truck. “Why won’t you work?”

Kellen skidded to a stop.

So much for her assurances about the Di Lucas’ sanity.

Rae was stretched across the fender, head stuck down as far as she could under the hood. “Daddy, what’s a carburetor?”

“What?”

She came up out of the depths and clearly articulated, “What…is…a…carburetor? Because there’s a carburetor kit on the workbench and I think we could rebuild it.”