It’s eleven o’clock on Tuesday. We should be in school, but most of the roads are closed, choked by snow. We haven’t gotten the two feet the weather report called for, but we got enough to cancel school and my regular morning appointment with Juliet. She called, wondering if I wanted to Skype, but I told her there was really nothing new to talk about, and I could wait another week. She agreed. She probably thought she was in the clear, since she’d gotten me through February 14 in one piece.

After Kane and I finished shoveling out the cul-de-sac, I threw my Jeep into four-wheel drive and we hit the road.

We’re chugging along, slowly making our way through the snow, when he gets the call. It’s his dad. He talks to him for a few minutes, saying uh-huh a thousand times, in monotone, and then hangs up.

“It’s a boy,” he says, his tone flat. “They named him Cooper.”

“Congrats,” I say, though I can tell he isn’t in a celebratory mood.

“Cooper the Pooper.”

“Nice. You’ll be a great big brother.”

I intend to be sarcastic, but actually, Kane might be. He doesn’t like much, but the few things he decides to love? He throws his whole self into them, and his loyalty is boundless. I could see him taking the kid under his wing.

He doesn’t say anything in return. It isn’t until we’re almost at the church that he finally speaks.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting to find here,” he says to me as I pull into the parking lot. Predictably, it’s empty, although a plow’s come through.

I park in the first open space after the handicap spaces and shrug. “Maybe Father Brady will tell me more than you’re telling me.”

He looks up at the white building, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Kane look quite so out of sorts. “What do you want me to tell you?”

Oh, now that we’re in front of a church, he’s going to come clean? “Bzzz. Too late.” I put my hand on the door handle. “I’ve asked you a dozen times to help me figure out what happened before his death, and you haven’t.”

He leans back in the passenger seat. “Okay, I’ll tell you. I mean, it was nothing earth-shattering. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I—”

“I thought you’d said we…” Had sex. Why can’t I bring myself to say it? “You know. That wasn’t earth-shattering?”

He sighs. “Do you remember Christmas that year?”