“He’s not usually in town on Saturdays,” I said. The cops around here were spread thin, patrolling not just Barren Springs but multiple small towns and the long stretches of almost empty highway in between.

“Maybe the man needs a cup of coffee,” Louise said. “I’m sure he’s had a long day.” She fluffed her hair with one hand. Louise was old enough to be Cal’s mom and then some, but even she turned ridiculous in his presence, wanting to baby him and flirt with him in equal measure.

“Maybe,” I said, but something heavy settled in my stomach as Cal unwound himself from the front seat of his cruiser. He shut the door and then stood there, head hanging down, dishwater-blond hair catching the light. After a moment, he straightened up, set his shoulders. Steeling himself, I thought, and the heavy knot in my stomach bottomed out through the floor. Those sirens . . . I told myself they had nothing to do with Junie, who was too young to drive and too old to be fooling around on a playground. I grabbed the rag and looked away from the window, went back to scrubbing at the cracked Formica countertop, didn’t look up even when I heard the bell jangle over the door.

“Hey, Cal,” Louise said, her voice pitched high and girlish. “You want—”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my brother hold up one hand, stopping Louise’s voice in its tracks. “Eve,” he said quietly, walking toward me. His cop shoes were loud on the ancient linoleum floor.

I didn’t look up, kept scrubbing. Whatever he was here for, whatever had been nipping at me all day, it wouldn’t be true, it wouldn’t have happened, if I could keep him from saying it.

“Eve,” he said again. I could see his belt buckle pressed up against the edge of the counter now, and he reached over, laid his hand on mine. “Evie . . .”

I jerked my hand away, took a step backward. “Don’t,” I said. I meant it to come out fierce and commanding enough to stop him from speaking, but my voice wobbled and broke, the single word dribbling away into nothing.

“Look at me,” Cal said, gentle but firm. His big-brother voice. I raised my eyes slowly, not wanting to see, not wanting to know. Cal’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. He’d been crying, I realized with a little electric jolt. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Caleb cry, not once in our shitty shared childhood. I stared into his bright blue eyes, and he stared back. As always, it was like looking into a mirror, but one that threw my reflection back crisper and clearer. Same hair, same eyes, same smattering of freckles, but all of it overlaid with a sheen I simply didn’t have. As if nature had blown its entire genetic wad on my brother, and when I came along eleven months later there was only enough left over for a faded, second-rate replica.