It was later that night, when everyone was asleep, the creaks of the house settling, acorns falling on the porch like footsteps, when Colleen sneaked out of bed to watch the full moon rise over her river. She wanted to watch just until it reached the top of the live oak, and then she would go back to bed, but she was stopped dead in her tracks when she heard Mother and Dad whispering in the kitchen.

They were talking about her.

“I try, Gavin. I do try. I love her very much. You know that.”

And with that, Colleen ran back to bed, forfeiting her view of the moon as she buried herself under the covers. She didn’t want to hear one more word. Not one. Even as a child she understood—it was best to believe what she was told to believe, not what she overheard.

Chapter Sixteen

Memories were like the tides.

Mary Alice Monroe, Beach House Memories

Shane met Colleen, Hallie and Dad at the pub’s back door. His face was set with tight control, his fists clenched at his sides. A cloudless sky was turning the early pink shades of twilight, the air still and hot. “What did they say?” No preamble, no greeting.

Gavin answered. “It’s not good news, son, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m going to walk into my pub right now and enjoy trivia night. I’m going to have my one whiskey. I’m going to love you and love Hallie and love Lena. Nothing about that changes.” He nodded at his children and opened the back door and disappeared inside.

Hallie pointed after him. “Let me go with him. Colleen can catch you up.” She slipped inside with her satchel and her papers and her ponytail flapping.

Shane exhaled and leaned against the building, his hands jammed in his pockets. “Just damn. Tell me everything.”

“First, before I forget—when I got out of the shower today, the stove burner was on and he was about to go out in the johnboat.”

Shane rubbed his temples. “I knew this was coming. We have to make plans now.”

Colleen went to him with a hug. This was the boy she’d held when he scabbed a knee or became scared during a thunderstorm. This was the boy she’d taught to hook a worm and throw a net. “I’ve missed you so much,” Colleen said into his shoulder.

“Me, too, sis. Me, too.”

“Shane.” She stepped back. “We are running out of time. Your idea to catch his memories—we have to do it now. The doc said there’s no question . . .”