Colleen went over to the oven and leaned down to open the door, inhaled the sweet aroma of the peaches she’d bought at a roadside stand bubbling under a pastry crust. She slipped on hot mitts and pulled out the baking dish, setting it on the stove to cool. Somehow Shane had convinced their dad to miss an hour or so at the pub that evening so he could eat supper with his children at home. Colleen was cooking. Which meant she was reheating a store-bought chicken-and-poppy-seed casserole, steaming broccoli and baking the cobbler.

The needle on the old record player, a black box set on the side buffet, spun around with a Frank Sinatra LP that her dad kept on it. More albums in faded dust jackets filled a box under the buffet. But Sinatra was just fine for now, his voice a soothing embrace—“Fly me to the moon.”

“Lena?” Shane’s voice called out as he entered the back door. “My God, it smells good in here.” He entered the kitchen and gave her a hug. “Peach cobbler. Please never leave.”

She kissed her brother’s cheek. “Anything for you. And you’ll be pleased. I’ve finished three stories today.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean you can go back to New York early. And I’ll be needing more of this.”

“One can’t live on cobbler alone. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

He headed to the fridge. “Hallie and Dad are on the way.”

Colleen spun around, hitting the side of the cobbler pan and burning the edge of her pinky. She shook her hand in the air. “Shit.” Then she looked at Shane. “Is Walter coming?”

“Only the girls.” He fished a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and popped the top against the underside of the counter. He took a long swig, and then pressed the cold bottle to his forehead. “You know, of course, that you’ll have to see Walter at some point.”

“I saw him yesterday.”

Shane’s eyebrows rose. “You did?”

“Don’t worry. He didn’t see me. I didn’t do anything; I didn’t say anything. It was weird. He wasn’t . . . Walter, if that makes any sense. He was just a guy, a guy I used to know.” She smiled. “So when I see him, I’ll behave.”

“Behave? That’s not really your forte.” He laughed and Colleen twisted the dishrag into a thin rope and snapped his arm with it.

“Ow. Damn, sis.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Oh, yes, I am.”

Colleen made a face at him. “Will you watch the timer for the casserole? I want to walk to the river for just a few minutes before dinner. Maybe even cast the net.”

“Will do.”