“I don’t care what you want. You’ll upset her. She’s in a fragile state.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not sure she has a fragile state.”

I stalk toward him, take him by the collar, and shake him so hard that the scotch splashes from the rim of the glass onto his hand. “You will stay away from her. From anywhere she might be, or God help me—” I stop myself. God help me what? Christ. I’m even using my grandfather’s words. His threats. I release my brother, pat down his shirt, and step away, raking a hand through my hair.

“I’m not scared of you, Judge. Give it up. You’re not him. Besides, he’d never have wasted good scotch.” He rinses his hand at the sink, then repours and drinks. “I will stay away from Mercedes to keep from upsetting her, not because you’re threatening me. But I’ll only do it if you have a drink with me.”

“That’s blackmail.”

He shrugs.

“Fine,” I acquiesce. He pours, and I take the glass, keeping my eyes on him as I swallow it all down.

“That’s the spirit, I guess,” he says, clearly disappointed. He’s alone too. I know this. But I can’t deal with that right now.

“There.” I hand him the glass and go to my study where I’ll spend the next few hours. Lois has left a note propped up against the stack of mail that dinner is in the kitchen and instructions how to warm it up, but I throw it away. I’m not hungry. I sit down and go through the letters, mostly unimportant, until I come up to a box without a return label. It only has my name on it, Lawson Montgomery, but no address. It must have been hand-delivered. Using the letter opener, I cut the tape away. It’s stuffed with tissue paper, and my heartbeat quickens as I push it away because I swear I smell the subtle but distinct scent of her. Mercedes’s signature perfume made just for her. And I inhale deeply, that ache in my chest throbbing. Alive. But when I see the box within the box, it’s like having a knife slice through the muscle there. A sharp, smooth blade that slides easily into the tender, beating mass of it.

Because inside is the necklace. One of the few gifts I gave her. The one that meant more than I realized at the time. I take the box out, search the tissue paper for more, a note, something she wrote me. Anything. But I find nothing. Perhaps inside the rich velvet jeweler’s box. I take the lid off, open the folded layers that protect the diamonds, and the throbbing in my chest quiets. Because it’s just the necklace returned to me. No note. No need. Its absence speaks volumes.