Michael looked at the roof. The shingles needed to be replaced, but that was the kind of big job he couldn’t tackle without being noticed. There were plenty of other big jobs he itched to take care of: spackling the cracks in the living room walls, sanding the floors, putting dormers in the second floor to make decent living space out of the attic—his old bedroom.

He’d wanted to fix the Gordons’ house ever since the first year after he’d left Milwaukee, when he’d spent part of the winter living there undetected. That was the loneliest time of his life. No television, no companions, no job to go to, no school to keep him busy, no family, no friends: just Anthony’s threats rattling around in his head, and the reverberating thoughts of Ann telling everyone that Michael was the father of that prick’s kid. It crippled him to think of what Ed and Connie must have said about him, how wrong they thought they’d been to have adopted him. He was crushed and sorry for himself. By the beginning of March, he’d decided he couldn’t hide out at the Gordons’ place anymore. Sooner or later someone would find him. He closed the house down, careful to conceal every single trace of his presence, and he showed up at Jason’s.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I graduated early.”

Jason could tell Michael was lying. “You’re going to need to get your GED.”

“Fine. Can you give me some work?”

“I knew you’d be back.”

Michael could tell that Jason knew something was up, but he was grateful that his old boss—and now his only friend in the world—played along. “I could also use a place to stay for a while if you’ve got some extra room.” It was all he could do to hold it together. As much as he hated asking for help, it was better than spending a dime of Anthony’s dirty money.

“I’ve got a couch in the basement. It’s not much, but sure beats sleeping on the beach.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“I’ve seen you work your ass off. I’m not worried about that. You hungry?”

Michael nodded yes. For months, he’d eaten only nonperishables. He was overcome with gratitude for Jason’s company and warm food. He felt, for the first time in months, that it might actually be possible for his life to improve again.

Jason took Michael’s bag off his shoulder and ushered him into the kitchen, where his wife, Angela, was pushing steaming food around in a frying pan. “Hey, Michael,” she said. “You know you’d better like yourself a whole damn lot if you decide to live on the Cape in the off-season.”