“No, but I’ve always felt a home should be guest-ready when nice surprises like this spring up. You’ve graduated from iced tea to something stronger, I hope? I’ve got a fridge full of beer from the cast party last week.”

Ann couldn’t drink, much as she would have liked to. Her nerves were jangled, and she was disarmed by Maureen’s sweetness.

“I joined a community theater and the members are an absolute riot! We had a party here last week. It was a wonderful time. Do you remember I started acting that summer you worked for us? It saved me, Ann. I couldn’t tell you then, but I’d reached a dark period in my life. I needed a new direction. It all started because of you, do you know that? I never could have snuck away to take those classes in Provincetown. I wouldn’t have left just anyone alone with the boys. The boys! Can you believe how big they are?” She pointed at a framed photo on her kitchen counter. Brooks and Toby stood next to each other in matching sports jackets, their ties loose, khakis wrinkled. “That was at Toby’s wedding last summer in Bar Harbor. His wife Celia is a nurse. She’s a keeper.”

Toby? Married? “What about Brooks?”

“He’s a—what do they call it these days? A player. How about you, are you married?”

“No,” Ann said, before Maureen could ask the next question she knew was coming: kids? She lifted the photo to inspect it more closely. “I’m still single.” The boys resembled Noah, and she was surprised by the tenderness she still felt for them. They’d finally grown into themselves, taller and fairer than Noah, but just as solid and broad. They could definitely pass for brothers, although Noah wouldn’t be caught dead in those outfits. He’d be more comfortable in a vintage bowling shirt.

“They’re handsome,” Ann said. “Brooks still has that little grin.”

Maureen busied herself putting dishes in the dishwasher. “Brooks doesn’t know how to work a comb. He was just here, in fact.” She opened the door of her refrigerator. “And as I recall, we were more fully stocked before he showed up for the weekend. I’ve got nothing but Sam Adams. Not what you’re used to drinking in Wisconsin.”

“Oh, I live in Boston now.”

“Just down 128? How long have you been there?”

“A while.” She didn’t want to say years—more than a few at that point, long enough that Boston felt like home. Long enough that she could have confronted Anthony sooner.