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Chapters (47)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraphs
  5. Prologue
  6. Part One
  7. ONE
  8. TWO
  9. THREE
  10. FOUR
  11. FIVE
  12. SIX
  13. SEVEN
  14. EIGHT
  15. NINE
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. Part Two
  25. EIGHTEEN
  26. NINETEEN
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. THIRTY
  38. THIRTY-ONE
  39. THIRTY-TWO
  40. THIRTY-THREE
  41. THIRTY-FOUR
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. THIRTY-SEVEN
  45. Acknowledgments
  46. About the Author
  47. Newsletter Sign-up

“They?” Michael said. He thought of the one-two punches his dad had taught him. “Both of them?” His lungs were burning from the run and he could still feel his heartbeat in his eardrums. Sweat dripped down his back and it felt cold. But it made sense. If it was just Ed, or just Connie, they’d never let the house slip into other hands.

Shelby looked him in the eyes as if she needed to be direct in order for him to believe her. “They were on their way back home last fall. A semi.”

Deedee said, “They died together. In Ohio.”

“No.”

As awful as it was to get such horrible news, he was grateful that Shelby and Deedee were the ones to tell him. Who, he wondered, had told Ann? Who told Poppy? Had they been alone when they’d found out?

Shelby tentatively reached for his hand, unsure if he’d take it or push it away. He gripped tightly, the way a patient might clutch a nurse’s hand while undergoing surgery without anesthesia. This pain he felt was real and intense, inescapable. He couldn’t even cry, although he wished he could, because crying might have offered him the slightest relief.

Deedee held his other hand, and the women moved closer to him, pillars for him to lean against.

TWENTY-SIX

Poppy

Poppy had sex with Brad in every room of the house except her parents’ bedroom, and on every surface: the dining room table, against the refrigerator, in the foyer. They came together quietly and without discussion. Their lovemaking—the naturalness of it, and the urgency—frightened and confused her. She’d been with enough men to appreciate his straightforward approach to intimacy. He didn’t think about what he was doing, didn’t try any tricks. Their sex was natural and grown-up, and it was also scary because it wasn’t just for fun, and that’s how she was conditioned to think about sex. She tried to keep her emotions separate, tried not to worry about commitment, tried not to feel that deep connection when she’d reflect on the sound of his laughter or the current that ran through her when he placed his hand on her hip.

She tried to keep it casual. That wasn’t a problem for the other men she’d been with, but Brad wasn’t like that. She could tell by the way he kissed her, and the way she caught him watching her when he thought she was sleeping. Casual sex might become a problem for Brad. It might become a problem for her, too. Maybe it already was.