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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

In the corner, he saw the old white refrigerator from the 1950s with the sleek, long perpendicular handle that looked like an exclamation mark, and proud, silver letters spelling out A-D-M-I-R-A-L across the front. “No wasted space!” That’s what Ed had said whenever he opened it up to grab one of the Point beers he’d brought with him from Wisconsin. Michael could vividly remember the afternoons he’d spent with Ed in the barn, and the story Ed told him about how his mother had begged his father for the refrigerator after she’d seen an ad touting all the food-storage potential in the door. “No wasted space!”

The machine was unplugged and felt dead. He looked inside, and in the light coming through the window, he saw the two cans of beer that might have been there for a decade tucked into the door. It was strange: that was when the news of Ed’s death really hit him, when he realized Ed would never return to drink them. Michael backed away from the refrigerator the way a boxer might back off after a blow. Without bothering to shut the door, he slipped out of the barn and disappeared into the trees.

Now, still wounded, he parked his truck in front of a pile of pavers behind the landscaping building and took a sip of coffee from his thermos. He had a nervous twitch in his right eye from thinking that soon he’d have to confront Ann and Poppy and insist his way back into the family.

Jason was in a fit when Michael walked in.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked.

“Oh Jesus,” Jason said. “The Shaws’ house. I just checked on it.” He had a way of saying “Shaw” that made the name sound much more complicated than it was—Shawerer. “Should have gone sooner. Damn pipes froze. Place is a goddamn disaster.”

“Thermostat?”

“Nah, I change the batteries out every fall. Furnace is only a few years old. Beats me what happened. Place is ruined, man. That asshole’s going to rip me a new one when I tell him.”

“That’s what insurance is for.”

“I guess.”

Michael took a bite of an apple. It tasted sweeter than usual. “Karma’s a bitch,” Michael said, careful not to look Jason in the eyes.

Jason began to laugh. Michael knew that was how he’d respond.

He turned and pretended to reach for something in his drawer in order to allow himself a small, private smile. Mission accomplished.

THIRTY-ONE

Poppy