“They died over half a year ago and you’re just home now. Those are your feelings.”

“Wait a minute: you’re the one who told me not to bother coming home right away. There was nothing to be done until probate was over. Your words. Yours!”

Poppy was right. What could Ann say? She pushed her chair away from the table. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

That was a lie, but she needed to get away, be alone for a minute. She sat on the edge of the claw-foot tub and stared at the damp wood floor around the base of the sink. Another problem, a leak. All these problems with the house: How could she deal with them on her own? Houses like this, old family homes, aren’t meant to be owned by just one person.

Finally, she emerged to face her sister again. Only there, standing right next to her in the kitchen, was Michael. He wore jeans and running shoes. It was as if, when she’d imagined him there earlier, she’d invoked his presence, made him real.

“So, you’re the mystery guest,” Ann said. This was the voice she used at work when she was the only woman in a meeting full of men, or when she asked for the raise she didn’t want to seem desperate for, or when she turned down a request for a second date from a perfectly nice guy for no good reason. It was a practiced, cold voice that belied her raging emotions.

Poppy stood next to Ann. “We thought it was a good idea to talk.”

“No, this is a bad idea.” Ann could feel her jaw clench. Her hands balled up at her sides. Her body grew stiff. Liquid anger coursed through her. “You’re all in on this.”

“Isn’t it better to discuss the house face-to-face?”

“No. It’s not. This is sneaky and manipulative.”

Poppy said, “Sneaky and manipulative is leaving Michael off the estate. Now we’ve got a mess on our hands.”

Noah was standing up in front of the table where they’d been working on the puzzle; what must he think? Why did Poppy feel it was OK to say this in front of her son?

“This is a mess he created.” She refused to speak directly to Michael. “He doesn’t deserve a thing, not even my time.”

“Ann, please,” Brad said. “He’s got a claim—”

“Stay out of it!”

Poppy stood with her hands on her hips. “He’s just trying to help.”

“I don’t need help.” Ann went into her room, threw on her coat, and slipped into her shoes. She walked back into the living room, head down, and made her way to the door.

“Where you going?” Noah asked.

“I’ll come get you Sunday. I need to go back to Boston.” She took a deep breath and stepped outside.