Ann stepped into her car, slammed the door, and threw it into reverse. It was a two-hour drive back to Boston, and she was still fuming with anger when she returned to her apartment, an anger made worse when she collected her mail and saw a letter from some attorney’s office in Provincetown. “Oh, no,” she muttered when she ripped the envelope open and saw the words “My client, Michael…”

It was such a relief to see Maureen waiting there for her. She was curled up on the couch under a fleece throw with a book in her hands. The women became friends after their shared ordeal, and Mo occasionally took up residence on Ann’s couch when she couldn’t stand to be alone. The three of them, and even Toby and Brooks, had become close, and a new sort of family had emerged from the tragedy of Anthony’s death. Maureen was like a mother, sister, and friend to Ann, and to Noah she was grandmother, stepmother, aunt, and a bridge to his real father. She was honest with Noah about Anthony’s faults, yet she also told stories about him that were funny and sometimes moving. He’d liked to dance. He was terrified of mice. He loved Bruce Springsteen.

“Oh, Mo. I’ve had the worst day.”

Maureen stood up, grabbed a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, and poured two glasses. The women sat down on the couch. Maureen nudged Ann with her foot. “What’s going on?”

Ann relayed the day’s events, from Poppy’s dismissiveness, to Brad, to Michael’s reappearance and their argument.

“Michael?” Maureen gasped. “In the flesh? He was on the Cape this whole time? That must have really been something.”

Ann nodded. She couldn’t talk about Michael without fighting tears, without seeing this new, sturdier, quieter, handsomer version of him standing on the stoop in the rain, with the slightest crow’s-feet etched into the skin next to his almond-shaped eyes.

“What can I do?” Ann asked. “At first, I didn’t think I even wanted the house. Even before the Realtor canceled the contract I’d thought of holding off, renting it to Poppy, turning it into an Airbnb or something. Noah was beating me down. And now I want it more than anything. It’s our house, it belongs to us. But now the one person in the universe I can’t stand to see it go to—the one person who really let me down—well, Michael’s got a lawyer and a claim, and he says he has money to buy me out. It looks like he’ll have his way, because I’ve been dishonest. I don’t want him to end up with the house. I really don’t.”

“Well,” Maureen said. She took a sip of her wine. “I think I might have a plan.”