Michael looked out beyond Ann, out into the yard, the cluster of oak trees, the barn that needed to be painted. He felt like he was getting busted. Why was he so embarrassed? “I did what I could. Just a little here and there.”

“That’s not the point,” Ann said. “You helped. You used your own money to help me, and it came at a time when I really needed it.” Ann’s voice broke.

“Yeah,” he said; then he lowered his voice so he almost couldn’t be heard. “I’ve always cared about you, Ann.” It was as close as he’d ever come to telling Ann he loved her. He could tell that Ann was moved by what he said. If things had been different between them, if they had an easier rapport, he swore she might have hugged him. Instead, she kept her distance. What was that definition of hell that Connie had taught him from Dante? Something like proximity without intimacy, the kind of hell he’d known with Ann when he’d lived with her as a teenager. Later, he would suffer the opposite: intimacy without proximity, feeling so close to Ann and the whole family, even though they were far away.

Ann said, “You convinced Anthony to give you money in exchange for saying Noah was yours, so why?” He felt like he could melt under the heat of Ann’s intense gaze. “Why, all those years later, did you care?”

“Wait, what? You think I convinced Anthony? He blackmailed me, Ann, not the other way around. He said if I didn’t take the money and sign the forms to open the account, he wouldn’t support you.”

“He said that?” Ann set her glass down so hard that the lemonade spilled over the top. “Anthony bribed you? Not the other way around?”

“He said you’d get nothing if I didn’t lie and get lost. And he’d try to take your kid away from you. He said the account was your idea.”

“Stop!” She walked closer to where Michael stood, her eyes wild. “You thought I came up with that?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re Ann with a Plan, after all.”

Ann hit him on the arm. “You idiot!”

He jumped, not because she’d hit him hard—it was more of a playful tap—but because he was unprepared for physical contact with her. It was disconcerting after so much time apart. She was flesh and blood. He could even smell her.

“He told me you two were in love.” There it was: the real reason he’d let Anthony get to him; the real reason he’d believed all those lies. Michael could see it so clearly now, so clearly it made him feel ashamed. He’d been jealous.

“Love?” Ann looked like she was about to throw up. “No. No, no, no. There was no love. Why would you believe him?”