An old framed family photograph on the mantel caught her eye, perhaps because it was strangely free of the veil of dust that gently shrouded everything else in the still house. The photo was almost too painful to look at. After everything that had happened with Michael, she was surprised her parents had kept it on display—how had she never noticed it before? That was his first summer with them, when she and Michael were sophomores and best friends. He hadn’t been adopted yet. Michael stood between Ann and Poppy, all of them about the same age, still about the same height before Michael’s growth spurt the next year. Ann’s hair was pulled back, but Poppy’s whipped wildly around her face. Michael was smiling like he’d just won the lottery.

They all looked so happy, so innocent.

Pilgrim Monument loomed behind them. Ann and Poppy always had to beg their parents to take them to P-town. They complained that the traffic at the tip of the Cape was terrible and there was nowhere to park. They didn’t want to be mistaken as tourists with their fudge-stained lips and boxes of saltwater taffy stuffed under their arms, gawking at the friendly drag queens who stood outside bars in giant wigs, stuffing postcards for drag shows into the hands of passersby. Her parents had only agreed to that excursion because it was Michael’s first summer on the Cape. The next summer, Ann would miss the trip to Provincetown, because she’d spend all her days babysitting for the Shaws.

Oh God, the Shaws. She couldn’t think about them without hearing an explosion echo in her ears.

Ann was holding the photo when a car crunched toward the house on the broken oyster shells her father scattered on the driveway.

The Realtor.

Suddenly the picture burned in her hands. She furtively stuffed it under the old Popeye-themed sheet that covered the couch, grateful she’d hidden the evidence before Carol arrived. Michael looked nothing like Ann or Poppy. He could be any random kid, a cousin or friend. Even if the Realtor saw the photo, why would she suspect he was their adopted brother, an heir?

CAROL MADE ANN FEEL EMBARRASSED about the house. She touched every surface, ran her fingers along the window casings, setting free so much dust that it flew loose in a cloudy puff. “Needs a good scrub-down,” she said. She wiped her hand on her vest, leaving a gray smear. “I’ll give you a list of cleaners. They do an excellent job.”

“I can take care of it,” Ann said.

“I’m sure you can.”