“Hey, you.” Her brother jumped at the sound of her voice. He was still wearing his uniform—Nigel always said he looked like a baked potato in his courier uniform. Dakota stood up, suddenly reminding Winnie of how tall he was. He resembled their father, six-four and beefy. Winnie had to bend her head back a little to look into her brother’s face, which was contrite. His red-rimmed eyes wouldn’t meet hers when he said, “I’m really appreciative you all are letting me stay. Manda…”

At the sound of his wife’s name on his own tongue, the six-foot-four-inch brute of a man burst into tears. And that was the moment Nigel pulled into the driveway.

Winnie seated Dakota at the dinette, and Nigel made tea for the three of them. It was something his mother did when someone was upset. She watched as he handled the little bags of tea and the cubes of sugar. He poured a few beats of whiskey into his and Winnie’s mugs, noticeably skipping Dakota’s, and Winnie held her tongue. She knew better than to give Nigel a hard time about drinking, especially after forcing Dakota on him. She felt she’d need the alcohol herself. Dakota took the mug gratefully.

Winnie sucked the warm liquid between her teeth and eyed Dakota over the rim of her mug. Her sisters still crooned about how handsome he was, but she was starting to see the emergence of a much scruffier man. He’d had a six-pack through high school and college, and despite living in a cold, rainy state, he’d spent much of his adolescence shirtless to let everyone know. Sitting close to him now, Winnie could see that his hair was thinning and his nose was starting to take on the bulbous appearance of a seasoned alcoholic.

“You should shower, dude, shave. You’ll feel better.” Nigel was eyeing Dakota with much less tact than she had. She meant to give Nigel a look to say he’d crossed a line, but Dakota nodded solemnly.

“I lost my job today.”

Nigel’s mug landed on the table with a hard thud. Winnie squeezed her eyes closed. No, no, no.

“Why?” That strangled word was all she could manage.

“Got in a fight with some guy.”

Nigel leaned forward, disbelieving. “‘Got in a fight with some guy’? What? At work?”

Dakota nodded. “He had it coming.” He said this very seriously. Winnie saw her husband’s fist clench. Oh boy, here it comes, she thought.

“Are you kidding me, Dakota? Your marriage is hanging by a thread, you gambled your mortgage payment, and now you got yourself fired because you wanted to play street fighter on the job?” This time it was she who said it, and both her husband and brother looked at her in surprise. Winnie could play bad guy, too.