Before slipping back into bed, she shed her cardigan and strategically tossed it. It landed directly on top of her phone. She stayed in the loft for most of the sodden Saturday and Sunday. While the rain pinged overhead, she frowned at the first page of Middlemarch and tried not to think about Jane Cannon’s email.

Monday brought back the sunshine. Relieved, Maggie escaped the cabin. And who knows if the email’s legit? she thought as she crossed the beach. She kicked at a clump of seaweed. It’s probably from some jerky Tigers fan out to trick me into responding, so she can use my words against me, like a—a sting operation!

The cool wind felt bracing. She walked up and down and up and down the shore until she realized she was ambling to the rhythm of I know something similar happened to you, I know something similar happened to you, I know something similar happened to you. She halted and scowled at her feet, then turned on her heel and stomped inside.

While she was pouring a glass of iced tea, Thomas Blake showed up at the back door with Kate. Sam strode into the kitchen to greet them.

“I have a department meeting,” Thomas explained quickly. “Forgot all about it. Sorry, buddy. Got to go.” He kissed the top of his granddaughter’s head, nudged her into the house, and waved good-bye as he jogged to his car.

Aunt Wren was in Rochester for the afternoon, and Sam, coated in clay, was obviously in the middle of a job. He stood in the kitchen, filthy hands raised, probably to remind himself not to touch anything, and frowned at his daughter as if he didn’t know what to do with her.

Uh-oh. Maggie inched toward the back door.

Sam turned.

She froze.

“Do you mind keeping an eye on Kate?” he asked. Begged.

His daughter stamped her foot.

Maggie did mind. So did his kid.

“Please?” he added.

He looked desperate, and Maggie didn’t have a good excuse (or even a bad one) to avoid helping out. “Sure.” She sighed.

Kate wrinkled her nose.

“Great.” Sam strode out of the kitchen and called from the hallway, “Be good!”

Kate fell into a chair and folded her arms. “You are not my mother. And I don’t like you.”

“Gee. Thanks.” Where was this kid’s mother, anyway?

There was no television in the cabin—or toys or coloring books or crayons. No tablet. No 3DS. Maggie found a deck of cards in a drawer by the fridge, but Kate couldn’t stand War and thought Old Maid was stupid and Go Fish “stupider.” Shuffling the cards at the table, Maggie said, mostly to herself, “I wonder if I remember how to play rummy.”

“I know how,” Kate said, “and I hate that game, too.” Then she shot out of the kitchen.