Aside from that, having Justin here is actually great. Everyone is thrilled to see him, and they’ve all taken a turn with him. My mom wouldn’t give him back, and insisted on being the one to give him his bottle when he got fussy and hungry.

I wanted to do it, but I knew I’d get my chance later, and I knew this would get both my mom and Amanda off my back for a while.

“My turn.”

We all swivel our heads en masse in outright shock, because it’s Easton who’s spoken, reaching out for Justin.

Rachel hands him over, and Easton addresses Justin earnestly. “My dude,” he says. “As the youngest Wilder, you have a hefty legacy to live up to.”

My heart does something painful. An ungainly squeeze. Justin is not the youngest Wilder.

Sometimes I just plain wish Zoë had never told me the truth.

“Justin,” Hanna says sharply. “Don’t listen to that guy.”

Everyone laughs.

“Justin, your Uncle Easton knows what’s up.”

“And that,” says Hanna, “is about all Uncle Easton knows.”

Easton gives Hanna a mock wounded look and goes on. “I saw you flirting with all the ladies,” he tells Justin. “You’ve got good technique. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Hanna groans and sets her pizza down. “God, Easton. You’re ruining my appetite.”

“Hanna,” says Easton. “Nothing will ever ruin your appetite.”

Some women would be offended by that. Hanna is not. She just picks up her pizza again, takes a big bite, and says, “Too true.”

I stand and head to the cooler to retrieve myself another beer. As I’m fishing for the IPA I want, Clark hurries out of the house, followed by my mother.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry, Clark,” she’s saying.

“I’m not angry.” His voice is tight.

“I just want to help.”

He lifts his head, and I can see all the pain I know he’s living with etched in his eyes. He just stands there for a minute. It’s in his shoulders, too, the set of his jaw. Loss, misery.

We all miss her. Emma was so sweet. Good. Easy. There wasn’t a mean bone in her body. She was open and generous.

I can’t imagine how you’d ever replace someone like her in your heart.

“I know,” Clark says finally.

My mom puts her arms around him, and he hugs her back. Then he lets her go, and she heads toward the deck, leaving me alone with Clark.

I don’t ask if he’s okay. I figure he has to answer that question enough.

He bends and fishes in the ice for a drink, emerging with a Corona, shaking his hand, which is bright red from the cold.

“Survival stuff doing decently?” I ask him, hoping Wilder business stuff will be a good distraction.

He shrugs.