The way he said my name, so guarded and with such caution, broke my heart in two and I turned away, trying to hide. Ash didn’t notice, and as he filled our glasses with water, I dug the pasta out of the freezer, unboxed it and shoved it in the microwave. “We can go shopping tomorrow,” I said over my shoulder. “I need to get more stuff anyway. I’ll show you your favorites.” He didn’t answer, and when I looked up, I caught him gaping at the window, his brow furrowed.

“Where are the chickens?”

“What chick—” My eyes widened. “You remember the chickens?”

“Were they in the garden?” he said, rubbing his temples with his fingers as if he were trying to massage the knowledge back into his head.

“They weren’t real. We had blinds with a chicken pattern.”

“Red and orange,” Ash said. “Big, fat, red-and-orange hens.”

“On a green background.” My voice went up a notch. “Brad thought they were absolutely hideous and swore us to secrecy because Mom bought the fabric and spent ages sewing them. She loved them so much, but he said they drove him clucking crazy.”

Ash actually laughed, his shoulders dropping. “This is crazy. How can I remember these bloody red-and-orange chickens but not remember you or our parents?”

“It’s a start,” I said, giving his arm a squeeze. “Baby steps, right? You don’t want to become overwhelmed.”

A while later the two of us sat at the table, Ash’s belly full while I stuck with my glass of water. My appetite hadn’t been the same since he’d left and most of the time I hadn’t seen the point in cooking for one. Ash pushed the rest of his food around his plate, and I could almost hear his mind whirring, trying, and failing, to get traction as he covered a yawn with one hand.

“It’s late, Ash. Why don’t you go clean up and try to get some rest? We’ll talk more in the morning. The clothes you left are still upstairs in your room, and your bed’s made.” I wondered if he’d ask why I’d regularly laundered his sheets and made up his bed again when I hadn’t heard from him in two years, but he didn’t.

“Could you show me?” he said quietly instead.

“Of course. Come.”

I led him across the black-and-white diamond-tiled foyer and up the creaky, dark-stained wooden stairs that used to have a dollar-bill-green runner with golden stair rods. The carpet had bunched so badly we’d ripped it out. Replacing it was another renovation project I’d put on hold. Motivation, not time, had been lacking. Not to mention the cash.