I cracked the door, and the steam escaped into my bedroom, wisps curling up toward the vents. Everett was still sprawled facedown on the bed; I had my money on a hangover. I eased the door shut, walked across the tiny bathroom, out through the other door to Daniel’s old room.

“I told him the truth, Daniel. That the police were trying to question Dad in the disappearance of a girl ten years ago, regardless of his mental state. He marched down to the police station and Grand Pines, threatening legal action if it happened again.”

“It’s done? Is that it?”

“He needs to follow up on Monday. Get some paperwork from the doctor or something. But they’ll back off until then.”

“So he’s staying through Monday?”

“Looks that way.”

I heard Laura again: Who’s staying through Monday? And then everything sounded muffled, like Daniel was covering the phone with his hand. He cleared his throat. “Laura wants you to bring him by for dinner tonight.”

“Tell her thanks, but—”

“Great. Six o’clock, Nic.”

* * *

I DIDN’T WAKE EVERETT until nearly noon, and only then because his work was stacked in the middle of the dining room table and I knew he had to make up for the time lost yesterday. I nudged him on the shoulder and held the over-the-counter painkillers in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He moaned as he rolled over, his gaze roaming around my room as he tried to orient himself.

“Hey there,” I said, crouching beside the bed, trying to hide my smile. I liked Everett in the morning most of all, when he was lazy and malleable, when his thoughts lagged a few seconds behind; he always looked surprised while his mind caught up to what was happening. Before the caffeine hit his bloodstream and he sharpened into focus.

I liked him even better on the rare mornings he’d wake in my apartment and sit up and fumble for the alarm on his phone, misjudging the distance to my nightstand, confused by the studio apartment and the painted furniture.

“Hey,” he said, then winced. He propped himself up on his elbows and downed the painkillers before flopping back onto the mattress.

“Want to sleep it off some more?”

He peered at the clock, threw an arm over his eyes. “Ugh, no.”

He’d been out for nearly twelve hours. Meanwhile, I’d been busy moving all the boxes from the dining room to the newly finished garage. Stacked them against the walls, organized them into piles: For Dad; For Daniel; For me.

Everything else must go. And everything else was heaped in the middle of the floor in garbage bags: cookbooks and glass figurines, magazines from a year ago and floral curtains that had seen better days, old credit card notices and pens that had run out of ink.

“Coffee’s downstairs,” I said. “When you’re ready.”

* * *

I POURED MYSELF A mug and stood in front of the kitchen window with the view over the back porch, straight to the woods. Everett brushed my arm, and I jumped. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said, reaching around me for the coffeepot. I brought the cup to my lips, but the liquid seemed bitter and left a foul aftertaste. I dumped it in the sink as Everett filled his cup. “I’ll make a new pot,” I said.

The steam rose from his cup as he took a sip. “It’s perfect. Nice view,” he said, standing beside me.

We were down in the valley, so we didn’t have much of a view other than trees, but I guessed it was better than the view in the city—buildings and sky or, from my place, the parking lot. There was also the hill that rose up behind us here, with a great view into the valley on this side, and the forest stretching to the river on the other side. I should take him there. Show him something worth seeing. This piece of land, I’d tell him, it’s been in my family for three generations. It wasn’t much, but Dad did have a point. Small though it was, it was ours. The Carter property jutted against ours at a stream that had dried out long ago and was now a narrow ditch that got shallower every year from leaves decaying, land eroding. The next generation would have to put up a fence or a sign if they cared to know where the line fell.

Everett didn’t spend long at the window, slumping into a chair at the kitchen table and rubbing his temple as he sipped the coffee. “God, what do they put in the drinks down here? Tell me that was moonshine so I can maintain a little self-respect.”

I pulled open a cabinet, surveying the cups. “Ha,” I said. “This is the South. More bang for your buck. Not everything gets watered down and jacked up in price.” I could bring my parents’ wedding china to Daniel’s tonight and be nearly done with the kitchen. I could leave the money for him before he could notice and say no. And since Everett was here, that was probably all I’d be getting done anyway.

“Daniel and Laura want us to come for dinner tonight,” I said.

“That sounds great,” he said. “Would be even better if they had Internet.”

“I’m sure they do. But Laura’s probably going to ask about three hundred wedding questions. Just so you’re prepared.”

He tilted his head back and grinned from across the room. “Three hundred, huh?”

“The price of Internet access.”

“A fair trade, I suppose.”

He walked to the dining room, where his laptop and briefcase sat on the table. It was a tiny alcove, visible from the kitchen, where I’d been organizing and storing most of the boxes. He glanced around the empty room. “You got a lot done. How long have you been up?”

“A while,” I called, opening the rest of the cabinets so the room seemed even smaller, the walls closing in on us. “Look around. There’s still so much to do.”

“Yeah, well, I probably could’ve done that for you in half the time if you’d waited—”

“Everett, please,” I snapped.

He tapped his pen against the dining room table. “You’re stressed.”

I grabbed a stack of plates, setting them down on the table across from him. “Of course I’m stressed. Imagine the police treating your father like this.”

“Okay, calm down,” he said, and I suddenly hated how practical he sounded. How condescending. He shifted in his seat, wood scraping against wood. “About your dad, Nicolette.”

“Yes?” I stood on the other side of the wooden table, folded my arms across my chest.

“I can stop people from officially questioning him, but I can’t stop him from volunteering information. You get that, right?”

My stomach twisted. “But he doesn’t even know what he’s saying! He’s borderline senile. You get that, right?”