A door creaks open and we both jump. If anyone had a secret passageway behind a bookcase into this house, it would be Jamie.

Loretta’s cat Diana walks in, huffy and annoyed, her green eyes trained on Patty. She’s another one of our inheritances. I dislike her on a personal level, but again I have to appreciate how animals can break tension like magic.

I snap my fingers at her and she gives me a look like, You’re fucking kidding, right? “I hate to be cynical, but do you think Loretta had this cat to add to her mystical tarot-reader persona?”

Tom shakes his head. “She wasn’t a scammer. She really believed in it.”

He’s pretty much tried everything on Loretta’s menu. She was fascinated by his palm. Predictably, he has one hell of a heart line. Like a blade has cut right through you, she told him with a slicing motion. One big one. His little-kid face pinched in surprise as he looked at his hand like he was searching for blood.

Loretta’s specialty was tarot, but she offered everything: tea leaves, I Ching, numerology, astrology, feng shui. Palms, dreams, and pendulums. Past lives. Power animals. Auras. Once when I came over as a teenager, I was halted by a Séance in Progress Post-it note on the door.

I gesture around us. “I know. And I think she was the real deal. But holy shit, she backed herself up with a lot of ambiance.”

The wallpaper is blood-red hyperreal hydrangeas. The curtains are fringed with jet-black beads that glitter in the light. The low coffee table transforms easily enough when a thick, sparkling cloth is put over it, even more so with the crystal ball.

It’s like sitting inside a genie’s bottle. When the fire crackles in the hearth and the ruby lamps are on, you could believe anything in this beautiful room. The air is still heavy with Loretta’s signature incense: sage, cedarwood, sandalwood, and the faintest incriminating whiff of pot. In this room, I miss her the least.

“That fireplace is in my top five favorite things in this world.” I tip my face toward it. “I can’t wait until it gets cold and I can light it again.” I mentally count forward the pages on the calendar. “Oh. Well, shit.”

Tom links his fingers together and leans forward. “We can light it again before …”

I nod and try to swallow the sad. “Just one more time would be great. I guess I haven’t completely thought about what I’m going to have to say goodbye to.”

With a dismissive nose-wrinkle, Diana jumps up on the arm of Tom’s chair and Patty vibrates with outrage. These dear, sweet buffers.

“I begged Jamie to take her.” I open a new bag of marshmallows, because the void is getting bigger. “Every evil overlord needs a fluffy cat to stroke.”

Tom offers his hand to her and she roughly rubs her white cheek along his knuckles, before looking at me with smug acid-green eyes. Fair enough. I’d love to do the same to him. He yawns and slumps a little, unaware that my screws are getting looser by the second. I remember something.

“So, Jamie’s room is an issue.”

He seizes the chance to leave the room, so I guess my stare is getting to him. I call after him, “It’s not my fault. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“It’s up to the ceiling,” he says from the hall. “Darcy, seriously.”

“I don’t have any storage space, and Jamie just won’t come and get his stuff. So I just … stacked it to the ceiling.” I am sloshing wine into my glass again when he appears. He confiscates the bottle, towering over me, holding it up to the light to look at the level.

“That’s enough for tonight.” He tousles my hair with his fingers to soften the scolding. “I can’t get used to it. It really is so short.”

He still hasn’t said that it looks good. I won’t ask, because he can’t lie. Megan has a beautiful glossy dark mane. Even I want to touch her hair.

“I look like I’m in a Korean boy band, but I don’t care. I can feel the air on the back of my neck.” I stretch as his fingertips depart, and hopefully he doesn’t notice. I need physical touch more than sunlight, and it’s embarrassing. A hologram of Vince appears and I blink it away.

“I personally didn’t know you had a neck. What happened to your plait after it was cut? Not the bin.” The thought horrifies him.

“I donated it. Someone out there is walking around with a big white wig. So, do I look like Jamie now?”

He laughs and the room gets brighter. I’m not saying that to be cute; it’s true. The lamps all blaze up. Shot electrical wiring—or Loretta spying on us? I know which I’d put my money on. “What did your brother say when your mom sent him the photo?”

“That I look like a wannabe Goth Joan of Arc and that I chopped off my only redeeming feature. I don’t care. I love it.”

He puts the bottle and glass out of reach, then takes the bag of marshmallows that I’ve been cradling and puts them on the mantel. “You look nothing alike.”

“I look like Ms. Pac-Man with a bow on my head. I’m like the scale version of him.”

“You’re really not.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult? My brother is beautiful, as you know.”

He shakes his head in amusement but still says nothing. I’ve been fishing on this same pier for many years. He steps closer, and feather-soft, he reaches down and nudges the mark on my arm.

“This is not okay. And I’ll …” He bites down on the rest of that sentence and the tendons of his jaw flex. The hands by his sides curl and squeeze. I know what he’ll do. He doesn’t have to say it. I feel it.

I’ve just decided to reach up to uncurl his fingers when he decides to retreat entirely to the only place I cannot follow.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he says, going outside before reappearing with a huge suitcase.

“What’s that? Are you flying internationally somewhere?”

“Ha, ha,” he replies dryly. He’s not an easy flier. The image of him crammed into a tiny plane seat, nervously clutching the armrests, is weird. And cute. And makes me sad. Wine kind of does that to a person. The Cure also assists.

I lie back and cross my legs at the knees. “Now, that shower has gotten a bit temperamental. Should I come in and show you?” I keep my tone straightforward, but I can see a rose-gold blush on his cheekbones as he unzips his bag.

“No, thanks.” He pulls out some pajamas and a black zipped bag.

“Oh wait.” I get to my feet and run down the hallway, Patty at my heels. “I’d better check …”

“Darce, relax,” he says behind me as I scoop up puddles of underwear from the floor. “We practically shared a bathroom when we were growing up.” And it goes unsaid but he lives with a woman. He’s seen everything.

The room shrinks by half. I don’t leave.

“You’ll have to go out now.” His hand cups the hem of the T-shirt. Then he grips it. Everything twists tighter. There’s an inch of stomach, and it’s tanned like caramel fudge. I plead with myself. Eyes up, DB.

His knuckles start going white. “Go on. Out.”

I don’t know if he’s talking to me or Patty. I pray for St. Megan to give me strength. He herds me out. “Towels in the usual spot?”