“I wouldn’t have even made it this far without Darcy. I can’t manage the phone and the site. That much is obvious. How unprofessional, right? Enlisting the client? I never saw Aldo do that.”

“Aldo had you to delegate to. You can’t delegate to yourself,” Jamie argues.

Tom is unswayed. “So don’t you think that’s going to be a problem when I move to the next site, and when life gets hard again for you and you leave?” He looks at me.

“You’ve got everything wrong. I’m not going anywhere.” I look at my brother and widen my eyes. “Help me.”

“Let’s just relax,” Jamie says, attempting Tom’s special tone and failing miserably.

Tom puts a hand on his hip. “Enough lies. Jamie, I fucked up the budget.”

“Fucked it up, how?” Jamie’s eyes sharpen. Money is his Achilles’ heel, and it’s pinching. “How much?”

“My entire five percent, probably. I used an old spreadsheet for the project. I didn’t update it with the new rate I promised my crew to move over with me. Plus the motel costs for the core three. I just … fucked up.” He lifts his arms and drops them. “A completely stupid simple error, and I was too distracted to notice it. So there you go. Some more ammunition for you to bring up over and over, for the rest of your life. Ha ha, remember how Tom couldn’t swim? Remember how Tom screwed up his first solo job ever?”

“I want to see the spreadsheet,” Jamie orders him. “Now. We have a contract—”

“I’m well aware.” Tom turns his eyes to mine, and there’s a starkness in them now. “And I’ve been lying to you about something.”

“I don’t care what it is.” I will not break under this, whatever it is. “I don’t care if she’s still got her ring. If the wedding is back on. If you’re already married. It won’t stop me from loving you.”

He silences me. “I’ve got your passport.”

Everything drains out of me, and my Achilles is lanced clean through. “What?”

“I found it the night I arrived. It was on top of the fridge. Out of your eye line.” The faintest tinge of a smile is on his face. “I put it in my pocket, and I kept it. I had a million little moments I could put it somewhere you could find it, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to keep you here. So yeah,” he says as he walks toward the back door with Patty at his heels. “I’m not the perfect person you both require me to be.”

The screen door slaps. I go to chase him, but Jamie stops me.

“Let him cool down. Look what you’ve done.” He passes a hand over his face, rattled. “What the hell?” He looks at the back door.

“I’ve never seen him look like that,” I go again for the door but Jamie hooks his arm around my waist.

“Let me go.”

“No, I won’t.” Jamie’s holding me so hard it hurts. “If I let you walk out, that’s it. It’s going to be you and him, versus me. You’re both going to completely forget about me.”

I would reply with sarcasm but I hear the fear in his voice. “You’re not going to be cut out. Nothing changes, except for me and Tom.”

“If I find out that he’s just been hanging around me all this time to get to you, I don’t know if I can handle that. That guy is my only real friend.” Jamie’s body is defensive—arms crossed, looming over me, but his eyes are like he’s a scared kid.

“Of course that’s not true.” I put a hand on Jamie’s elbow. “Let’s all just talk about it. You stay here and manage the site. I’ll go with Tom and get his mom.”

“Okay. Take her to Mom and Dad’s.” He thinks of something. “I’m settling soon on my investment property. I’ll rent it to Tom’s mom.” Jamie notices something out the front window. “The foundation guy is here. With doughnuts.” He opens the door for him. “Yeah, come in. Hi. We’re just in the middle of a crisis, but …”

Jamie and I spend a minute or two trying to fake it that we’ve got it together. Chris marvels at the hole in the ceiling, and we pretend that it’s no big deal. We don’t have a gaping, terrible hole in the center of our universe, leaking rain like tears.

“I’ll go get Tom,” I tell them both. I walk down to my bedroom, but he’s not there. I walk up the side of the house. I am stepping alongside the prints left by my heels this morning. How fucking typical. I keep walking the same impulsive, selfish path.

Tom’s truck has reversed almost out of the drive. I’m running, but I’m not fast enough. I try. I’ve chased him as far as the corner of Simons Street when I lose all power, and in his rearview mirror if he looked he’d see me doubled over, cursing my heart, cursing myself.

But I feel like this time he doesn’t look back for me.

* * *

AFTER TWO DAYS without Tom, I am a stone-cold wreck.

“He’ll be back tomorrow,” Jamie tells me, but his usual confident tone is slipping. He hands me a mug of tea. “Drink this.”

“I can’t.” I twist around on the front steps and put it down with a slosh. “I can’t.” The sunset is soaking everything in obnoxiously pretty colors.

“You’re gonna have to eat or drink something. And sleep at some point. Your hair’s gonna go gray at this rate.” Jamie slaps my medication bottle in my hand. “Take them.” He sits next to me with a groan. He’s tired after living two days of Tom’s life. “I can’t believe how much shit he deals with.”

Jamie went into recovery mode after he scooped me off the pavement and my heart regained the ability to pump. He half carried me inside, sat me on the closed toilet lid, and commandeered Colin the moment he walked in.

“I’ll double your daily rate to be site manager. Tom’s got an emergency.”

“Done,” Colin said. There’s no I told you so glint in his eyes, only concern. “Okay, boys, set up, and I’ll task Chris. Power’s off from nine sharp.” With Colin’s experience, Jamie’s bulldozer will, and my phone-answering skills, the renovation has continued to tick along.

“We need him back,” I groan desperately, mashing my palms against my closed eyes. “We broke him.” I hear a car engine. I sit up. It drives past, and I exhale and put my head in my hands. “Did you call Mom and Dad?”

Jamie has his arm around my shoulders now.

“Tom was there yesterday. He dropped off his mom around dinnertime. She’s in their spare room, the nice one that opens to the ocean. She’s okay. There are identical cats everywhere.” Jamie takes out his phone and shows a picture that Mom sent. There are black and white cats on the bench. The couches. The windowsills and on top of the fridge. “Mom’s kind of loving it. She calls them all Mr. Tuxedo.”

There’s another shot of Tom’s mom, Fiona, waving at the camera. The smile doesn’t reach her eyes. It reminds me of when we gave her our welcome basket, all those years ago.

“I don’t care about cats. Where did he go?”

“Mom doesn’t know. She said he barely said anything while he was there, and said he had to get going. He didn’t stay the night. She tried to make him stay, but he was just back in his truck. He apologized, but she didn’t know what for.” Jamie hesitates on something.