“That was very kind of you,” I said. “Thank you. For being so good to my sister.” Tears filled my eyes. I bit my cheek. I did not want to start crying here. Not like this.

“We were glad to do it. You need anything while you’re here, you come see me,” he said.

I thanked him and left the store, six-pack of beer in one hand, the long package tucked under my arm. In search of comfort, I headed straight for the Blue Heron. The warm bakery smell was instantly reassuring. I made my way to the counter, where rows of pastries, muffins, and cookies sat in a glass case.

“Hi there! What can I get for you?” the man behind the glass asked. He was tall and red-haired, and his eyes were as green as ever. “Oh my God,” he said. He had the same infectious grin as when he was a boy. “Jax? Is that really you?”

“Ry,” I said. “It’s good to see you.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry about Lex.” He came out from behind the counter and we hugged. “I can’t believe it’s real. I keep expecting her to come in for a muffin and cappuccino.”

She was a regular at the bakery. Of course. The little things I didn’t know about my sister worried at me like splinters under my skin. Your own fault, Jax. “I know,” I said, feeling my eyes tear up. “At Sparrow Crest I catch myself thinking she’s upstairs or in the next room. Somewhere just out of sight.”

“I know what you mean. Can I get you a coffee? A muffin?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

He poured two cups of coffee, grabbed a couple of muffins, and joined me at a table.

“How is your mom?”

“She’s doing really well now. I got divorced last year and came back up to help her out. It seemed like the MS was progressing really rapidly, but now things have stabilized, even improved a bit. She’s on a medication regime that seems to be helping, and she’s taking care of herself—eating well, doing yoga.”

“And how about your dad?” I asked, looking around, wondering if Randy might be in the back baking.

Ryan frowned. “I guess you haven’t heard. They got divorced. Are getting divorced, more exactly. I don’t think it’s legally official yet.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Terri and Randy had always seemed so happy together, joking with each other all day at the bakery.

“You’re not the only one. Mom hasn’t told most of our family yet. She didn’t even tell me. Dad did. Poor guy. Totally shell-shocked. This came out of nowhere. Mom just woke up one morning a couple months ago and told him it was over; she wanted a divorce. He moved out of the house and is down in Connecticut with my uncle James now.”

“Wow,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “She won’t talk to me about it at all. I don’t have a clue what’s going on with her. I’m trying to be supportive and all, but she’s making it pretty difficult.” He took a sip of coffee. “Your aunt didn’t mention anything about it to you?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“I just don’t get it. I mean, if my dad was an asshole or something— but they seemed happy together. There were no warning signs. And my mom, she’s always been so open with me, but these days she’s like a closed book. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be there for her when she won’t let me in.” His face tensed with frustration.

“That sounds hard for all of you,” I said, feeling myself slip into counseling mode. “I think the best thing you can do to support your mom is just let her know you’re here and you’ll be here no matter what. But give her the space she needs to go through whatever she’s going through. I’m sure she’ll open up to you again when she’s able to.”

“I hope so.” He gripped his coffee cup hard, looked down into it. “Anyway…” he said, seeming eager to change the subject.

“The bakery looks the same,” I said.

“That’s pretty much true of the whole town,” he said. “Brandenburg: the town that time forgot.” We laughed. “That’s not entirely true, though. We’ve made a few changes to the bakery. And there are some new houses here and there around town. The old Miller farm burned down last winter. The library got rid of the old card catalogs and got computerized. But some things haven’t changed a bit. At the Four Corners the floors still creak, and Bill Bisette still calls me Red.”

I laughed. “Bill! I just saw him. It’s so great that you’re back, though, Ryan. But aren’t you a fancy architect?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘fancy,’ but yeah, that’s what I do. I’ve been taking on freelance work up here to keep my feet wet. And I’ve done some work to the bakery—opened up the wall between the kitchen and storage room so it’s one big space with better flow, added those skylights.” He pointed up. “Did you see the solar panels on the roof? Helping make the building more green. And we’ve got a heat pump.”

“How great!” I said. “Being an architect was always your dream.”

I thought back to the summer he tried to help Lexie catch the peacock: how he’d drawn designs for all of these elaborate peacock traps on paper—things involving springs and hinges and underground chambers, contraptions that they’d never be able to build.

“Lexie didn’t tell me you were back in town,” I said now. “But then again, we weren’t talking all that much.”

Ryan nodded. “She told me.”

I sank back in my chair. “I was an asshole, Ry.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said.

“No? I got resentful because my mentally ill sister inherited the house and I didn’t? So pissed off I stopped talking to her. And that doesn’t make me an asshole?”

He shrugged. “It makes you human.”

“I did my best to justify it. I told myself that distance was a healthy thing for both Lexie and me. That I needed time and space to work on myself.” I shook my head.

We were quiet for a minute, sipping our coffees. Grief and guilt settled in the pit of my stomach, and the coffee swirled and burned. I pushed the mug away.

“She hadn’t given up on things between the two of you,” he said. “She said she was going to invite you to visit this fall.”