millionth time since we got the knock on the door telling us about the accident.
He nods. “I need to be away from everything back there. Everywhere I go, I’m reminded of what happened. I don’t know why, but somehow I think I feel close to them because this is something they would do.”
You have no idea. The thought passes through my mind as my eyes collide with Maris’s as I shoot her a sidelong glance. “You’re right, Kevin. It is something they’d do,” I reassure him.
Something infinitesimally wound up behind Kevin’s green eyes relaxes. “So, what’s there to eat at the house? Airplane food sucks.”
Maris jumps into our conversation at this point. “Honey, you know it’s late. So, when we get back to the house, I think a light snack is in order—”
Kevin groans. I just smile, waiting.
Maris continues. “— because tomorrow we’re going to have the best lobster chowder anywhere in the world. Tomorrow. Tonight, it’s close to midnight our time, which is 4:00 a.m. for your body. Too late for anything heavy. You and your mom must be exhausted.”
Kevin perks up. “Are we having lobster to go with it?”
I rebuke him gently. “Did Maris say that?”
“No, ma’am.” I have to stifle my giggles when I twist back around in my seat and catch the wink Maris aims at me.
“Likely cause she wanted it to be a surprise,” I murmur but obviously not quiet enough when Kevin lets out a rebel yell from the back.
Hearing that, a small stitch helps pieces of my desecrated heart seal itself back together. It’s temporary, I know, trying to repair weeks of anger and devastation, and the fear waiting for me.
Pulling up to the home that holds so many memories, I begin to hyperventilate. My vision darkens at the edges as the clock spins wildly back to the last time I stood in front of this two-story home over fifteen years ago.
“Kara? Jesus, you’re scaring the hell out of me.” Maris shakes me hard.
“Mom?” In a faraway part of my mind, I hear my son’s anxiety. It drags me from my nightmare the way nothing else can.
“I’m fine.” Or I will be if I could erase the memories of John Jennings out of my head each time I see images of the home where my son was likely conceived. I give them a weak smile. “I’m just tired. And I’m ready to find a bed.”
“Then let’s get your stuff inside. Oh, I figured Kevin would want the basement,” Maris says casually.
“Like a man cave?” Kevin says excitedly.
“Indeed. There’s an open room down there with a bed, closet, gaming setup—” Maris doesn’t get to finish before Kevin’s holding out his hand for a high five, which Maris doesn’t hesitate to give him.
“You didn’t need to give up your space,” I rebuke her gently. “Though for the sake of the smell of your house, it was probably a wise move.”
“Hey!” Kevin protests.
“Is the teenager starting to resemble that remark?” Maris snarks before sliding out of the car. I’m not far behind. I pause when I take in the night sky. It shows me every star I ever made a wish on before I gave up on wishes and dreaming and went back to what I know best—analytical thinking. Shaking my head, I suggest, “Why don’t we just take in the carry-ons tonight? Then we can deal with the larger bags in the morning.”
“That works for me,” Kevin agrees, patting his roller-board carry-on. My shoulders shake knowing his priorities mean it contains his gaming system as well as a change of clothes and his Dopp kit.
“Sounds like a plan,” Maris says. “Hey, Malone?” Both of us turn. She pitches a set of keys in my direction which I catch easily. “Welcome back. I just wish it was under better circumstances.” Her beautiful face has aged with the tragedy we’ve all suffered through.
I nod, but I mentally can’t go there or I’ll just crumble in the front yard. Jed and Dean are both gone; it’s incomprehensible. We’ve lived through so much in the six weeks since their death. And yet, that has nothing on what we’re about to face.
Nothing.
Because four men who loved Jed like a brother are about to find out the secrets that kept Jed from them.
And they’re all because of me.
The next day, Maris and I are groggily sitting around the Smith family kitchen around 9:00 a.m. Juneau time when an actual landline rings. My brow quirks before I ask, “You have a real