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?”
He nodded, powered up the computer, flicked his eyes to me and back to his screen. “Is it possible he did have something to do with it?”
“With what?” I asked.
He kept his eyes on the screen. Made like he was half working, but I knew him too well. “The girl. Ten years ago.”
“No, Everett. God,” I said. “And her name is Corinne. She wasn’t just some girl.