Emily’s own smile was brittle as she answered, “You’ve barely touched your meatballs, sweetie. Grandma made them from scratch.”
“Don’t like meatballs,” Davey mumbled, his dark eyes shifting to Noah’s mom then back to his plate. He sucked the collar of his T-shirt into his mouth before Emily tugged it down again.
“Not everyone likes meatballs,” Meg told him gently. Noah couldn’t think of one person who didn’t like his mother’s homemade meatballs and sauce but didn’t bother mentioning that. “I think it would be fine if you went to play, Davey. If you’re hungry later, I’ll make you a bowl of cereal or a cheese sandwich.”
Before Emily could object, the boy scrambled off his chair and out of the room.
“He can’t live on only cereal, cheese and bread,” Emily said with a weary sigh. She picked up the uneaten spaghetti and passed it to Noah. “No sense in this going to waste.”
Noah wasn’t going to argue.
“When you were a girl, there was a month where you ate nothing but chicken nuggets and grapes. Kids go through stages, Emily.”
“It’s not a stage, Mom, and you know it. You know—”
Noah paused, the fork almost to his mouth, as Emily looked at him then clamped shut her mouth. “What does she know?” He put the fork on the plate and pushed away the food. “What the hell am I missing here? Is Davey homesick?”
Emily gave a choked laugh. “No.”
“Then what gives?” Noah shook his head. “I haven’t seen you since last summer but he’s changed. At least from what I remember. Is everything okay with you and Henry?”
“Nothing is okay, Noah.”
Emily’s face was like glass, placid and expressionless. Dread uncurled in Noah’s gut. His sister was always animated. Whatever had caused her to adopt this artificial serenity must be bad.
“Davey started having developmental delays in the past year—sensory difficulties, trouble socializing and some verbal issues.” Meg reached out for Emily’s hand but she shook off their mother’s touch, much like her son had done to her minutes earlier. “I wanted to get him into a doctor, figure out exactly what’s going on and start helping him. Early intervention is essential if we’re dealing with...well, with whatever it is. But Henry forbade it.”
Noah took a deep breath and asked, “Why?” He was pretty sure he wouldn’t like the answer.
Emily folded the napkin Davey had left on his seat. “He said Davey was acting out on purpose. He started punishing him, yelling at him constantly and trying to force him to be...like other kids.” She shook her head. “But he’s not, Noah. You can see that, right?” Her tone became desperate, as if it was essential that he understand her son.
“I can see that you love Davey, Em. You’re a great mother. But where does that leave your marriage? You also loved Henry, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know how I feel,” Emily said. “You have no idea what would have happened if I’d stayed. Henry is going to run for Congress next year. The Whitakers are like the Kennedys without the sex scandals. They’re perfect and they expect perfection from everyone around them. Davey was... Henry couldn’t handle the changes in him. I had to get him away from there. To protect him. Our divorce was finalized a month ago.”
“Why haven’t you come home before now?” Noah looked at his mother. “Did you know?”
Meg shook her head. “Not until a few weeks ago.”
“And neither one of you had the inclination to tell me?”
The two women he cared about most in the world shared a guilty look. “We knew you had a lot going on, that it was going to be difficult for you to stay here for the summer,” his mom answered after a moment. “Neither of us wanted to add any more stress to your life. We were trying to protect you, Noah.”
He shot up from the table at those words and paced to the kitchen counter, gripping the cool granite until his fingertips went numb. “I’m supposed to protect you,” he said quietly. He turned and looked first at his mom then his little sister. “Dad told me to take care of you both.”
“Noah.” His mother’s tone was so tender it just about brought him to his knees. “Your father didn’t mean—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t tell me what he meant. He said the words to me.” It was the last conversation he’d had with his father and he remembered everything about it in vivid detail. Hospice workers were helping to care for his dad in the house and a hospital bed had been set up in the main-floor office. His memories of those last days were the reason he’d spent so little time in his parents’ house since then. Everything about this place, the smells, a shaft of light shining through the kitchen window, reminded him of his dad’s death. He thought he’d hid his aversion to home with valid excuses—his work, travel, visiting friends. But it was clear now that Katie hadn’t been the only one to understand his cowardice.
“I’m here,” he told them both. “Now and for the long haul. Don’t hide anything from me. Don’t try to protect me. I don’t need it. If we’re going to get through this it has to be together.”
His mom stood and walked toward him, her eyes never wavering from his. The urge to bolt was strong but he remained where he was, took her in his arms when she was close enough and held her tight. “Together,” she whispered.
He looked at his sister across the room. “Come on over,” he said, crooking a finger at her. “You know you want to.”
With a sound between a laugh and a sob, Emily ran across the room and Noah opened up his embrace to include her, too. He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life, but he was at least smart enough to try to learn from them. His first lesson was sticking when things got tough. Nothing like starting with the hard stuff.
“I want you to tell me more about Davey,” he said against Emily’s honey-colored hair. “What he needs, how to help him.”
He felt her nod, and then her shoulders began to shake with unshed tears. His mother’s crying was softer, but he heard that, too.
Noah tightened his hug on the two of them. “We can get through anything together,” he said, lifting his gaze to the ceiling and hoping that was true.
* * *
“I had a good time tonight.”
Katie glanced at the man sitting in the driver’s seat next to her and smiled. “I did, too. Thank you for dinner.”
“It was smart to choose a restaurant outside of town. We got a little privacy that way. Everyone seems to know you around here.” Matt Davis, the assistant principal and swim-team coach at the local high school, returned her smile as he opened the SUV’s door. “I’ll walk you to your door.”
“You don’t have to—” she began, but he was already out of the Explorer.
He was a nice guy, she thought, and their date had been fun—easy conversation and a few laughs. Matt was relatively new to Crimson. He was a California transplant and a rock-climbing buddy of her friend Olivia’s husband, Logan Travers. It was Olivia who’d given Matt her number. He was cute in a boy-next-door kind of way, medium height and build with light brown hair and vivid green eyes. He’d been a semiprofessional athlete in his early twenties and had trained briefly at her father’s facility near San Diego. Now he seemed