Shepley closed the oven. “Almost done.”

“Smells good,” Jim called from the dining room.

My cell phone buzzed, and I fished it out of the back pocket of my shorts. It was a text from Abby.

We’ll be at Jim’s soon. Meet us there.

I tapped out a reply.

Already here. Cooking dinner.

Oh, good. Text me when you’re finished. We’ll wait.

For what?

It took her a bit longer to respond.

Until dinner is over.

There’s enough for everyone but suit yourself.

Trust me. It’s best if everyone eats first.

And what’s that supposed to mean?

See you soon.

I huffed, stuffing my phone back into my pocket.

Shepley glided by, plucking my phone out again and placing it on the counter. “How many times have I told you? Cell phones emit radiation. Do you want colon cancer? Don’t put them in your pockets.”

“Does anyone want colon cancer? What kind of question is that? First, I can’t eat Cheetos, then I have to replace water bottles with glass containers because the bottles heated in the car causes cancer, and now, I can’t put my phone in my pocket. You realize the sun causes cancer, right? Should we become cave dwellers?”

“Which is why I keep buying you that organic sunscreen,” Shepley said, kissing my cheek.

“You’re such a soccer mom,” I grumbled.

“I’ll take it,” he said, leaving me for the dining room table.

I teased him, but I knew he feared going through the same thing his Uncle Jim and his mom had when they lost Diane. Once we had Ezra, he began reading about everything that could kill us and started forbidding us from eating certain things. He did it out of love, and of course, he was right, but pretending to be annoyed softened the frightening reality. We were getting older, and a few of our friends had already been diagnosed. Sometimes, it felt like the whole world was dying.

The front door swung open, and Taylor walked through, holding one of his kids in each arm. Falyn was behind him, carrying the luggage.

“Hey!” Shepley, Jim, and Jack said in unison. Shepley helped Jim to stand, and they bear hugged Taylor and the kids, then Falyn, with Tyler, Ellie, and Gavin not far behind.

“Oh, my God!” Taylor yelled. “It smells amazing in here!”

I turned the stove fire to low and wiped my hand on my apron, leaving the kitchen to hug the family. After everyone had said their hellos, Jim glanced around the room. “Where’s Trenton?”

Tyler shrugged. “He hasn’t been by today? I thought he’d be here. That’s what he said earlier.”

“I’ll text him,” Taylor said, pulling his phone from his back pocket.

I smirked at Shepley, gesturing to Taylor, and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m not married to Taylor, am I?” he said.

Everyone turned to my husband, and I snorted.

Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Eh?”

“Nothing,” Shepley grumbled.

Falyn glanced around the room. “Is Olive not coming for dinner?”

“They’re on vacation this week,” Jim said.

Falyn’s face fell. “Oh.”

Jim looked at his watch. “They should be getting home later this evening.”

Falyn’s eyes brightened. “Oh! Well, that’s … I’m really glad. I’ve missed her.”

Jim nodded in understanding. We all knew Falyn looked forward to seeing Olive when she was in town, even if Olive had no idea she was actually part of the family instead of just Trenton’s best friend.

We chatted about their flight from Colorado and Taylor and Tyler’s new jobs at State Farm Insurance. Shepley couldn’t resist making a joke about the State Farm khakis commercial. Ellie reminisced about working for the MountainEar magazine in Estes, and Falyn and the kids had just unpacked the last box back at home with Taylor.

The oven door creaked as Shepley opened it to pull out the meatloaf pan, I mashed the potatoes, and Ellie and Falyn set up the card table for the kids. Dining chairs scraped against the tile as the adults sat down at the dining table to eat.

Jim looked around. “Hasn’t Trenton gotten home yet? Is Travis still out of town?”

I touched his arm. “We texted Trent. I’m pretty sure Travis is flying home today.”

Jim shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Jack patted his brother’s back. “They’re fine, Jim.”

I tried not to grimace. Thomas’s death had taken a toll on Jim. His clothes were hanging off him, purple half-moons hung under his tired eyes, and he looked more frail than ever. He was constantly asking about the boys, calling each one every day to check on them if they didn’t call him first. Most of them already knew to call during their lunch break to set his mind at ease.

Taylor checked his phone, chewing. “He texted back. He’s at home. He can’t make dinner tonight.”

“Really?” I said, surprised. That wasn’t like Trenton. He was at Jim’s for dinner every night, even before the funeral.

Agent Wren approached the table.

“Wren,” Tyler said between bites. “Have a seat. Have some meatloaf; it’s my mom’s recipe. Best damn meatloaf you’ve ever had, I promise you that.”

“I don’t know why we’re cooking,” Falyn said. “There are still stacks of casseroles in the freezer.”

“Because your dad wanted Diane’s meatloaf,” Shepley said. “And what Jim wants, Jim gets.”

Jim managed a smile, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Camille had bought him suspenders a few days before, and although Jim wasn’t a fan, I thought he looked adorable.

Agent Wren touched his earpiece. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” I asked. “Who is that?”

Agent Wren ignored me, returning to his post in the living room. I glared at him, far beyond irritated with the secrecy. What else didn’t we know? I glanced at my husband. “Why is he still here?”

“Who? Wren?” Shepley asked.

“What was that about? Are we”—I glanced back at the kids and then leaned in—“still in danger? Have we heard an update on where Travis is with the Carlisi case?”

Jim shook his head, picking at his plate.

“Not hungry?” Deana asked.

“It’s very good,” Jim said, looking apologetic. “I feel full pretty fast these days. No appetite, I suppose.”