He looks away for a second, maybe embarrassed about being called out. When he turns back, he’s smirking, but worry lurks behind his eyes. “You call it avoidance, I call it stress relief, but it was an excellent distraction, even if it didn’t last very long.”

I run my hands through his hair, smoothing it out. “Should we do something constructive? Look through Bee’s files and see if we can’t find something that might help?”

“It’s probably a good idea. I don’t know how much I processed after Grammy Bee passed, you know? And just when I was ready to deal with everything, the money went missing from the foundation, and I lost my job.”

“It’s a lot, isn’t it? Why don’t we make dinner first?” I ask.

“Sure. That sounds good.”

We get dressed, and I wash my hands before I pull things out of the grocery bags. Van and I fall into a familiar routine, standing side by side at the kitchen counter.

“I’m sorry you keep getting thrown curveballs.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not actually okay, but I can handle it. And it’s not your fault. I feel like I’m at a crossroads in my life. Grammy Bee always believed things happen for a reason, but this whole thing—her dying; me being given this cottage; everything that happened with the foundation; coming here, getting to know you, and believing it’s possible to have a fresh start, and then being told it might all be taken away—I just want to know what message the universe is trying to send me. Let go? Hold on? I’m an asshole? I just don’t know.”

“Well, I can tell you that you’re not an asshole.”

“Thanks, but you know, when I really look at the life I was living, I honestly don’t think I was doing any of it for the right reasons. I liked my job, but I didn’t love it. It was more about the paycheck than it was about the gratification of a job well done. I should have found it rewarding, but I didn’t. This”—he motions to the cottage—“being here, working on the garage, fixing this place up like I’d talked about when I was younger . . . this is the stuff that actually means something, you know? This is what matters: making memories worth holding on to.” He shucks a cob of corn, getting silk all over the counter and the floor. “I’m starting to sound like a freaking Hallmark movie, and I’m at risk of having to hand over my man card if I keep it up.” He shakes his head, as if clearing the heavy subject matter. “Is everything okay with your brother? I saw him today at Bernie’s.”

“You did? I didn’t think he had an appointment. Or not one anyone told me about. Was he with my mom?”

“No, he was on his own. I offered to drive him home, but he said he was fine, and he called someone to pick him up.”

“Huh. I honestly don’t know what that would have been about. I think there’s a lot going on with him, and while he’s always been the kind of person to dance to his own beat, he’s been doing some strange things lately.” I shake my head. “Ugh. You know what? Let’s not talk about this either. Oh, and about the garage, I know you know what you’re doing, but you can always talk to my dad about the renovation. I’m sure he’d be happy to help out.”

“I keep meaning to have Aaron come by, but he’s been busy. I’m going to give it a go on my own, but it’s good to have backup if I run into any snags along the way.”

“Makes sense. How was the rest of your day? What else is going on? Make any new discoveries since your brother and sister left?”

“Actually, I found a stack of ones in the old butter dish in the china cabinet.”

“Really? I thought you couldn’t find the key for it.”

“I couldn’t. I used a bobby pin to get it open.”

“Ah yes, the old bobby pin trick! I bet Bee has a million of those hanging around. She was forever wearing her hair up.”

“Oh yeah, there was an entire basket full of them in the bathroom medicine cabinet.”

“It blew my mind that she could put those in without even looking at her reflection, and her hair was always perfect.” I pull three sheets of aluminum foil free, then drop a dollop of butter on each and a sprinkle of salt before I add a cob of corn and roll them up.

“She wasn’t big on pampering, but she hated when her hair didn’t look good.”

Van and I talk about Bee while we prepare dinner. Once the corn and vegetables are on the barbecue, we pull out the will and estate documents. There’s an older version where the cottage was supposed to go to Van’s mother, but that obviously was updated after she died.

Three hours and a mountain of scoured files later, we’re still in the dark. Van is frustrated and discouraged, so we call it a night, and I take him to bed. I might not be able to solve the problem for him, but at least I can provide a distraction.

I get the answers Van is looking for the following night, when I come home from work to find a rented black SUV parked in front of my trailer with windows tinted so dark I can see nothing but my reflection in them. For a moment I wonder if my dad and my uncle have gotten themselves into financial trouble without my knowing. These McMansion renos can be expensive, and a few years back my uncle took out some loans that weren’t from the bank. It was right around the time they almost went bankrupt. And it didn’t help that my uncle took some of the money to the slots to see if he could make a little extra on the side. Luckily we survived that mess, and quietly too. No one knows about it, and I’d like to keep it that way.

I look around, for what I’m not sure. Backup, maybe?

The driver’s side door opens, and a head appears, followed by a body. It takes me a moment to recognize Bradley, Van’s brother. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and a full suit. It happens to be over eighty degrees today, so it’s a lot of heavy fabric.

“Hey, Bradley. Is Van not home? Is he okay? Did something happen?” Panic hits, fast and hard, making it feel like I’m choking. My heart clenches, and I realize that I’m genuinely afraid. If something has happened to Van, I’m not sure I’ll be okay, because the feelings I’ve been trying to ignore have only grown stronger the more time I spend with him. I glance toward the trees, but they’ve filled in with the summer heat, so I can’t see much except for the roof of Bee’s cottage.

“He’s fine and not home. I’m actually here for you.” He smiles, but it’s stiff. “Do you have a minute to talk? I need your help with something.”

“Oh, like a surprise?” I have no idea when Van’s birthday is. I hope I haven’t missed it.

He smiles again, wider this time. “Come, let’s have a chat, Dillion.” He moves toward the trailer, which I don’t bother locking since the only thing of value in there is usually a six-pack of beer and occasionally my laptop, but mostly where I go, it goes.

He opens the door for me and follows me inside. Bradley seems like a pampered, spoiled younger brother, based on my impression from last weekend. I don’t dislike him, but he’s hard to get a read on. I can’t tell if he was joking about being the better-looking brother, or if he actually believes it.

I can see the similarities between him and Van. They’re definitely brothers. But where Van has a square jaw and slightly more rugged features, his brother is . . . softer, maybe more refined. He wears the suit like he belongs in it. Whereas Van looks best in a T-shirt and ripped jeans.