Road. But it wasn’t precisely the same. At certain moments she had caught him glancing at her in a way that was both preoccupied and intimate, and she knew somehow that he was thinking about what had happened—or almost happened—between them that morning. And he was thinking about her claim that she would be fine with a no- strings affair. She knew that even though he hadn’t believed her, he wanted to.
By the time Lucy had made it into the house, she was sweaty and tired, but triumphant. She accompanied Sam to the kitchen, where Holly was having an after-school snack and Mark sat on the floor with Renfield.
“You’re upright,” Mark said, glancing at Lucy with a brief smile. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” she said with a laugh. “It’s good to be moving around again.”
“Lucy!” Holly hurried over to admire the crutches. “Those are cool! Can I try them?”
“They’re not for playing, sweetheart,” Sam said, bending to kiss his niece. He helped Lucy onto a stool at the wooden worktable, and leaned the crutches next to her. He glanced at Mark, who had pinned Renfield to the floor and was attempting to open his mouth while wearing a pair of heavy-duty gardening gloves. “What are you doing with the dog?”
“I’m trying to give him his third antiseizure pill.”
“He’s only supposed to have one.”
“What I meant was, we’re on the third attempt.” Mark scowled at the stubborn bulldog. “He chewed up the first one and sneezed the powder into my face. The second time I pried his mouth open with a dessert spoon and shoved the pill in. He managed to spit out the pill and eat the spoon.”
“He didn’t really eat the spoon, though,” Holly said. “He coughed it up before it went down.”
Shaking his head, Sam went to the refrigerator, took out a piece of cheese, and handed it to Mark. “Hide the pill in this.”
“He’s lactose intolerant,” Mark said. “It gives him gas.”
“Trust me,” Sam replied, “no one will notice.”
Looking skeptical, Mark shoved the capsule into the cube of cheese, and offered it to Renfield.
The bulldog gobbled down the cheese and plodded out of the kitchen.
“Guess what?” Holly asked Lucy, crouching on the floor to inspect her Aircast brace. “Dad and Maggie are getting married in two months. And I’m going on the honeymoon with them!”
“You finally set the date?” Sam asked Mark.
“We’re doing it in mid-August.” Mark went to the sink to wash his hands. “Maggie wants to get married on a ferry.”
“You’re kidding,” Sam said.
“Nope.” Mark blotted his hands. Turning around, he told Lucy, “A significant portion of our courtship occurred on the Washington State ferry system. It forced Maggie to sit with me until she finally realized how magnetically attractive I was.”
“Must have been a long ride,” Sam said, and ducked a fake jab Mark threw at him. Laughing, he added, “I can’t believe they’ll let you have a wedding ceremony on one of those tubs.”
“Believe it or not, we wouldn’t be the first. But the ceremony won’t be on an active ferry—there’s a retired antique one on Lake Union, with a great view of the city and the Space Needle.”
“That’s romantic,” Lucy said.
“I’m going to be the maid of honor,” Holly said, “and Uncle Sam’s going to be the best man.”
“I am?” Sam asked.
“Who else has such ample story material for the reception speech?” Mark asked. He grinned at his brother. “Will you be my best man, Sam? After all we’ve been through, there’s not even a close second. I actually almost like you.”
“I’ll do it,” Sam said. “But only if you promise to take the dog when you move out.”
“Deal.” They exchanged a brief, back-slapping hug.
As evening approached, Mark and Holly left to pick up Maggie from work and take her out to dinner. “Have fun,” Mark said as he and Holly walked out hand in hand. “Don’t wait up for us, we’re going to be out late.”
“Par-tay!” Holly exclaimed before the door closed.
Lucy and Sam were left alone. Sam kept staring in the direction his brother had gone in, absorbed in some private reflection. Then he glanced at Lucy, and something changed in his face. The silence turned electric.
Sitting on a stool at the kitchen worktable, Lucy asked casually, “What are we having for dinner?”
“Steak, potatoes, and salad.”
“That sounds great. Let me help. Can I chop vegetables for the salad?”
Sam brought a cutting board, a chef’s knife, and raw vegetables and greens. As Lucy chopped cucumber and yellow bell peppers, Sam opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses.
“No jam jar?” Lucy asked with a faux-wistful expression as Sam gave her a crystal stem filled with dark, glittering Cabernet.
“Not for this wine.” He clinked his glass with hers and made a toast. “To Mark and Maggie.”
“Do you think Alex will mind that you’re going to be the best man?” Lucy asked.
“Not at all. They don’t typically have much to do with each other.”
“Is that because of the age difference?”
“Maybe in part. But it’s really more of a personality issue. Mark’s the typical older brother. When he gets worried about someone, he gets bossy and overbearing, which sends Alex up the wall.”
“What do you say to them when they argue?”
“When I’m not running for cover, you mean?” Sam asked dryly. “I tell Mark that he’s not going to change Alex or stop him from drinking. That’s up to Alex. And I’ve told Alex that at some point, I’m going to drag his ass to rehab. Not the kind of rehab with celebrities and spa treatments. The kind with an electrified fence, where they give you a scary roommate and make you clean your own toilet.”
“Do you think it would ever get to that point? Where you could convince him to … get help somewhere?”
Sam shook his head. “I think Alex will stay functional enough to avoid ever having to deal with it.” He studied the depths of his wineglass, swirled the deep garnet liquid. “He won’t admit it, but he’s angry at the whole damn world because our family was such a screw job.”
“But you don’t seem to feel that way,” Lucy said quietly. “Angry at the world, I mean.”
Sam shrugged, his gaze turning inward. “I had it a little easier than he did. There was this old couple who lived a couple of houses away from us. They were my escape. They had no kids of their own, and I used to go hang out at their house.” He smiled reminiscently. “Fred would let me take apart an old alarm clock and put it back together again, or show me how to replace the kitchen sink drain pipes. Mary was a teacher. She gave me books to read, helped me with homework sometimes.”
“Are either of them still alive?”
“No, both gone. Mary left me some money to use as part of the down payment for this place. She loved the idea of the vineyard. She used to make blackberry wine in a gallon jug. Godawful sweet stuff.” Sam fell silent, his expression hazed with memories.
Lucy realized that he was trying to make connections for her, explain himself in a way that wasn’t easy. He wasn’t the kind of man who made excuses or apologized for who he was. But on some
