Over the years, Bobby has developed a theory that would explain—though not justify—her behavior. His illness had allowed Tish to see him for what he is: the feebler twin, Beta to Nick’s Alpha—a boy with an immune system so fragile he managed to contract a disease that was supposed to be all but eradicated. Tish had always been vocal about her family’s strong genetics—weakness was not something she tolerated.
Bobby spent years trying to win over her approval, but no matter how well he did in school or how devoted he was to his family, Tish still loved Nick, and not him.
But then his luck changed again. A second shift.
This time it happened when he was twenty-one. On the day he met Gina.
Just like that, Bobby became the lucky twin. His brother may have inherited the Dewar charm—the rugged confidence, the ability to make an entire room hang on his every word—but Bobby was the one who had found true love. Gina was the perfect wife: doting, supportive, caring. Real. And she had a boundless capacity to love. Even the things that sometimes ticked him off about her—like the way she coddled Calan—came from a place of love. When she married him, Bobby felt that his world was made right again. Mumps may have robbed him of his mother’s love, but having Gina more than made up for it. With her by his side, he had felt protected, invincible. Lucky.
It hadn’t occurred to him that there could be yet another change. A third reversal of fortunes. It hadn’t occurred to him that he could lose Gina. This probably makes him stupid, arrogant. Bobby can accept this about himself. What he can’t accept is the idea that his marriage is over. Because if he loses Gina’s love, he’ll have nothing.
“Bobby?”
He turns to his left when he hears Alice’s voice. She has stepped out into the porch—he’d been so distracted, he hadn’t even heard her open the front door. He notices her eyeing the empty glass of whiskey on the side table with an expression of concern. That was his third glass of the evening. He should slow down, but alcohol is the only thing making him feel marginally better.
Bobby rights himself and stands up. It isn’t polite to be seated when a lady is standing. He can feel his temples beginning to throb. This has been happening ever since he started wearing contacts, at Nick’s insistence. You look like an old man with those glasses, he’d said. He hopes Alice won’t turn the porch lights on.
“Can I get you anything to eat?” she asks. Her forehead is, as always, smooth and creaseless. “You barely touched your dinner.” There is an unmistakable note of worry in her low voice.
“I’m not really hungry.” He resists the urge to apologize; Alice hadn’t prepared the meal. Bobby would prefer it if she went back inside. He appreciates the concern, but he wants to be alone. Alone in the cold and the almost-dark.
“I know I’ve said this before, but I’m here if you want to talk,” Alice says. She wraps her arms around her tiny body, shivering. She’s wearing a thick, plush white robe and her face is freshly scrubbed. Her hair is up in a bun—Bobby has only seen it down once, on the night he arrived. The night Gina kicked him out. “Nick is having a cigar out back. We could join him” Alice’s voice trails off.
Bobby shakes his head mutely, stuffing his hands in his pockets. She smiles sadly, but then takes the hint and disappears inside—leaving Bobby feeling guilty. He hadn’t meant to be rude, especially not to Alice.
He hasn’t done much during his time at his brother’s house other than sulk and think of ways to piece his life back together after Eva Stone decided to blow it up. But even in his funk, Bobby has taken notice of Alice’s kindness. She still pesters him about selling the company, spewing projections left and right about how lucrative it would be to merge with Souliers—for someone who dislikes all things Alma, she seems to know an awful lot about Alma Boots—but she also keeps a close eye on him, making sure he’s eating, asking Yolanda to stock up on his favorite whiskey, offering to leave the house so he and Calan can have alone time when he visits (seeing his son is just about the only thing that brings him joy these days).
As it turns out, Alice is a nice person. This has taken him by surprise—Alice had always been so distant and unemotional. An ice queen: that’s how people refer to her in town. They think she looks down on them, that she thinks she’s too good for Alma. Bobby had shared these opinions. Years ago, when Bobby met Alice, he’d concluded that his brother married her because she was so high maintenance. Things had always come easy to Nick, so it made sense that he had fallen in love with a woman who seemed to exist in a permanent state of imperviousness. A woman who was openly unimpressed by the Dewar legacy—the town, the company, the club. Even by Nick.
But the marriage rapport Bobby has witnessed over the past weeks is not one of a man who works hard for his wife’s attention. If anything, it’s the other way around. The only time Bobby has noticed Nick paying attention to Alice has been when he overhears them having sex—they’re quite loud for a married couple. Maybe that’s why Nick married Alice: great sex. Still, Nick would do well to be an attentive husband outside the bedroom, too. If he weren’t in such a funk, Bobby would talk to his brother about it. Though, of course, Nick might see that as entirely hypocritical on Bobby’s part.
“Hey.” A voice behind him interrupts his whiskey-soaked thoughts. The
