Summer Island

“Do you like your job?”

Dean was surprised by the question. No one had ever asked him that, and hed never bothered to ask himself. Still, the answer came quickly. “No. ”

“Are you in love with anyone?”

“No. Its been a long time since I was in love. ”

“And you cant figure out whats missing in your life? Come on, Dino. The question isnt, whats missing? The question is, what the hell is your life?” Eric yawned and closed his eyes again. Already he was tiring. “God, I wanted you to be happy all these years . . . ” He fell asleep for a second, then blinked awake. “Remember Camp Orkila?” he said suddenly. “I was thinking about that yesterday, about the first time we went up there. ”

“When we met Ruby. ” Dean found an honest smile inside of him, drew it out. “She climbed up into that big tree by the beach, remember? She said arts and crafts were for babies and she was a big girl. ”

“She wouldnt come down until you asked her to. ”

“Yeah. That was the beginning, wasnt it? Wed never seen a real family before . . . ” Dean let the words string out, find one another, and connect. Like threads, he wove them together, sewed a quilt from the strands of their life, and tucked it around his brothers thin body.

Chapter Twelve

Nora woke up groggy from her nap. She lay in bed for a minute, listening to the gentle, whooshing sound of the sea through her open window. It was almost nighttime; shed been asleep for hours.

Eric.

She pulled the phone onto her lap and dialed the number.

She spoke to Lottie for a few minutes, then waited patiently for Eric to come on the line.

“Nora? Well, its about damn time. ”

She laughed. God, it felt good to smile, even better to hear his voice. He sounded almost like his old self. “Ive had an . . . interesting last few days. Im on Summer Island. Caroline is letting me relax here for a while. ”

“Ah, the lifestyles of the rich and famous. I suppose its tough to make time for a dear old friend who is facing the Grim Reaper with quiet dignity. ” He laughed at his own joke, but the laughter dwindled into a cough.

Nora closed her eyes, trying to picture him as hed been only a few years ago . . . like on the afternoon his team had won the league championships and the kids had poured Gatorade on his head and chanted his Name . . .

“Nora? Did you lapse into a coma?”

“Im here. ” She made an instant decision: she wouldnt tell him about the scandal. He didnt need to worry about her. But she had to tell him something -she couldnt just show up at his house in a wheelchair. “I had an accident and wound up in Bayview. ”

“Oh, my God, are you okay?”

“For a fifty-year-old woman who drove into a tree, Im great. And you told me that Mercedes was a waste of money-ha! It saved my life. I came out of it with a broken leg and a sprained wrist. Nothing to worry about. But thats why I havent been to see you. ”

“Theres something youre not telling me. ” She forced a laugh. “Your intuition is wrong this time. ”

“Nora?” He said her name with infinite tenderness, and in it, she heard the gentle, chiding reminder of all theyd been through together. For the first time since this mess had begun, she felt truly cared for. “No, really, I-” She pinched the bridge of her nose and concentrated on taking shallow breaths.

“Nora. You know you can talk to me about anything. ”

“You dont need to hear about my troubles. ”

“Who was it who sat by me in the hospital every night while Charlie was dying? Who was it who held my hand at the gravesite . . . who was there when I started chemotherapy?”

Nora swallowed hard. “Me. ”

“So, talk. ”

All the emotions shed bottled up in the past few days came spilling out. She didnt cry; she was almost preternaturally calm, in fact. But as she spoke, it felt as if the very fabric of her soul was ripping. “The Tattler just published naked pictures of me in bed with a man. ”

“Jesus . . . ” His voice was a whisper.