“Of course he’s your brother,” Gram said, and glanced at Caroline’s mother.

Her head felt fuzzy and the room was spinning. She blinked several times to make it stop. She refused to pass out, not until she had heard the truth from her mother. She concentrated on standing upright. “So what, is he like my half-brother then?”

Gram stood and touched Caroline’s arms. “Honey, you don’t look so good. Come sit down.”

She threw Gram’s hands off of her. “No.” She had never lashed out at Gram—ever. She didn’t talk back to her or roll her eyes at her or push her away. But she wasn’t herself. She didn’t know who she was, uncomfortable in her own skin, her changing body.

Her mother slid from the bench seat of the picnic table, taking her time in a cool casual way, remaining in control no matter the circumstances.

It pissed Caroline off even more. Black spots raced across her vision. The angrier she got, the faster they darted past. “Answer me, Mom!” she shouted. “Why won’t you just answer the question?”

“I will when you calm down.” Her mother stepped toward her, reaching for her.

Caroline held her arms out, warning her not to come any closer. For a second the request struck her as funny. All the times she wanted her mother’s arms around her, comforting her, loving her. Right now she couldn’t stand the thought of her mother touching her.

“Is he or isn’t he Billy’s son?”

“Billy had a son?” Johnny asked.

Caroline whipped around to find Johnny standing in the doorway. She hadn’t known he was home. He must’ve still been sleeping. His hair was sticking up in the back and his long bangs were matted to his forehead. He was wearing boxer shorts. His chest was bare where two days ago there had been hair. He must’ve shaved his chest hair. It made his pectorals look more defined and his shoulders broader. He scratched his butt and reached for the refrigerator door, pulling it open.

Her mother hadn’t taken her eyes off Caroline. Gram stared at her mother. No one said anything. Johnny pulled out a jug of lake water and drank from the container without bothering to get a glass. When he finished, he looked at the three of them. “What?”

“Do you know who Billy is?” Caroline asked him.

“Of course. He’s Chris’s uncle who drowned when Mom and Dad were teenagers.”

Caroline was stunned. Everyone in her family knew who Billy was and what had happened and no one thought to tell her. Why were they keeping it a secret from her? Why didn’t Johnny ever tell her? Then again, she couldn’t expect Johnny to tell her anything. It’s not like he confided in her. She had assumed it was the four-year age difference, a brother/sister thing. But the circumstances had changed, and he knew only half of the story. She knew something he didn’t, and the power tasted good on her tongue.

“Tell him the rest,” Caroline said to her mother. “Go on. Tell him the truth.”

“Tell me what?” His chest rose and fell. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” her mother said. “Caroline is upset with me.”

“What else is new?” Johnny winked at Caroline, teasing her.

She glared at her mother, challenging her to tell him, or she would. When her mother didn’t say anything, the anger burned so hot, she thought she might combust.

“Billy is your real dad. You’re named after him,” she said to Johnny, wanting to hurt him for the constant teasing, hating him and loving him too. But mostly, she wanted to hurt her mother for lying to her. “You’re not my brother,” she spit. “And I hate you!”

Johnny put the jug of lake water down and turned to his mother. “What is she talking about?” he asked, his voice quavering.

“Why would you say such a thing?” Gram asked Caroline, but her words sounded false, and it was then that Caroline knew for sure that Gram had been in on it from the beginning. Somehow Gram’s betrayal was worse than her mother’s lies.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Dee Dee was sitting in the kitchen when Patricia woke and appeared from the back bedroom. She walked into the living room, running her hand over the back of the couch, touching the wicker rocking chair, smoothing out the old throw Dee Dee’s mom had knitted. She stopped in front of the mantel over the fireplace and picked up a wedding photo of Dee Dee’s parents. “What happened to your folks?” she asked.

“Dead,” Dee Dee said, sounding matter-of-fact. Her father’s health had gone downhill fast after Billy’s death. His heart hadn’t been able to take it. Her mother had followed him a few months later. Although a piece of all of them had died with Billy, her parents had taken it a step further and gone with him.

“I’m sorry,” Patricia said, and returned the wedding picture to the mantel. “I would’ve come back had I known. They were so good to me.” She walked into the kitchen and put her hand on Dee Dee’s shoulder. “You were all so good to me.”

To Dee Dee’s surprise, she didn’t push Patricia’s hand away. Instead she let her shoulders relax, finding the intimacy soothing. It had been such a long time since she had allowed someone to touch her in a caring, gentle way. Her ex, Neil, had deserted her only a few months before Chris had been born, and she hadn’t been close to anyone since, other than her son. She couldn’t think when the last time someone had wanted to touch her was, let alone spend time with her.

“You look so much like your brother. Did you know that?” Patricia asked, and sat across from her.

“I know.” She did look like her brother. Although where Billy was handsome—broad shoulders, lean, muscular build, strong chin—the attributes weren’t as flattering on a woman. Her masculine features made her look hard, and most men found her height, her strong arms and legs, intimidating.

“I’m sorry,” Patricia said of Billy. “I’m sorry about a lot of things.” Fresh tears left dirt tracks down her cheeks.

“Come on,” she said, and pulled Patricia up and led her to the bathroom. “Take a shower and clean up. We’ll talk when you get out.” She grabbed a clean towel and handed it to her.

Dee Dee waited in the kitchen, listening to the water run. She had already laid out a clean pair of shorts and a white T-shirt and set them on the bathroom sink. She lit a cigarette and thought about popping open a can of beer, but the shower stopped and she didn’t want to drink in front of Patricia. It was stupid, but in some ways, she felt as though she were babysitting her all over again, and a babysitter shouldn’t drink on the job.

Patricia returned to the kitchen wearing the clean clothes that were much too big for her. She rubbed her thin pale arms.

“Sit,” Dee Dee said. “Let me get you something to eat.” She pulled leftover egg salad from the refrigerator. If she had had food that was heavier, fattier, she would’ve made it instead. But she made do with what she had. It was what she did best.

When Patricia finished eating, she began braiding her hair. She kept her eyes away from Dee Dee’s when she said, “Tell me what happened to Billy.”

Dee Dee rubbed her brow. It had been so long since anyone asked to talk about Billy, years since anyone cared to listen, or at least to her version of the story. She told Patricia what she knew. He had been hanging out with friends under the steps of the Pavilion and later on the beach, apparently drinking. It had been late at night under a full moon. After his friends had gone home, Billy must’ve gone swimming alone. No one had seen him after that night. He was reported missing the next day. Five days later they found his body near the floating pier in the middle of the lake. She didn’t bring up the recent discovery of his missing bones found by the recovery team while they were searching for Patricia’s daughter. The fact that they had found sixteen-year-old bones and not her little girl’s body was far from comforting.

Patricia listened quietly, her brow furrowed. “It doesn’t make sense. He was good in the water. He knew the lake better than anyone.”