"You gave it a year, Jay."

"About as long as you gave our marriage." I caught myself. "Sorry. That was a rotten thing to say."

My wife took my hand, gave it a squeeze, and we both gazed out into the squall.

Over a month had pa.s.sed since my breakdown. That's what Dr. Shapiro-Weiss called it. The seasons had started to change. This far north, temps remained cold, but if you thought about it hard enough you could almost smell the new gra.s.s, the maple and tree sap, flower buds fighting to come alive.

"Y'know, this move," my wife said, searching for encouragement. "We'll just see where this goes."

I nodded, keeping my stare fixed straight ahead.

"For right now, this is a good place for me to be. For Aiden, too. With my mom here, she can watch him during the day while I work."

"How's that going?"

"Turns out I am cut out for nine-to-five."

She smiled. I didn't.

"He's just a friend, Jay." Jenny was talking about Stephen, who'd helped get her an administrative a.s.sistant position with his bank downtown. "No college degree, no experience, I'm hardly qualified. Without his help, I'm tending bar. I can't keep doing that at my age."

Jenny was making more money at the investment firm than I'd been at NEI, and for the first time in a long time she seemed happy, like she had a purpose. I tried not to connect good fortunes as the natural result of getting away from me. But I knew the kindest thing I could do was stay the h.e.l.l out of her way. When someone stands on a chair and tries to pull you up and you try to pull them down, the gutter wins every time.

"When do you move back?" she asked.

"Just about done. Only have a few boxes left." After we'd separated our possessions, with Aiden's toys and clothes, the good furniture and bedroom set going to my wife, I was left with a couch, coffeemaker, and photograph book. Which was fine by me. I wanted the transition to be as seamless for my son as possible. And I didn't need the reminders.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Dr. Shapiro-Weiss referred me to a psychiatrist near Ashton. I'm glad to be back there. It's where I belong."

Neither of us said anything for a while.

"I'm sorry we ran out of time, Jay."

I put my arm around my wife, and she laid her head on my shoulder. We watched the rain fall together.

I'd been working all week up at the old farmhouse on Old Farms Drive. On the other side of Ashton, an old farmer named Joe had died in his sleep, alone.

I got back from the foothills around seven, rosy eve succ.u.mbing to darker purple night. I scrubbed my fingers with gritty soap beneath the spigot, and headed upstairs to catch the Red Sox game starting in a few minutes. I'd popped my leftover Chinese chicken in the microwave when I heard a soft knock.

I opened the door. A woman and small boy stood there. I figured they must be lost. Either that or some religious fruitcake wanted to convert me. Why else would a forty-something woman and little kid be standing on my stoop at this hour?

"Jay?" the woman said. I didn't know her.

The microwave bell dinged.

I stared at the boy, who possessed a vague familiarity, a fleeting thought flying in my head and then out just as quick. All boys that age look the same. I didn't grasp anything tenable because tenable wasn't possible.

She waited for an invitation. I couldn't shake the sense I'd met them both before. Even though I was certain I hadn't.

"Do I know you?" I asked the woman.

"It's been a while," she said, trying to keep a smile. "Katherine. Kitty? I knew your brother. We spoke on the phone last winter when he went missing?"

"I thought you lived in California now?"

"We do."

I looked at the boy again and understood now why I thought I'd seen him before. Because I had. My whole life. They had the same eyes, the same scraggled bedhead. Even when he squinted up at me, eye half-c.o.c.ked suspicious, the same stubbornness lingered.

Kitty didn't need to confirm what I suspected. It was obvious as the rising sun.

"Can we come in?" she asked.

"Yes. Of course." I scrambled to collect the tees and flannels hung to dry on the backs of chairs. Unwashed dishes and empty beer bottles cluttered my bachelor pad. I swept last week's dinner plates and cups into the sink, ran some water, tried to sc.r.a.pe the s.p.a.ckle with a spoon. "Sorry for the mess. Wasn't expecting company." I left the dishes to soak.

Kitty and I spoke last winter when Chris went missing but I hadn't seen her in years. The last time I had, she'd been fifty pounds lighter, with bright orange sores lining her lips and black circles ringing her eyes. Not that I spent much time in her company. I avoided my brother's druggie pals like they all had Hep C.

"You're not easy to get ahold of," Kitty said, the boy sticking close by.

"My number changed. New phone."

Kitty stroked the boy's mop-top, working up the courage. "I finally told myself, 'Kat, hop on a plane. You have to do this. Face to face.' I wish I hadn't taken so long."

"You're lucky you waited. I just got back."

"Vacation?"

I shook my head. I didn't need to explain my failed experiment in day jobs or marriage. She wasn't here for that. Most of life relies on timing anyway, which is just another form of luck.

Kitty glanced around my apartment. I studied her movements, her new appearance. She retained that ex-junkie look. Not that she was unattractive or haggard. She was pretty. Mom pretty. But pretty. She'd filled out since I'd seen her last, and was dressed like an adult instead of an angry teenager all in black, her dark hair blown dry. It was her eyes, which held onto some of the horror. Kitty had survived a life most will never see.

I stared down at the boy. "What's his name?"

"That's Jackson," she said, hugging him near.

I recalled our brief conversation from last year. Not the best time, my attention wandering. But I distinctly remembered her saying she had a girl, whose birth coincided with her clean date.

"I thought you had a daughter?"

Kitty dabbed at her eyes, fighting the tears. I said I was sorry. Jackson glowered at me. He had the same fiery indignation, too.

"No," she said. "I'm the one who should apologize. I don't even know where to start."

I crouched down, meeting Jackson on his own level. "Y'know, I have a son as well. About your age. He's not here right now, he's with his mom in Vermont, but he left some toys. Would you like to play with them?"

Jackson checked with his mother, who nodded it was okay. I brought him into the living room and showed him Aiden's collection of Transformers and superheroes, Batman coloring books and cars, crayons, a.s.sorted building blocks to construct better worlds, his own corner for when he'd come visit.

My fat cat wandered in the room, curious about the new visitor.

"Don't worry," I said over my shoulder. "She's declawed. Big puffball."

When I walked back in the kitchen, I asked Kitty if I could get her anything, coffee, beer? Then I remembered the whole sobriety thing.

"I'm good," she said.

"You want to sit down?"

We both sat at the kitchen table, lost for words, while Jackson buzzed s.p.a.ceships and cowboys in the next room.

"When you called looking for your brother . . ." Kitty stopped herself. I could see her recalibrating direction, stumbling for footing, adjusting on the fly. The pained expression on her face betrayed the guilt eating away at her.

"It's okay," I said. "Chris wasn't the easiest guy to deal with."

"I loved your brother, Jay. I did. And I wanted him to be a part of Jackson's life. Someday. When he got his s.h.i.t together. I wrestled with whether to tell him. Maybe knowing he had a responsibility to something other than himself would've spurred him on to make some changes. Truth is, I didn't know for sure if it even was his until I was out in California. That time was so crazy. I'd been on the streets for years, chemicals messing my brain up, all out of whack, and here was my chance-probably my last chance-to clean up, get my life back. I was so sick and tired of being sick and tired. My sister . . . What I'd put her and my mom through . . ." Kitty stopped again, holding off the waterworks.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I had no right keeping that information from him. I knew who Jackson's father was. I mean, look at him. After you and I spoke, I talked to my sponsor. I was grappling with what to do. I prayed on it, asked my Higher Power for help. I finally decided to do it. I was secure enough in my sobriety-your brother deserved to know. Then I read on the Internet he'd died. Suicide by cop. Felt like a part of me died, too. You have to understand, your brother had a real hero complex. I couldn't have him showing up in Joshua Tree on the heels of a three-day Greyhound ride, strung out, jonseing, saying he was ready to be a dad and asking for fifty bucks and a ride downtown. And that is what would've happened. I couldn't risk it. I had to be there for Jackson."

"So you don't have a daughter?"

"When you called, I was scared. I don't know why I thought saying I had a daughter would make any difference. I guess I wanted a cover story as far from the truth as I could get, so you couldn't put two and two together. Maybe the lie made the fantasy easier for me to believe. Ridiculous, I know. Daughter, son, what would it matter? I'd been dreading that call from your brother. When I left here, I was showing. Chris had to suspect the truth. At least the possibility. When I called you back last year, I'd been at work and I panicked. I wanted to help you find him but I had a thousand thoughts racing through my brain, wrestling with what to tell you, editing out information in real time. I didn't know if it was already too late, and I-" Kitty started crying again.

I got up from my chair and hugged her.

"I always held out hope he'd get straight."

"We all did."

The nauseous stench of microwaved leftovers swamped the kitchen. I got up and dumped my dinner in the trash. Gave her a moment to collect herself. I stood at the sink, rewashing the same spot on a dish.

"I had this fantasy," Kitty said. "Your brother would call me up one day and he'd sound like the Chris I used to know, back before we both got so f.u.c.ked up. There had been a time when we were regular people, y'know-maybe 'regular' isn't the right word-but we weren't what we became. And he'd tell me he figured it out, had gotten straight, kicked for good and was ready to start living again. I'd be able to hear it in his voice, and I'd say he should fly out for a visit, and he'd say he'd love that. I don't know how he'd get to my house from the airport-that wasn't part of the fantasy-but he'd knock on the door of our house in Joshua Tree. The sun would've just set, and the sky out there, you have to see it, the way horizons wash rosy pink, how pretty saguaros and pepperbushes can be, the desert sky like nothing you've ever seen, and I'd let Jackson answer the door, and Chris would be able to tell right away. Like you did."

Jackson ran back in the room. Now comfortable with the surroundings, he was grinning, happy, a well-adjusted little boy. The way Kitty cradled him, the warm, protective smile, you could feel the bond, the love. I couldn't comment on the morals involved, whether or not telling my brother was unethical. But she'd done the right thing. If Chris found out, he would've hopped a Greyhound and shown up at her door, strung out, deluded, wanting to play the hero. And if Kitty tried standing on that chair to pull him up, two more lives would be ruined.

Kitty stood to leave. "I've got to get him to bed. We fly back tomorrow afternoon. Out of Boston. Cheapest flight, y'know?"

"Where are you staying?"

"I figured we'd grab a motel on the Turnpike."

"Don't. Stay here."

"I don't want to be a bother-"

"It's no bother."

With my invitation Jackson had already run off into the other room to play with the toys.

"Are you sure?" she said. "We show up out of the blue. I dump all this on you. You probably need time to process-"

"It's not a problem."

I turned around and watched Jackson playing on the floor. When he glanced up at me, our eyes met, and I got to stare into my brother's eyes once more.

"I have plenty of nights to spend alone."

"Well, if you're sure-"

"Please. We're family."

"Okay, let me get Jackson ready."

"You guys take the bedroom."

"Jay, you don't have to-"

"You take the bedroom. I sleep on that couch half the time anyway." I wasn't lying. Most nights, whenever the movie or ballgame would end, I'd pull the blanket down and crash there.

I fetched their bags from the rental car. While she readied Jackson for bed, putting on pajamas and brushing teeth, I fitted the mattress with clean sheets and brought out fresh towels. I told my nephew how nice it was to meet him. I gave him a hug and kiss goodnight, and left them to their bedtime stories.

After she'd finished tucking him in, Kitty joined me on the porch, where I leaned over the railing smoking cigarettes. Above the mountain, a giant white moon lit up the night sky, exposing farming flats and stone walls, the cow fields of my hometown.

"Thank you," she said.

"Told you. Not a problem. My pleasure."

"I mean more than just letting us sleep here."

I nodded I understood, and we remained still, looking out over the valley, listening to the soft winds of Lamentation.

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked.

"Anything."

"Tell me more about my brother."

Also by Joe Clifford.

The Jay Porter Novels.