All he wanted to do was talk with her-but how?

He couldn't ask Ty. He'd seen Ty around women and he wasn't exactly smooth. Especially not around David's mom. Ty would usually just stand there watching, waiting for a chance to take action. Besides, Ty might tell his mom.

Jeremy. Jeremy would know. Jeremy was one of those guys who could talk to anyone. Within five minutes you felt like you'd been best friends for life.

"I'm going up to the house, say goodnight to Gram Flora," he announced, cringing as his voice cracked.

Elizabeth didn't even look up. "That's nice. I'll be here, ready to tuck you in when you get back."

Tuck him in? She did think he was a baby. Not even his mom tucked him in anymore.

He needed help. Desperately. Jeremy was his only hope.

TEN.

By the time the ambulance arrived, the woman was fine and refused transport-or rather the men with her refused for her. I was about to intervene but she warned me off with a glance that said she'd end up in more trouble if I made a fuss, then she signed the papers the paramedics gave her.

The rest of the crowd had pretty much dispersed-some were enjoying cold refreshments under a bright blue awning that Grandel's security guys had conjured up while the rest had driven off. Grandel had dropped his suit coat, rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a lemonade, and began working the crowd with the charm and zeal of a politician running for office.

Morris ended up at my side, watching his brother from the shade of a live oak-on the other side of the road from the river and its alligators. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to show you around the plant today."

"That's okay." Grandel had the crowd laughing. Morris nodded his head, beaming like a proud parent. "Are you older or younger than he is?"

It was hard to tell Morris's age-his face was creaseless, his hair hung thick and full with the overdue for a haircut swing of a college student. And he seemed so much more relaxed than Owen.

"Older. By three years. But we watch out for each other."

I squinted in the bright sunshine slanted low through the trees as the sun began to set, reappraising Morris. "Your brother said you run the plant?"

"Yes ma'am. But without Owen everything around here would fall apart."

Owen certainly made it clear that he agreed with that sentiment. "Is that because Owen designed it?"

Morris looked down, shuffled his feet in the red clay dust. "Actually, I designed it. But Owen got it built. Without him, this place would just be some sketches on the back of napkins."

Now I really didn't like the way Owen treated his older brother-taking credit for his work, acting like Morris was some kind of charity case that he'd given a job to. It was clear that Morris was different-not Asperger's, not exactly, more like socially inept and uncomfortable. He kind of reminded me of me, in fact.

It was also clear he was absolutely devoted to his younger brother-something I was certain Owen manipulated as easily as he had manipulated me into taking this job.

"Morris, do you think I could get that tour tomorrow?"

He turned to me, startled, his face lighting up in a way that made me think of David. I had the sudden urge to call home and check on him, see what adventures the day had brought-if he was speaking to me again.

"I would love to give you a tour, AJ."

Morris headed back to work. A guard drove up with another dark SUV-this was my car to use for the duration, he explained as he had me sign forms in triplicate before giving me the keys. He'd also drawn a map to my accommodations and transferred my luggage to the rear of the SUV.

"Here are your security badges for re-entry. They will only get you to the front gate, then you'll be given an entrance pass. No cell phones, electronics, or recording devices of any kind are allowed past the entrance. Mr. Grandel is expecting you tomorrow morning at ten o'clock."

He was gone before I could thank him. Grandel was still entertaining the masses, embracing his new role as gracious host. I decided I'd get out of the heat and my sweaty clothes, clean up, wade through the reams of research Grandel had given me, and call it a day.

David rolled into Flora's kitchen without knocking-they were family, and family didn't need to knock, she'd taught him. Which was kinda weird because he still knocked when he visited his grandfather, Mr. Masterson, and his mom always knocked at her folks' house and her mom or dad would come out on the porch to talk, never ask her inside. But when they went to visit Ty's mom, they'd walk right on in just like at Flora's.

As much as David had spent his whole life wishing for one, sometimes having a family was very confusing.

The kitchen was dark except for the red-tinged light from the setting sun streaking through the lace curtains over the sink. David turned on the light. Flora's kitchen was the heart of the house, taking up the entire back half of the first floor. There was a huge fireplace at one end, flanked by two comfortable overstuffed rocking chairs and tables. Most nights that's where Flora could be found, knitting and listening to an audio book, while Jeremy read nursing journals or worked on his laptop.

The room was empty. The dinner dishes sat in a sink filled with water-even though Jeremy had started them over an hour ago when he'd shooed Elizabeth and David away, saying he'd clean up.

A hollow echo began to drum through David. Jeremy was a total neat freak-a product of being a nurse and living with a blind woman-and he'd never leave the dishes half done.

"Hello?" David called. His voice bounced back from the walls without any answer.

He rolled forward. A gallon of milk had been left out on the kitchen counter alongside Flora's insulin bottles. The insulin belonged in the refrigerator-which stood ajar, cold air from it coaxing goose bumps from David's arms despite the hot night.

"Jeremy? Gram Flora?" He was yelling now, not caring who he disturbed.

The dining room was also empty. If David couldn't find them downstairs, he'd have to go get Elizabeth-the steps up to the second floor were too steep for him to try himself.

He wheeled through to the living room-the parlor, Flora called it. Jeremy lay half on the sofa, half off, one arm flung over his face as if hiding. He was snoring. An overturned bottle lay on the floor beside him, empty. David wrinkled his nose and spotted a puddle of vomit staining Flora's prized rag-rug below Jeremy.

"Jeremy, Jeremy, wake up!" David tugged at his arm; it flopped to Jeremy's side. He made a groaning noise, the kind David made when he wanted to sleep past the alarm before school. "Jeremy, where's Flora?"

No response except another snuffled snore. Jeremy stank of liquor-which was strange because David had never seen him take a drink, not even beer. Yet, here he was, passed out drunk.

But where was Flora?

ELEVEN.

David grabbed his cell phone from the knapsack that hung on the back of his chair. In case of emergencies, that was what the phone was for, times like this. He dialed the summerhouse.

"Good evening, Palladino residence," Elizabeth answered in a formal tone like she was their secretary or maid. Any other time and David would have laughed.

"I need help," he said, fighting to pause between words so they didn't crash headlong together. "Something's wrong with Jeremy. And I can't find Flora."

"I'm coming." She hung up.

He dared to leave Jeremy and crossed out of the room into the foyer. And found Flora crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. Was she breathing?

Using the banister to balance on, he left his chair and knelt beside her. She was breathing, but slowly. Her pulse was racing, hard to feel, impossible to count. She was clammy-from the heat or . . . he thought. Insulin. Flora had bad diabetes, "brittle," they called it.

The front door pushed open and Elizabeth rushed in, turning on the light.

"Oh my God," she gasped, freezing with her hands half up like she was getting ready to surrender, her gaze darting from Flora to Jeremy and back. She knelt down and looked like she was about to straighten Flora's body.

"No. Don't," David told her. "She could have hurt her neck."

Elizabeth snatched her hands back. "Of course. You're right." She got back up to her feet. "I'll call 911."

She started toward the kitchen where the phone was. David was going to hand her his cell but figured it was better to use the landline.

"Grab her blood sugar monitor," he called. "It should be in the drawer beside the fridge."

He heard Elizabeth talking to the emergency operator. Her voice sounded unnaturally loud, like she was the one in shock. Beneath his fingers, Flora made a moaning noise.

"It's okay," he whispered, one hand on her forehead to keep her still in case she was waking up. "We're here, everything's going to be okay."

Jeremy took that moment to roll off the couch, landing face-down in the puddle of vomit. Then he began puking some more.

"Elizabeth! Hurry!"

Elizabeth returned, carrying the phone receiver in one hand and Flora's machine in the other. "I don't know how to use it."

"I do. Help Jeremy before he chokes."

She did a double-take, made a gagging noise herself, and put the phone down before reaching to tug Jeremy's collar, trying to haul him up without touching the vile fluid running down his chin.

At least he was out of danger of choking. David focused on Flora, using the machine to test her blood sugar, just like Jeremy had shown him. He winced at the clack of the lancet snapping out to pierce her skin and then waited impatiently for the machine to give him a result.

Danger. Low Blood Sugar. The way the letters bounded off the screen, if the machine had a voice it would be shouting.

Elizabeth had her hands full with Jeremy, so David hauled himself back into the wheelchair and pushed through to the kitchen. What had Jeremy said? Low sugar, low sugar . . . icing. He had small tubes of icing that would bring it back up. David rummaged through the drawer that held all of Flora's medical supplies and found the pack of icing.

Wait? Was it safe to give her something by mouth when she was unconscious? There was something else, what was it, glucose-no, that wasn't it-glucagon.

David searched again and grabbed the bright red emergency kit. Inside was a bottle of powder, a syringe with liquid, and some alcohol swabs. He quickly plunged the needle into the bottle and injected the liquid to dissolve the powder.

He wheeled himself back to Flora, shaking the bottle as he went. It turned clear and he drew it back into the syringe. His hand shook so bad he could barely read the markings on the syringe. What if he was wrong? But he couldn't wait-Flora could go into seizures and die from low blood sugar. He leaned back and glanced into the living room, hoping Jeremy had miraculously recovered and could tell him what to do.

No such luck. Jeremy was now sitting on the couch, head dangling between his knees, holding it as if afraid it would fall off, and vomiting onto his shoes.

It was up to David. Hands shaking, he turned to Flora. Her color was worse, more faded than the thin cotton housedress she wore.

Now or never.

The Landing Motel was just as much of a dump as Grandel had promised. A single-story strip of rooms marked by dingy white doors and faded gray siding, it boasted a small cafe-slash-souvenir shop whose claim to fame was homemade cherry cider and candied pecans. I hauled my luggage inside my room and turned the AC on high. While the window unit sputtered and spit out tepid air that felt about body temperature, I regretted not taking the beachfront accommodations Grandel had offered. But this wasn't a vacation.

I didn't bother to unpack more than the basics, hoping that I wouldn't be here long enough to get to the bottom of my bag. I plugged in my cell after noticing that there was barely one bar and reached for the landline to call home. I was already missing David and wishing I hadn't come-suddenly all the money in the world seemed meaningless compared to sitting at Flora's big table having dinner with my family.

David. This was all for him. So he could have a real future instead of fighting for mere existence like I had.

No answer at the summerhouse, even though it was after eight and getting close to David's nine o'clock bedtime-which I was certain he'd conned Elizabeth into postponing. I tried Flora's. Elizabeth answered.

"I'm glad you called," she said, her tone anxious. "Something terrible has happened."

TWELVE.

I stood up so fast the base of the phone flew off the nightstand and clanged to the floor.

"Elizabeth? Are you there? What happened?" My voice sounded very loud and shrill, but that was the least of my worries.

"Calm down. Everyone is all right."

Hard to calm down when the sound of an ambulance's siren broke through her words.

"David? Is he okay?"

"He's fine, he's fine. It's Flora. Her blood sugar went too low and we had to call an ambulance. But she's okay-they gave her a shot and some IV fluids and she was already awake and joking with the medics as they carried her out."

"If she's so fine, then why are they taking her to the hospital?"

"Precaution. Said she'd probably be there a night or two."

Her calm tone only riled me up. These kind of things weren't supposed to happen-not to my family. "Where was Jeremy during all this? Why didn't you call me sooner?"

"Flora made me promise not to call you," Elizabeth said.

"Like hell she did. I'm coming home."

"No. She's fine. Really. And so is David."

"How did this happen?"

"The paramedics said Jeremy must have mixed up her long-acting insulin with her short-acting-so when he gave her the shot that was supposed to last all night, it all went to work at once. If David hadn't found her-"

"David found her?" This couldn't be happening. Not after David watched Cole die. "You're sure he's okay?"

"Okay? AJ, he did great. Stayed calm, took control, knew exactly what to do. He reminded me of you."

"Where was Jeremy through all this?"