Kevin wasn't interested. He wouldn't say why, but continued politely to decline all possible permutations of this plan. As they walked home, Sean finally said, "Well, do you care if I go down to the lake without you?" The boy seemed to spend countless hours on his own-maybe he'd prefer to be left to himself.

Kevin shrugged, but his face was set in that pre-angry state Sean was beginning to recognize. "You said we could go for a hike."

"Well, what if we went tomorrow?"

"You said today," he muttered, gripping his boxed pie. "You said after I helped at the bakery."

"Fair enough." Sean resigned himself to keeping his word, though he secretly longed to be with the McGraths. He'd spent so much time at Cormac's house in high school, entertained by Cormac's incessant bickering with his father, being spoiled by his mother and basking in the reflected glow of familial warmth. It was a far cry from his own place of residence, where his father came home less and less frequently until he stopped coming home at all, and Aunt Vivvy ran the place with all the warmth of a garden hoe.

After stopping briefly at the house, Kevin led the way across the backyard and into the woods, a backpack hanging from his narrow shoulders.

"What's in the pack?" Sean asked as the trail became a barely visible footpath through the underbrush.

"Water-"

"Water? How long are we going for?"

"Do you have an appointment or something?"

Sean couldn't tell if he was pointing out the obvious-that Sean rarely had any particular plans-or if it was truly an innocent question. In either case, the implication was clear: they weren't on a schedule, and it would behoove Sean to shut up and hike. He consoled himself with the knowledge that Jansen Woods wasn't that big. How far could they go?

They didn't talk much, walking one behind the other, except for Kevin's occasional admonitions to watch that root sticking up in the path, or jump over this puddle. He moved quickly, confidently, and seemed to know every turn and boulder.

"That's the back of the cemetery over there," he said, pointing across a meadow toward a stand of trees. At first Sean didn't see it, but after a few more steps he discerned that the gray shapes sticking out of the ground beyond the trees were regularly shaped and evenly spaced.

"Our Lady's?" Where his mother and Hugh were buried.

"Yep."

"You ever go over there?"

"Sometimes."

Sean wanted to ask more questions, but couldn't quite form them. What exactly did he want to know about Kevin's side trips to the cemetery? Did the boy know his father and grandmother were buried there? Probably. And did he visit their graves? What did it feel like looking at them? Was it weird or sad . . . or just nothing? Lila had died before Kevin was born, so that was unlikely to elicit any real emotion. And what about Hugh? What kind of father had he been? Had he continued to flit from odd job to wild party to chemically induced hilarity to sleeping all day, as he always had? Did Kevin miss him? Did Kevin even remember him? But Sean found no voice for his questions as they moved through the woods.

"You ever go?" asked Kevin.

"No."

"Ever?"

"No." And it seemed there was some explanation required, something more well thought out than I just never wanted to. But Sean didn't really have one, and Kevin didn't pursue it.

Soon they were climbing Jansen Hill, which was not particularly steep, but Kevin didn't break his pace, and Sean could feel his heart rate rising and beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. Near the top a huge tree had fallen. Kevin hoisted his skinny body up onto the log, pulled the backpack off, and set it beside him. As Sean situated himself, the boy took out a stainless steel water bottle, unscrewed the top, and drank several gulps. He offered it to Sean.

"Thanks. This came in handy, huh?"

"You have to stay hydrated," instructed Kevin. "You never hike without water, even if it's supposed to be a short one, because you could get lost. And then what? You'd be in big trouble."

"True," said Sean with a smile. "Where'd you learn so much about it-that Man vs. Wild show? Oh, God. This isn't"-he narrowed his eyes dramatically at Kevin-"pee, is it?"

"Ew, no!" Kevin laughed.

"And where'd you get this stylin' water bottle?"

"REI. I used my birthday money. I wanted to get a new sleeping bag, but I didn't have enough. Plus it would've been hard to carry home on my bike."

"Wait, you rode your bike all the way to REI? There are some pretty busy roads over there. Why didn't Auntie Dee or Auntie Vivvy take you?"

Kevin reached for the water bottle and took a sip. "Auntie Vivvy doesn't drive anymore. That's why she's got you doing the groceries. And Auntie Dee took me once after I helped her learn her lines for Wicked. But she doesn't have any lines this time. Plus she's never around."

Sean's heart sank. The kid was basically raising himself. This should've been clear to him before, of course. He should've gotten it that first morning when he'd heard Kevin fixing his own breakfast and getting ready for school, without anyone to so much as remind him to take the lunch he'd made for himself. Sean should've been sure when he saw Kevin's perplexed reaction to having him show up for the Clap Out. And yet Kevin didn't seem to want people around very much. The kid's resourcefulness was impressive. It seemed to suit him, this solitary, self-sufficient way of moving through the world. Sean was a bit like that himself.

Kevin took a deep breath, a hint of contentment settling on his face. "It smells good up here."

Sean inhaled the scent of pine needles and a host of other woodsy things he couldn't name. "Yeah," he said. "It smells like the world is supposed to smell."

Kevin nodded, fully satisfied, it seemed, with his uncle's answer. Sean wondered if he'd ever seen the kid look so relaxed. "What else you got in that backpack?" he asked.

Kevin reached in and took out a plastic container. Inside was a wide, crookedly sliced slab of pie and two plastic forks, purple and sticky with blueberry juice. He handed one to Sean, and licked the handle of his own. "Go on," said Sean. "It's your pie. You first."

Kevin lifted a forkful to his mouth and chewed happily. "What did he call it?"

"What did who call what?"

"That big guy, Cormac-what did he call today?"

"I think he said it was pursuit of happiness day."

Kevin grinned. "Cool," he said and took another bite.

CHAPTER 10.

The following week things got a little strange.

It had started so well. Cormac had asked if Sean was interested in another shift or two at the bakery, and he'd said yes. It felt good to meet someone else's needs again, even if it was just pinch-hitting while Cormac's employees took vacation time. Cormac insisted on paying him, and at first Sean had said no way. It ruined that sharp, righteous feel of helping. Cormac seemed to intuit Sean's reasoning. "Pal," he said, "I hate to break it to you, but it isn't that much. Considering what you could make at a hospital, this definitely qualifies as volunteer work."

And then it occurred to Sean that it wasn't a bad idea to give his trust account a little nourishment. His back was better-not great, but manageable-and soon it would be time to find something new. Maybe not so far away, somewhere it wouldn't take days to come back to Belham for visits. Because it was clear to him now that he'd been thoughtless to let so much time go by, especially with Aunt Vivvy getting older and Kevin approaching his teen years. The boy didn't seem to have inherited Hugh's proclivity for mischief, but even a good kid could get into trouble on a bad day. Sean would have to stay in better touch. Maybe get a cell phone and learn to text. Maybe even get on Facebook-he'd heard it was pretty popular with kids these days.

Sean started disaster-surfing on Deirdre's laptop again, the familiar time-to-move-on feeling poking at him intermittently. He had the sense that if he could just recapture the purpose and contentedness, and (if he were honest) the righteousness he'd felt earlier in his career, everything could go back to normal. Or some facsimile thereof.

He crossed off several places in Africa right away. Too far. And too much civil unrest. He was still having those flashes of preteen rape victims and severed limbs and wasn't sure he could stomach a return to those kinds of daily visuals. He focused his search on natural disaster relief. At the moment, Haiti was looking pretty good.

The following week, he borrowed Kevin's alarm clock so he could be up in time to walk over to the Confectionary by five-thirty. He felt calm and happy as he strolled through the slanting rays of early morning sunlight. Entering the Confectionary, he smelled the yeasty sweetness of dough rising and the sharp, invigorating scent of recently ground coffee beans. It reminded him of his childhood visits to the McGrath house-the encouraging smell of food.

Aunt Vivvy's house smelled of cleaning products and talcum powder, the latter his aunt's one indulgence. She never baked unless it was compulsory, like a birthday cake. Meals were adequately nutritious and efficiently prepared, in quantities designed to avoid leftovers.

Now wearing a cranberry-colored CORMAC'S CONFECTIONARY T-shirt, Sean stationed himself behind the register. A teenager trudged in wearing a similar shirt, eyes half-lidded in semiconsciousness, and introduced herself as Theresa. "Call me Tree," she mumbled. "You ring, I'll brew. I can't talk to people this early in the morning."

"Tree," said Cormac. "Hair." She let out a dejected sigh and wound her hair into a strangled bun. Cormac leaned over to Sean. "Use as few words as possible," he murmured. "She's a good worker, but her language processing skills don't kick in until about seven."

The first few customers gave easy orders: a large coffee and a cruller. A cup of tea. They were dressed for work, made no eye contact, and were obviously anxious to spend as little time in this particular transaction as possible. Then a woman came in wearing workout clothes-turquoise yoga pants and a matching sleeveless top. She had big white sunglasses with gold letters on the sides: DKNY.

Dinky? thought Sean.

She lifted them up onto her head, pushing back the glossy light brown hair that fell in gentle waves toward her breasts, and squinted up at the menu board. "Medium half-caf iced skinny latte, two Splendas, and a dash of nutmeg, please," she said, never even glancing at Sean. "No, make that large."

There was a flicker of something pinging at the back of Sean's brain, but he was so distracted by trying to get all the right letters written on the cup, he didn't focus on it. He handed off the cup to Tree and rang up the order. "That'll be four-ten," he said, fairly certain he'd gotten both the letters and the cost computation right. Smiling with satisfaction, he glanced at the customer, recognition hitting him with a crackle of electricity.

Chrissy Stillman.

She handed him a five and gave a tiny flick of her wrist to indicate that the change could go in the tip jar, College Tuition/Harley Fund scrawled on it. She moved to the Pick Up counter.

"Chrissy?" he said quietly, unsure if he really wanted her to hear him.

She looked up, tilted her head slightly to one side.

"Sean," he murmured. "Sean Doran."

"Oh, my God, Sean!" she called out, her long legs quickly striding back to the Order counter. "Wow! How are you? Where've you been? It's been like-what?-over twenty years!"

"Yeah, I know, long time. I've been doing overseas work."

"And now you're . . ." She wiggled her tan fingers toward the register.

"Oh, no," he said quickly. "No, I'm not . . . I'm just here for a few weeks. Cormac needed a little help so I'm just . . . helping."

"That is terrific. Well, hey! We have to get together! I want to hear all about what you've been doing overseas."

Sean's head started to spin just a little. "Sure, that'd be great."

"What's your cell?" She whipped a phone out of her small white purse and began tapping at the screen. "Sean Doran," she muttered. "Okay, shoot!"

"Uh, actually, I don't . . . lots of places I've worked don't exactly have cell service. I'll give you my home number." He blanked on it for a second, recovered, and recited the number.

"Shoot, shoot, shoot," she said. "I'm late for yoga. But I will definitely call you! I can't believe it-Sean Doran!" She sailed back to Pick Up for her latte. Suddenly her face lost its exuberance. "This is supposed to be iced," she told Tree. The girl reached for the cup, cutting her eyes toward Sean to indicate the source of the mistake. "Oh, never mind," said Chrissy, grabbing the cup. She shone a good-sport smile at Sean. "I'll just crank up the AC!"

Later, he took a good bit of razzing from Cormac about it, as he knew he would. He didn't expect Tree to chime in, though. "Shoulda seen it, Cormac," she smirked. "He was like . . ." She wiggled her body like a happy puppy. "Then he was like . . ." She strutted a few steps, nodding her head smugly. "And then he screwed up the next three orders." Apparently Tree's language processing skills had kicked in.

He walked home that afternoon, back throbbing slightly, but with a silly grin he couldn't seem to get rid of. Chrissy Stillman. The unattainable Holy Grail of his teen years. She had his number. She was going to call.

Sean hadn't been home ten minutes when Kevin banged through the back door with a look of undiluted terror on his face. The dog jumped up and began barking homicidally, and Aunt Vivvy dropped her plate of saltine crackers. Sean turned so quickly to see what the commotion was that his back twanged into spasm and he had to hang on to the counter to keep from falling.

"I . . ." Kevin panted, ". . . there was . . ."

"For goodness sake, Hugh," Aunt Vivvy chastised, as the dog continued to bark. "Stop this foolishness! Are you in your right mind? Come here and let me look at you."

Kevin's terror turned to confusion, as his eyes flicked from his irate aunt to her irate dog.

With sirens of pain wailing up and down his spine, Sean could barely process the scene. "Jesus! Stop your damned barking!" he yelled at the dog, who downgraded her outbursts to an aggravated growl. "Get me a chair," he said, and Kevin slid a kitchen chair over to Sean, who lowered himself gingerly onto it. "What is going on here?" he demanded.

"I was in the woods . . ." Kevin said tremulously. He glanced to Aunt Vivvy, who stood looking slightly dazed, the crackers and sandwich plate strewn across the floor at her feet.

"Auntie Vivvy," murmured Sean. "Sit down. We'll pick that up in a minute." The older woman moved obediently to a chair. He turned his gaze back to Kevin and tried to focus on the boy, despite the blistering pain in his back.

"I . . . I was up by the big log. I made a . . . a fort up there a couple of weeks ago. But when I went in, there was . . . stuff in it. Not my stuff. And then some kids came . . . older." His chin started to tremble. "They chased me." He blinked furiously but a tear spilled down his cheek anyway. He quickly wiped it against the shoulder of his T-shirt.

"Ah, Kevin," Sean sighed. "Maybe you shouldn't spend so much time up there alone."

"What'm I supposed to do, then?"

Sean didn't know. He could barely form coherent thoughts. Kevin trudged out of the room-Sean could hear him clomp up the stairs and close a door. "Auntie," he said after a moment. "We need to do something about the dog. She can't go into attack mode every time one of us walks into the room."

Aunt Vivian leveled a clear-eyed gaze at him. "George is protective," she said. "It is a laudable trait, one that is grievously lacking in the world, and it is not a feature that can be surgically removed like some sort of mole or polyp." She rose and left the room, the dog trotting behind at her slippered heels.

Sean sat there with his back muscles pulsating as if to a crazed rumba. He wished he'd asked someone to get him some ibuprofen before they'd stormed out. And what was that about Aunt Vivvy demanding to see if Kevin was "in his right mind"? Sean pondered this for a moment. Had she actually called him Hugh?

His brain was too busy sounding an alarm about his back to puzzle it out at the moment. He needed to be flat, so he slid off the chair and onto the floor, vowing to carry ibuprofen tablets in his pocket from now on. The spilled saltines lay inches away from his face and looked like delicate little rafts in the churning waters of the pitted linoleum.

Sean was able to accomplish two things the next morning. The first was to confirm that there were no summer camps that fit into the union of subsets that included Kevin's willingness to attend, the camp's having space for him, and being located within a twenty-mile radius of Belham. Kevin flatly refused to go to overnight camp. "What if I don't like it? What am I supposed to do-leave like a homesick baby?"

Comments from Sean like "It'll be an adventure!" and "You'll make some great new friends!" and "This one has horses, a driving range, skeet shooting, and a gourmet selection of desserts after every meal!" held no sway.

"Besides," Kevin muttered about that last one, "it costs six thousand dollars for two weeks."

He was willing to consider some nature-oriented day camps, but they had no openings. There were a couple of sports camps with available spots, but Kevin wasn't interested. Then Sean found one that looked perfect.

"I went there last summer," said Kevin. "They never empty the trash cans. By the end of the week, there's stinky milk cartons and baloney sandwiches falling out and bees swarming all over. And the counselors are mean."

They'd spent three hours on Deirdre's laptop and making phone calls-all for nothing. Kevin took a book on Denali National Park, his stainless steel water bottle, and a Clif Bar out to the backyard. Sean popped another quartet of ibuprofen tablets and called Tree of Life Spa. Miraculously, Rebecca had an opening at four o'clock.

He arrived at ten to four with the long-odds hope that she had finished early with the previous client and he'd get a few extra minutes. Cleopatra the receptionist disabused him of that fantasy in record time. In fact she claimed Rebecca wasn't available at all. "You wanted Missy last time," she said. "Now you can have her."

"Why's Rebecca suddenly unavailable?" Sean said, barely able to keep the edge out of his tone. "I just called a couple of hours ago."

"Yeah, um . . ." Cleopatra shook her head as if searching for an excuse. "Miscommunication? Missy will be ready for you in a few minutes."