of the Moontide only once, asking why he seemed to have such bitter memories of the only real home he’d known after his parents’ death.
He’d been sharp in his response, snapping something about the Moontide and all it represented for him—family vacations that he’d lost, memories that had been stolen before they were made. Tessa, with her typical sweetness, had not taken his tone to heart but rather wrapped her arms around him and replied, “Then we’ll create new memories, enough for two lifetimes, to make up for the ones you never had.”
Her goodness shamed him. She’d been understanding, far more than she should have been, especially because his answer to her was only part of the truth. The Moontide represented not only the childhood that had been taken from him...but the woman he’d once loved.
Even though she’d chosen his brother over him.
He ground his teeth, conflicting emotions assaulting him. He missed Tessa. If she were here now, she’d find a way to lift his spirits without pushing him to share what had soured his mood. Tessa had a way of knowing when he just needed her to wrap her arms around him without speaking a word. He would miss having that in his life.
Thinking of Tessa prompted him to pull his phone out of his back pocket and check the screen. No missed calls. No new texts. A couple of email alerts but nothing urgent. He clicked into the screen and began typing a new message.
Tess, are you...
He stopped and deleted the last two words and started again.
Tess, I’m sorry for...
He stopped a second time but continued to stare at the screen until the light dimmed and the phone went dark. He’d just lost the woman who was supposed to be his wife. Shouldn’t he have something to say to her?
With a sigh, he pocketed the phone and looked out over the backyard once more. As his gaze swept the overgrown lawn, his eyes caught on a flicker of movement behind one of the white oak trees. He looked closer and noticed a small foot, moving back and forth, nearly hidden from view but just barely visible with the movement.
Even from this distance, he recognized Kitt’s sneaker. His nephew must have fled outside after he’d left him and Erin earlier.
Burke stood there for another minute, waiting to see if the little boy made any moves to come inside. When he didn’t, Burke decided he’d earned a break from his repairs and headed for the stairs so he could step outside and check on his nephew.
* * *
BURKE FOUND KITT in the same position he’d witnessed from the second floor windows. The little boy was hidden behind the trunk of one of the Moontide’s ancient oaks, his foot moving back and forth to the silent rhythm that had betrayed his position. He had a book in his lap, but he wasn’t reading. The day was warming up, with only a smattering of clouds in the sky. The rain from yesterday had dried up, and the ground was dry as Burke sat down beside his nephew.
“Hey,” he greeted.
Kitt didn’t respond, didn’t so much as look at Burke.
“I wanted to thank you for your help this morning,” Burke continued, unfazed by Kitt’s silence. “Why’d you run off? We were only halfway done with the drywall repairs.”
Kitt still said nothing. His silence was nearly palpable, his sadness even more so.
“Did your leaving have something to do with...your mom and me?”
Though Kitt didn’t speak, he shifted noticeably.
“Sorry, little man. Your mom and I, we...well, she had a good point. I should have been more careful with that knife.”
“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have touched it. Mom always tells me not to touch knives.”
The words came in such a rush that Burke suspected Kitt had been holding them in ever since Erin had confronted him earlier that morning.
“I didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” Kitt mumbled, his voice so low that Burke had to lean in close to hear him. He smiled at Kitt’s concern.
“Who, me? Don’t worry about it. Your mom won’t stay mad for long.”
He didn’t know about that last part. There was a time when Erin wouldn’t have stayed mad at him. But a lot had changed since then, an ocean of silence and distance. It occurred to him, however, that maybe Erin needed him more than she let on. Not because of the friendship they’d once shared but because of what she’d lost.
What they’d all lost. Gavin.
If anyone knew what a grounding force Gavin had been, it was Burke. His older brother had held him up after the death of their parents. He’d stepped into the gap of loss and filled it as best he could. Though death had brought instability and grief, Gavin had been the one constant to see Burke through the hard times. Burke had taken that for granted, not only as a child but into adulthood. He’d been selfish in keeping his distance, assuming Gavin would always be there.
But in the end, the brother he’d idolized had been a mere mortal when death came calling. He sniffed, his eyes filling at the thought. He blinked away the tears, refusing to let Kitt see him cry. When his vision cleared, he saw his nephew was watching him.
“You think that’s true? About Mom not staying mad?”
He forced a grin. “Are you kidding? How can she stay mad at two of the most handsome guys in Findlay Roads?” He nudged Kitt, trying to draw a laugh. The most he got was the ghost of a smile.
They sat in silence for another couple of minutes. Kitt didn’t seem uncomfortable, but the sadness that constantly surrounded him lingered in the air between them. Burke tried to think of something else to say, words that could draw Kitt out of his shell.
“You asked me this morning about your dad, and stuff he did when we were kids.”
It wasn’t Burke’s first choice of conversation, but he found himself desperate to lighten Kitt’s mood. If that meant talking about the past, well, then, he’d give it a try.
“He loved to make people laugh,” Burke began, “and he could be a shameless prankster. For years, I thought he liked eating bugs.”
Kitt’s brows furrowed together. “Why?”
“Because he’d pretend to see a bug, like a fly or whatever, and he’d act like he swatted it or stomped on it to kill it, then he’d reach down, pick it up and pop it in his mouth.”
Kitt’s eyes went wide. “He really ate bugs?”
Burke smiled. “No. He usually had something else in his hand, like a raisin or a piece of food that just looked like a bug. And that’s what he’d eat. But he was so tricky with the sleight of hand that I didn’t catch on for a long time that he wasn’t really eating bugs.”
“What’s sleight of hand?” Kitt asked.
“Like when a magician pulls a quarter from your ear, but he didn’t really find it in your ear—it was in his hand all along.”
Kitt narrowed his eyes. “Show me.”
Burke laughed. “I don’t have a quarter on me just now, but I promise I’ll show you later.”
Kitt seemed satisfied with this. “So, what else?”
“What else?”
“What else did my dad used to do?”
“Oh, right. Um, well, a couple of times a year, he’d wake me up early on a Saturday and tell me we had to go to school.”
“But Saturday is a no-school day,” Kitt pointed out.
“I know, but your dad would always try to convince me it was a special day. Once, he said it was because we have snow days sometimes so we had to go to school on Saturdays to make up for it. I bought into it, and I’d end up dressed and ready to go before my mom finally