I glance at Nan, but she’s polishing off her lemonade, her face impassive. He seems so unmoored that just looking at him hurts. Even his hair is damp, like he’s sweating. How long has it been since I’ve heard Tim apologize for anything? He’s got his head hunched down, sandwiched between his folded arms, taking deep breaths as though he’s been running miles, or this all takes more oxygen than just breathing. Too bad I got my ass booted out of boarding school, huh?” “Note my use of impressive SAT words, though. That was wicked stupid, and I would have thought anyone else who did that with my sister-or you-was a complete and unredeemable asshole, which of course, leads to the inescapable conclusion that that is, in fact, indubitably what I am.” He shakes his head, takes a gulp of lemonade. “Ac-tu-ally, Nan wanted me to say I’m sorry,” Tim clarifies, but he looks directly at me. “Tim wanted to say he was sorry about last night,” Nan offers, crunching an ice cube. It’s been a long time since I’ve really seen anything from Tim but bored indifference, stoned apathy, or jacked-up contempt. “Got any tequila? Just kidding, once again. She pours a glass for Tim and he takes it, frowning at the little ice cubes with their flecks of yellow and green frozen inside. After all these years, she knows exactly where to locate the special ice cubes with mint and lemon peel.

Can we come in, Samantha?”Īs soon as they get into the kitchen, Nan heads for the fridge to get some of my mother’s lemonade. “’Cause I’ve been saved, and I want to pass on the Good News to you-for only a thousand dollars and three hours of your time. “Are you interested in a closer relationship with the Lord?” Tim asks when I open the door. And my house is not exactly Tim’s preferred hangout. Thursday and Friday are Daniel nights for Nan. I grab a tank top and shorts from the laundry room and pull them on hastily, then peer through the frosted glass.

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