“You’ll go through things in the attic today.” Mary Clare’s mother dunked the tea bag in her teacup, making her proclamation. Not, Will you go through your things today? She wrapped the string around a spoon three times and squeezed out the excess water, then set it down on the saucer. “I don’t know why I didn’t have you kids clean your things out years ago.”

Happy Monday. Mary Clare hadn’t even gotten out of her PJs.

She poured milk over her Rice Krispies. She put the gallon of milk in the fridge and grabbed a spoon, realizing she had limited time before her snap-crackle-pop turned soggy-soggy-soggy. Like her mood.

“Are you sure you’re ready to put the house up for sale?” Questioning her mother’s decision was a bit of a zinger and Mary Clare knew it. A knot tightened in her stomach as she waited for her mother to argue. She said white, her mother said black. It was the nature of their relationship.

“Yes, I’m sure,” her mother said, her words clipped. “Last I checked, it was my house.”

Mary Clare sighed heavily. Another piece of her past sold out from under her. It also put a rush on her to clean out the attic, something she really didn’t feel like doing. If she never had to sort, donate, or pack another thing in her life she’d be thrilled. But since her mother was putting her up for the summer, she didn’t have much choice. Her choices would grow slimmer once this house sold if she didn’t get her divorce settlement.

If mother wanted her to clean out the attic, she’d clean the attic.

“It really is for the best,” her mother said, as if trying to convince herself. She abruptly pushed away from the table and carried her half-full teacup to the sink. She set it down, the cup jostling in the saucer. She turned around and waved her hand dismissively. “There’s no reason for me to keep this place. It’s too big for me now that Dad’s gone. Besides, you know Aunt Carol and I want to get a place in Florida. I’ll just stay with Bill when I come to visit.”

Does Bill know that?

“Sounds great, Mother.” Always the safest answer. Mary Clare wasn’t sure why she had poked at her mother in the first place. “I can start going through the attic today.” With her elbow on the table, Mary Clare supported her chin in her palm, the weight of all her bad choices bearing down on her shoulders.

“Great. Less stuff for me to sort by myself.”

Mary Clare ran a hand across her jaw. “Henry and I really appreciate your letting us stay here.”

“Of course. I couldn’t let my grandson be out on the street.” Her mother laughed. The joke hit its intended mark.

Mary Clare bit back an argument. What could she say? She wasn’t exactly in a position to be independent. But she’d get there. Sooner, if Chip hadn’t borrowed against her future. She gritted her teeth at the thought of it. She’d have to pester her lawyer to get this resolved.

Her mother leaned back against the counter and tucked her hands behind her back. She gave Mary Clare her full attention. She wasn’t drinking tea, wiping the counters, or unloading the dishwasher. “You were always years beyond your age. You had your life mapped out from college on.” Her mother said that as if it were a bad thing. “You never seemed content here. As if life in Mills Crossing wouldn’t make you happy.”

“I never—”

“I know you better than you know yourself,” her mother said without a lot of emotion in her voice. Chip used to say that to her. It made her feel…frustrated.

Mother pulled out her hands from behind her and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “You were always looking for the next best thing.” She pushed off the counter. “Maybe you need to slow down and think about your son.”

“I’ve done nothing but think about Henry.” Mary Clare slouched in her chair. “This has been difficult for all of us.”

Her mother pursed her lips and shook her head, as if she didn’t want to hear about it. “When do you move into the townhouse in Buffalo?” Her mother shifted topics. It was just as well.

“I don’t have an exact date yet.” How could she admit to her mother she had been completely clueless about the money and hadn’t realized her husband had mortgaged the house? She had trusted Chip completely. He had managed all the money.

Both huge mistakes.

“I have to square away a few financial issues with Chip.” Mary Clare wondered if her mother would see through her calm demeanor. Mother always had a finely tuned BS detector.

“You don’t have any money of your own?” Ding ding ding. Her mother’s detector blared, making Mary Clare bristle.

“I’ve been a stay-at-home mom. Where would I get money?” Mary Clare crossed her arms, then uncrossed them, trying not to act defensive. But when it came to her mother, that was default mode.

“I stayed home for years with you kids, but your father and I both had access to our accounts. Did you have to ask Chip for everything? Oh, Mary…”

Mary Clare pushed away from the table. “It’s over and done, Mother. I have to move forward. Chip always said he liked that I was home for Henry. My alimony should allow me to stay home at least until Henry reaches middle school.” All those plans would likely have to change now, considering the blow her lawyer had delivered on Friday.

Mary Clare couldn’t stop talking. She was desperate to prove to her mother that she hadn’t let Chip control everything. That she hadn’t made a stupid mistake by leaving Chip. But he had been suffocating her. If she hadn’t left, she would have lost herself. How could her mother ever understand? Her mother was cut from the same cloth as Chip. She would have never gotten into the situation to begin with.

Mary Clare had spent her entire life trying to be the perfect student, the perfect daughter, the perfect wife—and she had slowly given herself away. First time she took a big risk and tried to break free from the vicious cycle of pretending her life was perfect and it blew up in her face. But she couldn’t share this with her mother. That wasn’t the type of relationship they had.

“Don’t you want to work?” Her mother continued her rant. “You went to school to be a teacher. You could be home in the summers with Henry—”

“Mother, I’ve thought of all these things. I have a master’s degree to teach in New York State, but I never got my certification.” Since the separation, she had kicked herself a hundred times for not completing the last step. Now that would take time and money she didn’t have. She might even need to take a few classes. Mary Clare ran her thumb along the edge of the table. “The schools aren’t exactly knocking down the doors to hire teachers nowadays anyway.” She was doing exactly what she did when she thought Chip didn’t want her to do something. She’d reason her way out of it, so she didn’t feel like he was making the decision.

She was stupid.

“I’m sure you have it all figured out.” Mother brushed imaginary crumbs from her hands. “Shall we head to the attic before it gets too hot?”

“Sure.” The single word sounded like defeat.

A soft knock sounded on the screen door. “Who could that be?” Her mother went to answer the door. Mary Clare could hear her mother greet someone she obviously knew.

“Morning, Mrs. O’Connor.” Mary Clare froze, hidden behind the kitchen wall, her heartbeat kicking up a notch. Jesse.

The screen door creaked. Footsteps grew closer. Mary Clare ran her hand over her hair, wondering what she looked like in her pajamas and T-shirt. She quickly crossed her arms over her chest, trying to look casual. She didn’t have a bra on. The only way to get to the stairs—and her clothes—was to get past Jesse. She now fully understood the term “wanting to melt into the floor and disappear.” She lifted her hand and brushed a finger under her eyes, and the pad of her finger came away with a black smudge.

“Would you like to come in? We were just having breakfast.” Her mother’s voice was all sugar and honey.

“I wanted to see Henry, actually.”

Henry? Now Mary Clare was intrigued.

Jesse stepped into the kitchen, his gaze skimming the length of Mary Clare. She couldn’t decide if his smile was apologetic or amused, considering he had caught her in her PJs.

“Morning.” His voice sounded rough.

“Morning.” She kept her arms firmly crossed over her chest.

“Sorry to catch you early.” Jesse leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. He had on blue jeans and a red shirt that looked great against his tanned skin. The stubble on his jaw from Saturday was gone. She could almost imagine the scent of aloe from his aftershave, the smooth feel against her cheek. Stop. “I brought a surprise for Henry.”

“Really?” Mary Clare narrowed her gaze.

“Yeah. Is he here or did he run down to his cousins’ house already?”

“No, he’s here.” She tipped her head toward the back porch. “Come on.” Curiosity had gotten the best of her.

Mary Clare pushed open the back door and let Jesse squeeze past her. He smelled clean, like Dove soap and some fresh-smelling shampoo. And aloe. She was right. Butterflies flitted in her stomach. She dismissed them. Jesse probably had his share of women. He wouldn’t be interested in Bill’s little sister.

Trying desperately to shove all thoughts of Jesse aside, she turned her focus toward Henry. “There he is.” He was lying on the hammock on the back porch, with one foot dangling over the edge, gently rocking back and forth, completely lost in a book and oblivious to them.

Jesse leaned in behind her, whispering in her ear. “I remember when you used to hang out in that hammock all the time. Your nose always in a book.”

“I remember when you and Bill would hide behind the shed and bean me with marshmallows,” she said, her voice equally low.

Jesse gave her a shocked expression. “You can’t prove it.” If she didn’t know better, she’d accuse him of flirting with her.

Is that what Jesse is doing? Flirting with me?

“Yeah, whatever.” She suddenly felt fourteen again, crushing on Jesse. Though she’d never admit it to anyone.

Then or now.

A faraway look drifted into Jesse’s gaze. “You always seemed content. Lost in a book. I envied you sometimes.”

Mary Clare narrowed her gaze at him. She was about to say something when Henry looked up from his book. He scrambled to a seated position. “Hi, Mr. Thorpe.”

“Hey, kid. Why don’t you call me Jesse? Makes me feel kinda old when you call me Mr. Thorpe. That’s my dad.”

Henry glanced at his mom for permission. She and Chip had been more formal about these things. “It’s okay.” As a rule, her son didn’t call adults by their first name. In this case, what could it hurt? It’s not like they’d see Jesse every day.

“I brought you a surprise.”

“Really?” Her son seemed unsure of how to respond. “Thank you.”

“Don’t you want to see what it is first?” Jesse asked, patting her son on the shoulder.

“Sure, I mean, if you want to show me.”

“Come on, it’s around front.” Jesse stepped off the back porch and Henry sprang off the hammock and followed him around to the front yard.

“It’s in the back of my truck.” Jesse strode to the truck he had jokingly nicknamed the Green Machine back in high school. He lifted the back gate. A purple bike lay on its side. He pulled it out and set it on the pavement. “I think it’s about time someone taught you how to ride a bike.”

“Um, Jesse, can I talk to you a second?” Mary Clare said, keeping her tone even.

Jesse ran a hand through his hair and his bright smile faltered. “Yeah, sure.” He tousled Henry’s hair. “Hold on, kid.”

Mary Clare walked toward the front door, away from Henry who was studying the bike with awe. “I thought I told you that I was going to teach Henry how to ride a bike?” She could feel her eye twitching. She wasn’t very good at conflict. And she’d had far too much of it lately during her separation from Chip.

Jesse’s head jerked back and he frowned. “I know what you said, but I thought you were just being polite. I…I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“Well—”

“Mom!” Footsteps raced toward her. She spun around, heat pulsing in her face. “Jesse’s gonna teach me how to ride!” His smile faltered. “Can he?”

Mary Clare could feel all eyes on her and she did what she always did. She folded. “Yes. But you need a helmet.”

“There’s one in the truck. I saw it.” Henry took off for the truck, one of his shoelaces untied. Mary Clare wanted to yell after him, but the words got clogged in her throat. Instead, she turned and said stiffly, “Thank you. Henry’s very excited.”

“I didn’t mean to insert myself. I can leave the bike—no problem—if you wanted to teach him.”

She felt him studying her and she suddenly felt foolish. “No, don’t be silly. Henry’s looking forward to his first lesson.” She honestly didn’t know if she had it in her to teach him. She waved her hand in a playful shooing gesture that felt awkward and forced. “No, go.”

Jesse smiled and walked toward the truck. “Okay, let’s make sure the helmet fits.”

* * *

Jesse rolled the bike to the sidewalk with a hand on the handlebars and another on the banana seat. The bike had actually been his sister’s. When he inherited it, he put blue duct tape on the flowered seat and figured the purple frame would pass. Good enough. It had to be. His father didn’t have money to buy a new one. Jesse had quickly graduated to a way cooler hand-me-down dirt bike anyway.

“I know the bike’s not as fancy as the new ones, but I thought it would be a good bike to get started on.” Jesse smoothed a curling piece of duct tape on the rear of the seat. “After you learn how to ride and get a new bike, it won’t get all dinged up.”

“I don’t know.” Henry suddenly grew dejected, as if a switch had been flipped. “I have a brand-new bike at home. I tried to learn, but I wasn’t any good.” Henry stared at the ground and kicked the gravel with the toe of his bright white sneakers. At his age, Jesse’s sneakers had been torn, grass stained, and generally worn in. One pair even had a hole in the bottom. His socks got wet every time it rained.

Jesse planted his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “I know you can do it. Come on, give it a try.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t.” His gaze drifted to his mom who stood, arms crossed, biting at the edge of her thumbnail. She shrugged in response.

“Oh, come on. You’ve got this,” Jesse encouraged him.

Henry ran his finger along a duct tape seam on the bike. “My balance sucks.”

“Henry”—Mary Clare dropped her hand away from her face—“we don’t use that word.”

“Well, it’s true. Dad even said so.”

Jesse squeezed Henry’s shoulder. Pink crept up Mary Clare’s neck and colored her cheeks. “What kind of bike did you try to ride?”

Henry studied the bike. “My bike is silver and bigger.” He gripped the handlebars. “And it had brakes up here. My bike’s in storage.”

“This bike is beyond retro. It has pedal brakes.” Jesse was convinced he’d win the kid over. He shot a peek at Mary Clare and part of him wished she’d go inside. Her fear rolled off her in waves, freaking out her kid. On the other hand, Jesse wondered what it would be like to have a mom who cared that much. “Have you ever ridden a bike with brake pedals?” Jesse asked, trying to get Henry focused on something concrete and not all his fears.

“I don’t think so.” Henry stretched out a leg and turned the pedal counterclockwise until it stopped.

“Exactly,” Jesse said, sensing Henry was warming up to the idea. “To start, you’ll want to take it easy on the brakes. Until you get used to it. But I bet you’ll be riding like a pro after a few tries.”

Henry bit his bottom lip, a look of indecision evident on his face. A sprinkle of freckles covered his nose, reminding Jesse that Mary Clare used to have freckles. They must have faded with age or lack of sun. Jesse glanced over at her, hoping she’d give her son a pep talk, but she didn’t look any more hopeful.

“Why don’t you wait a few minutes? I’ll go get dressed first.” She plucked at her PJ bottoms.

“Get dressed. I’ll take him for a spin.” Jesse locked gazes with Mary Clare. A cross between are you sure and I’ll kill you if he gets hurt glistened in her bright blue eyes. “He’ll be fine. Go.”

“Stay on the sidewalk.” She took a step backward, her motions as hesitant as her willingness to give up control of her son.

Jesse made a cross over his heart. “Go, we’re fine.”

“Is his helmet secure?” Mary Clare asked.

Jesse palmed the helmet on Henry’s head. It wasn’t going anywhere. “Feel okay?”

Nodding, Henry lifted a leg and straddled the bike. Both his feet reached the ground. He definitely needed a bigger bike. He twisted on the seat. “Go in, Mom. I don’t want you to watch.”

“Okay.” A flicker of disappointment flashed across Mary Clare’s face. “Looks like you’re all set.” She hedged a minute before leaving.

“Ready?” Jesse held the back of the seat with one hand and the handlebar with the other.

“Okay.” Henry wobbled a bit as he lifted both feet onto the pedals. “Last time I rode, I crashed a lot. My dad got mad.”

Jesse leaned in close. “Here’s the deal. I’ve got the bike.” He tapped the metal loop on the back of the seat. “I won’t let go until I know you’re solid. And I promise I won’t get mad even if you do fall. You’ll never learn otherwise.”

Henry nodded, uncertainly scrunching the freckles on his nose.

“Want another tip?”

Henry nodded again without saying a word. The look on his young friend’s face read I’m not sure I want to do this anymore.

“I’m not giving you too many tips all up front, am I?”

Henry shook his head. The helmet didn’t budge. Good thing.

“Once you’re a pro at this, maybe we can convince your mom to let you ride a dirt bike.” Jesse winked conspiratorially. Henry needed some serious motivation.

“Cool.” The smile flickered, then disappeared. “Mom will never let me.”

“Let’s work on riding a bike first. Start pedaling.”

Pushing down on the pedal, Henry teetered, then picked up his pace. Jesse started to jog, loosening his grip. Henry made it down the street to his cousins’ house, put on the brakes, then planted his feet on the concrete once the bike started to tip. “That was fun.” His tone suggested he had his doubts.

“It was all you for the last few houses. On the way back, once you get your balance, I’m going to let go.”

Henry twisted his mouth. He studied the straight shot of sidewalk between his cousins’ and grandma’s houses. “I’m not sure.”

“I’ll jog next to you. I won’t let you fall.”

“That’s what my dad said.”

“Listen to me. I won’t let you down.”

The screen door slammed nearby. Bill stepped onto the porch. “Hey, is that my nephew riding that snazzy bike?”

“Hi, Uncle Bill. Jesse’s helping me.”

Bill came down to the sidewalk, Zach a few steps behind. Bill shot Jesse a look he couldn’t quite read. “I remember that bike.” Bill gently stroked the handlebars. “We rode double around town on that thing until I finally saved up enough money from my paper route to buy my own.”

Jesse laughed. “Henry’s doing awesome.”

“Cool. I can’t wait till we can both ride around the block.” Zach picked at the loose piece of duct tape at the back of the seat.

Henry nudged Zach’s hand away and pressed the tape back in place. “You’ll ruin it.”

Unfazed, Zach spun around, leaned over and snatched the basketball from the lawn with both hands. He jogged to the driveway and began to dribble it. Bong-bong-bong.

“Before long we’ll have you on a dirt bike. Right?” Jesse patted Henry on the back.

Henry puffed out his chest. Jesse didn’t recognize the emblem on his golf shirt. “Do you think my mom will let me, Uncle Bill?”

“I don’t know, buddy. We’ll have to work on her.”

Henry got off the bike and swiped down the stand with a hard kick. After he was sure the bike wouldn’t tip, he held up his palms toward Zach. His cousin tossed him the ball. Henry stopped and lined the basketball up with the net, his pink tongue sticking out in concentration. Standing on the edge of the driveway, he made the shot and it bounced off the netless hoop. Henry chased after the ball, bounced it a few times, then passed it to Zach again.

“Can you see my sister letting him ride a dirt bike?” Bill asked, keeping his voice low so Henry couldn’t hear.

“Maybe she’ll surprise us.”

“What’s going on anyway?” Bill asked. “You hanging out with Mary Clare? Teaching Henry how to ride a bike?” His friend gave him an exaggerated frown. “That’s not like you.”

Jesse scratched his head, shaking off the uneasy feeling that everyone thought they knew who he was. Man, he was in his mid-thirties and he didn’t know exactly who he was. “I’m surprised you didn’t offer to teach your nephew how to ride a bike.”

“Hey, that’s not exactly fair. My sister just got back into town. I’m sure it would have come up eventually, but”—he held up his hand to his yard littered with toys—“I’m not exactly a man of leisure.”

At that, the screen door creaked. Amanda walked out with Billy tucked under her arm. She set him down on the grass. “Keep an eye on him, will ya? I have some things to do.”

Billy toddled across the grass and made a beeline to the two boys playing basketball. Bill ran over and scooped him up, and set him on top of his shoulders in a preemptive effort to prevent the little guy from hollering that he hadn’t gotten his turn with the basketball. Bill galloped back over to Jesse with exaggerated motions, his namesake giggling and tapping out a rhythmic beat on his head and chanting, “Faster, faster, faster.”

Bill lowered his voice. “My sister’s going through a nasty divorce. Don’t mess with her. You’re not exactly what she needs right now.”

Jesse held up his hand, doing his best to hide the flash of anger and resentment at the accusation. “I’m only teaching her son how to ride a bike. I have no plans on getting involved with your sister.”

Bill adjusted his hands on the little chunky legs dangling over his shoulders. “I’ve been your best friend for a long time. Don’t take it personally. You and Mary Clare—you’re not her type.” Bill took a few steps backward. The basketball rolled across the driveway and he batted it back toward the older boys with his foot.

Jesse stood there speechless, not exactly sure how he’d walked into all that when he was just offering to help Henry ride a bike.

“I have to take this little guy in, then run into work for a few hours.” Bill turned toward the door. “Catch ya later.”

Jesse waved. He picked up the bike. He watched as Henry lined up a shot. The basketball teetered over the rim before going in. The cousins high-fived. “You ready to head back?” Jesse hollered.

“Sure. See you later,” Henry said to his cousin.

Henry pushed the bike in a big loop to turn it around. Straddling the bike, Henry centered himself on the sidewalk. Jesse grabbed the back of the seat.

The kid glanced over his shoulder. “I want to try myself. If I feel wobbly, I’ll aim for the grass.”

Jesse noted the determination in his eyes. “You can also put your feet down. You’re big enough.”

“Okay. Once I learn how to ride this, I’ll be able to ride a dirt bike.”

“Don’t say that in front of your mom, okay?” Jesse warned.

Henry nodded, but all his focus seemed to be on the adventure ahead. Outstretched legs balanced him on the sidewalk, hands firmly wrapped around the handlebars, eyes straight ahead. “Here I go.” He pushed off with one foot, then the other, catching the pedal mid-cycle.

“I’ll run alongside. Okay?” Jesse held the metal bar on the back of the seat.

“I’m good.” Henry flicked him a quick glance, the bike wobbled, then he regained his balance. “You can let go.” This time Henry kept his eyes straight ahead, a study in concentration.

“You’re doing great.” Jesse let go of the bike and jogged alongside, ready to grab on if necessary.

Henry’s front tire skidded into the narrow crack between the sidewalk and grass. Jesse sucked in a breath, imagining the dressing down he’d get from Mary Clare if Henry didn’t arrive home safely sans scuffed knees, elbows, or chin.

Elbows flailing, Henry bumped up onto the grass, then back down onto the sidewalk. He pumped his legs harder, picked up speed, and smoothed out his ride. Pride swelled in Jesse’s chest. You got it, kid. He jogged a good ten feet behind Henry. When Henry reached his grandmother’s house, he rode right up on the lawn and slowly fell over.

Mary Clare ran down the porch steps. “Henry, you did it!”

A huge smile lit his face. “Did you see that, Mom? I can ride a bike.” He untangled his legs from the bike and sprang up. “I can ride a bike.”

“I saw that.” Her gaze drifted to the grass. “Looks like we have to work on stops and you’ll be all set.”

“I forgot to use the brakes on the pedal and I panicked for a minute. Jesse told me to just put my feet down if I ran into a problem. I forgot that, too. But the grass was soft. I’m okay,” he said, obviously elated.

Mary Clare righted the bike and rolled it over to Jesse’s truck. “Thank you for teaching him how to ride. I suppose I should get his bike out of storage.”

“Now I can ride a dirt bike,” Henry said excitedly.

“Whoa!” Mary Clare held up her hands. “You want to give me a heart attack?”

“But I can ride a bike now.” Henry tugged at his helmet, then stopped and unsnapped the clasp from under his chin.

“Riding a bike on a sidewalk and riding a dirt bike are two different things, sweetie.” She reached out and cupped his chin in her hands.

He yanked away from her. “You treat me like a baby.” The joy drained from his face. He whipped his helmet onto the grass. He bolted toward the house, stomped his feet up the porch steps and disappeared inside.