Mary Clare opened her sister-in-law’s tiny pantry and stared at the jumbled mess. Not unlike my life. Already she missed the spacious kitchen she was forced to leave behind in the divorce settlement.

“Do you see the napkins?” Amanda’s question snapped her back to the present.

Mary Clare wouldn’t let thoughts of her soon-to-be-ex-husband ruin her summer of escape.

“Are you sure they’re in here?”

“Yeah, in the pantry. Somewhere. Somewhere,” her sister-in-law said in a singsong voice while simultaneously balancing her two-year-old on her hip and hustling around the kitchen stacking old newspapers and catalogs. “Don’t you see them? I want to have everything ready for the party by the time Bill gets back with the pizza.”

Mary Clare blinked against the haphazard boxes and bags and bottles overflowing the pantry. Her old one had neat labels with bold black lettering on each shelf. Everything had its place. Her husband had made sure of that.

Until she marched out the door.

Mary Clare crouched down and the birthday napkins suddenly appeared, wedged between the jarred spaghetti sauce and the saltine crackers on the bottom shelf. She tugged them out as if she were playing a game of Jenga. She stood back triumphantly. Success! She peeled the plastic from the napkins and set them on the table. “What else can I do for you?”

“I think I’m almost ready.”

Billy flailed his legs until his mom allowed him to slide down her body. His tiny feet hit the floor. He scampered toward the family room, tromping on the carpet with his mud-caked sneakers, picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

Mary Clare winced. Her husband—ex-husband, for all intents and purposes—would have freaked if their son had tracked dirt across the carpet. Henry wasn’t allowed to wear his shoes in the house. He wasn’t allowed to do a lot of things.

And neither was she.

“Did you see the cake?” Amanda tipped her head toward the dining room. “Come here,” she whispered. Half the dining room table was covered with piles of mail. On the other half was a magnificent multilayered cake frosted with chocolate icing, shaped into a dirt bike track.

“You made this? Wow. I know a lot of people who would pay big money for a fancy cake.”

Amanda dragged her hand down her long ponytail. “Well, around here, money’s tight. We do it ourselves. Turned out pretty darned good, huh?” She gently pressed the seat of the miniature dirt bike, sinking its wheels deeper into the frosting.

“I see Zach’s taking after my brother with the dirt bike stuff.” Mary Clare inspected the helmeted action figure straddling the toy dirt bike.

“It’s in his DNA.”

“But he’s only nine. My stomach does a whoop-de-whoop just thinking about him tearing around on a motorcycle.” She flattened her hand against her stomach and made a goofy face to go along with her goofy joke. “Don’t you worry?”

Amanda gave her one of those looks, the kind that said for someone supposedly so smart, you can be so stupid. Mary Clare had been the recipient of that look a zillion times since they had first met in kindergarten. As luck would have it, her best friend had married her brother, assuring her a lifetime of searing looks that left little room for interpretation. Mary Clare wouldn’t have it any other way. She took it as a sign of affection. She’d take it wherever she could get it nowadays.

“Don’t all moms worry about their kids? But man”—Amanda got a faraway look in her eyes—“he loves it. Loves it. He’s only ridden a few times. He doesn’t have a dirt bike. Yet. But you should see him ride. And your brother assured me it’ll keep our boys out of trouble as they get older if they’re busy racing and not hanging out on the streets.”

“You’re already thinking about putting this little guy on a bike?” She glanced over at Billy sitting by the glass sliders, drool running down his chin as he gnawed on a plastic chew toy that might have belonged to the dog that had died nine months ago.

“In time.” She licked a blob of frosting from the side of her hand, seemingly unconcerned as to how it got there.

“I guess I never thought about it that way. You’re braver than me. I’d be too nervous to let Henry ride.”

Amanda leveled a gaze at her. “You can’t be afraid of everything.”

Mary Clare leaned forward, resting her forearms on the back of the dining room chair, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I’ve already made one huge change. You can’t expect me to undergo a complete transformation in one short summer.”

“Why not? Be wild and crazy.” Amanda laughed. “You may never get this chance again.”

“I think I’d better be more cautious. All my choices to date have led me here. Divorced. Single mother.” Mary Clare lowered her gaze and rubbed her forearm. “And unemployed. All stellar accomplishments for someone who has just turned thirty-two.”

“We’re still young. I have faith in you. You’ll land a job by the end of summer.”

“The past decade as a stay-at-home mom hasn’t exactly been a resume builder.” She hated sounding like a Gloomy Gus, but she couldn’t help it.

The sound of little feet stomp-stomp-stomping across the kitchen floor snapped Mary Clare out of her pity party before she had a chance to throw black confetti.

Amanda patted her arm. “Let’s get out of here. I’m hoping Zach doesn’t find his cake. I want it to be a surprise.”

Back in the kitchen, Mary Clare stuffed plastic forks in a cup. “Where are the boys?”

Amanda braced her hands on the sink and peered out the window. “I’m not sure.”

Mary Clare glanced toward the backyard through the sliding glass doors. “Last time I looked, Henry and Zach were right here. Kicking the soccer ball around in the backyard.” A flutter of apprehension washed over Mary Clare. She set the cup down a little too forcefully and the forks tipped over. “Maybe they went out front.”

Amanda nudged Mary Clare’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. They’re probably riding bikes around the block. Remember when we did that? He’s fine.”

Everyone thought she kept too tight a rein on Henry, except Henry’s father who always accused her of being too lax.

Mary Clare strode past her friend. “Henry doesn’t know how to ride a bike.”

“Really?” Her face scrunched up in disbelief. “The boys are nine.”

“I know how old my son is.” Mary Clare hated feeling defensive. “His father tried to teach him how to ride a two-wheeler when he was five. They went out once and Henry never wanted to go again. He wasn’t ready.”

Or her ex was an impatient idiot.

Mary Clare pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the wide front porch of her brother’s bungalow-style home. She sucked in a breath, praying Henry would be hanging out on the porch, reading or playing a quiet game. The empty wicker couch made her heart plummet. She had grown up in a similar home down the street and had always loved sitting outside on the porch hunched over a good book or the latest gossip rag, dreaming of the places she’d go.

Far away from the town of Mills Crossing. Well, if you considered Buffalo far away. It was only sixty miles down the Thruway, but enough of a change from the small town that seemed to stifle her while she was growing up. If only she had known there was more than one way to feel smothered.

Shielding her eyes with her hand, Mary Clare searched up and down the tree-lined street. No sign of Henry or Zach. A tingling numbed her fingertips. She had never let Henry play out front without supervision at their home in Buffalo. She knew better. She watched America’s Most Wanted.

“They’re fine.” Amanda came up behind her with Billy on her hip.

The screen door crashed, making Mary Clare jump. If she heard one more they’re fine, she was going to Krazy Glue her friend’s mouth shut. “Where are they?”

“Zach rides around the block all the time.”

Mary Clare gritted her teeth. I never let Henry out of my sight.

Amanda pointed down the road and Billy batted at her hand. An I-told-you-so expression blossomed on her face. “There they are.”

A small shape on a bike and another one running after it appeared down the road. Yes! Mary Clare jogged down to the sidewalk and waited. Relief and anger warred for top billing in the never-do-that-again speech she was about to unleash on her son.

Zach’s skinny legs pumped like two pistons. He zipped past showing no signs of slowing down. He hit a black ramp at full speed, cleared the space and landed hard on the other ramp, plastic scraping pavement.

Zach slammed on the brakes, and the back end of the bike swung out. Her nephew’s eyes widened as if he had surprised himself. “Hi, Aunt MC.” He smiled, his two protruding front teeth assuring his parents many orthodontist visits in their future. He unstrapped his helmet and tugged it off. His hair stood up in sweaty tufts. “Did you see me clear the ramp?”

“Oh my goodness. I can’t believe you let him jump ramps.” Mary Clare pivoted to see Amanda walking across the lawn.

Her friend held up her palms. “Who do you think bought the ramps?”

“My brother?”

Amanda shook her head. “Nope. I found them at a garage sale.” She waved her hand as if Mary Clare were the ridiculous one. “Lighten up a little, MC. You can’t keep your son in bubble wrap all summer. Not if he plans on hanging out around here.”

“Henry’s not doing ramps, that’s for sure,” she muttered. Maybe spending the summer in Mills Crossing wasn’t such a hot idea. Her nerves couldn’t handle all this.

She plowed a shaky hand through her hair and turned to find Henry bent over, bracing his hands on his thighs, his breath coming out in raspy puffs. He lifted his head, his blue eyes snapping with excitement. “Did you see that, Mom?” Sweat matted his red hair at the temples.

“I did.” She held out her arms. Henry hesitated a second before letting her pull him into an embrace. Leaning over, she whispered into his ear, “Don’t get any ideas.” She gave him one last squeeze before he pulled away.

“I don’t even know how to ride a bike,” he whispered. The defeated look on his face made her want to wrap her arms around him again.

“You’ll learn.”

“I’m probably the only kid around here who can’t ride.” His freckles mushed together on his scrunched-up nose.

Mary Clare hiked her chin. “Forget about that and listen to me.” She crouched down, grasped his forearms and looked him squarely in the eyes. “Don’t ever take off like that again.”

“We only went around the block.” Henry’s golly-gee-whiz tone had become more common since his dad was out of the picture. “Zach’s allowed to do it. And I’m two months older.” He set his jaw and glared at her, offering her a glimpse of the surly preteen inside. Gone were the chubby cheeks of his preschool days. A fist squeezed her heart. She missed her little man.

Too much had changed.

She kissed the crown of his head and the smell of little-boy sweat and sunscreen tickled her nose. “Next time ask me before you take off.” She ruffled his hair and tried to catch his eye, to make him smile.

“Mom,” Henry groaned.

“My job is to keep you safe. Your job is to listen to me. Okay?”

Disgust flashed across her son’s face. If she hadn’t seen that exact same look on her ex-husband’s face more times than she cared to count, she might not have recognized it for what it was. She was about to scold Henry when he smiled—the smile kids force when told to say “cheese” when they really don’t want their picture taken.

She made a split-second decision to let it go. Not one for making excuses for her son’s behavior, she decided having to move out of the only home he’d ever known was as good of an excuse as he’d ever get to act out.

“Why don’t you and Zach go in and wash your hands. Uncle Bill will be back soon with the pizza.”

“Pizza!” Zach dropped his bike on the lawn and bolted toward the front door. Henry fell in step behind him.

They raced up the steps and Amanda called out to Zach. “Take your little brother.”

Zach groaned, but ran back and grabbed Billy from his mother all the same. Such a good kid. The three kids disappeared inside. Mary Clare let her shoulders fall and exhaled a heavy sigh.

“Embrace the possibilities,” she mumbled, her new mantra. Too bad the mantra had yet to stick.

The deep rumble of a vehicle vibrated through her legs and chest. A dark green pickup truck with a faulty muffler slowed and turned up the driveway. The Green Machine. Could it be? Mary Clare squinted, but the sunlight reflecting off the windshield hid the driver. There could only be one truck as ugly as that and it should come as no surprise that her brother was still hanging around his high school buddies.

Her brother’s car pulled in behind the pickup.

“Yes, they got it.” Amanda clapped her hands and bounced on the balls of her feet, getting her former cheerleader glee on. But her stained T-shirt and elastic-waist shorts screamed mommy wardrobe.

Bill climbed out of his car and gave his wife a kiss on the nose, a gesture so pure and innocent Mary Clare had a hard time believing this was her brother, three years older and her chief tormentor throughout their childhood.

“Hey, MC,” Bill said before he took his wife’s hand and led her to the bed of the pickup truck that held a dirt bike. A little dirt bike built for a nine-year-old.

“You’re crazy.” Mary Clare stared at the knobby tires. Absolutely crazy.

Amanda reached out and grabbed Mary Clare’s wrist. “Go inside and make sure Zach stays there until they unload the bike. And please check on Billy. Zach probably forgot about him.”

Mary Clare strode toward the front porch, happy to get away, but not before glancing over her shoulder at the pickup. The driver had stepped out and closed the door. He wore blue jeans and a white T-shirt. His brown hair curled around his baseball cap, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. He smiled at her, a familiar smile that made her feel fourteen again. She couldn’t help but smile in return. Prickly heat washed over her.

Mary Clare turned and tripped up the bottom step on the porch. She grabbed the railing with one hand and flattened her other hand on the cement step, but kept her eyes glued on the screen door thinking maybe if she didn’t turn around, no one would have noticed. Straightening, she raced up the remaining steps and disappeared inside. Closing her eyes briefly in the foyer, she realized she had just made a fool of herself.

As she brushed the small stones from her hands after her embarrassing stumble, she realized another thing: Jesse Thorpe looked as good now as he did back in high school. Maybe better.