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you didn’t pry.
    “Your brother has an open mind,” he continued. “You get Tuck some soup. I’m going to go start a fire in the sweat lodge.”
    “Not in those wet things you’re not.”
    “Woman,” Ridley growled. “I know you get bossy when you’re upset, so I’m not going to fight with you. Heat your brother some
     soup. I’ll be back in a minute.”
    Ridley disappeared out the back door, leaving Tuck alone with his second oldest sister. Evie turned her back on him, went
     to the refrigerator, pulled out a plastic container of homemade chicken noodle soup, and stuck it in the microwave to heat.
    Tuck sat dripping water all over her kitchen floor and shivering into the blanket. “I’m sorry, Evie. It wasn’t my intention
     to upset you. It was just … I couldn’t stop … Aimee.”
    She shuddered and tears gleamed in her hazel eyes. “Tuck, I know you’re still grieving, especially today, but I can’t bear
     to think of what would have happened if we hadn’t come along when we did. I don’t mean to lecture, but it’s been two years.
     At some point, you’ve got to let go of Aimee. You know she wouldn’t want you to keep hanging on, jeopardizing your own life.”
    Tuck drew in a shaky breath as the gravity of the situation hit him. He
had
almost died tonight, and he didn’t even know how he felt about it.
    “You’ve been doing so well lately, and I’d thought you were finally healing and—” The microwave timer dinged, and Evie broke
     off what she was saying. She took out the soup, plucked a spoon from the silverware drawer, and slid the Tupperware bowl across
     the table toward him.
    Grateful for the soup, Tuck reached out for it as Ridley came in the back door. “The sweat lodge is ready,” he said. “You
     can bring the soup with you.”
    He got up, holding the bowl, and followed his brother-in-law into the backyard toward a white domed structure with a small
     hole in the roof. A thin plume of gray smoke swirled through the opening, sending the smell of mesquite into the air.
    “Go in and take off all your clothes,” Ridley instructed. “Sit down on the bearskin rug, and breathe in the smoke. Make your
     mind empty. Pick a word that resonates with you. A mantra like love, peace, serenity. Repeat it over and over as you breathe
     slow and deep. Stay in here until you have a vision.”
    “You’re not coming in with me?” Tuck met his brother-in-law’s eyes.
    “This is your vision quest. You’re the one who’s searching for meaning, my friend.”
    “Umm … from what I can tell, there is no meaning.”
    “Exactly. Now go find it.” Ridley gave him a shove. “I’m tired of your sister fretting about you. It’s time you took responsibility
     for your own healing.”
    Anger crouched inside Tuck, a tiger ready to spring, but he knew Ridley was right. He’d worried Evie long enough. Who knew,
     maybe a vision quest was precisely what he needed. “I … How will I know if I’m doing it right?”
    “Let whatever happens be okay,” Ridley said cryptically. Then he turned and went back into the house.
    Tuck ducked into the sweat lodge. There was a small fire in the middle of the room and radiant sauna stones circling the fire
     pit. Other than bearskin rugs, quilted blankets, and oversized throw pillows, the place was empty. But there were stereo speakers
     bolted to the walls, and they spilled low, steady sounds of Native American Indian drumming.
    He stripped off the wet clothes. The temperature in the sweat lodge climbed. His primary objective was warmth and dryness.
     He didn’t give a damn about a vision quest.
    The bearskin rug tickled his naked butt. He sat cross-legged in front of the fire. Smoke swirled upward, funneling through
     the flue and out the hole in the roof.
    Johnny Walker Red was still doing a number on his head. He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.
    Let whatever happens be okay
.
    He sipped the soup, feeling the liquid warm him up inside. He sat and