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didn’t appear to understand, but the mention of their former residence made him fold in on himself, his body dwarfing the wide leather seat.
    Nick took a right onto a closely coiled road. Switchbacks, turns, drop-offs into a rounded bowl of forest. Trees like a million skewers down there.
    “Nick?” Harlan said, and snuffed in deep.
    “Yeah?”
    “No more, okay?”
    The SUV clung to the edge of the road as if glued. “Sure, Harlan.”
    Harlan extended his fist, settling it around Nick’s upper arm. His thumb met his fingertips on the other side of Nick’s biceps. Nick tried to shake him off, but he didn’t stand a chance.
    It had never really occurred to him before, what would happen if Harlan turned his might against Nick, instead of allowing Nick to use it. The thought was so surprising that even as Harlan bore down, Nick didn’t feel any anger mounting. That horizon lay far off in the distance, enabling him to focus on the matter at hand.
    So long as their goals stayed aligned, everything would be fine. He and Harlan both wanted to get away. No more and no less.
    The car swerved, difficult to maneuver while thus encumbered. Dirt and dry leaf matter skittered under the tires, and the SUV lurched dangerously close to a sheer drop into the valley.
    Nick braked. He let his gaze meet Harlan’s, tilting up his neck.
    “Yeah, okay,” he said. He would’ve agreed to just about anything so long as it brought Harlan back in line. Whether he meant it or not. “I promise. No more.”
    Harlan released him and settled back in his seat, making the whole car rock.
    “Now come on,” Nick said, rubbing his arm. “Help me look.”
    Harlan turned his head. “Look for what?”
    Nick spotted lights shining from a house of wood and glass that sat high on a rise. He braked, then let the SUV roll back, coming to a stop behind an overhang of sweeping fir boughs. Nick made sure the vehicle was completely concealed. Then he peered out between the branches, watching as the house gazed back at him.
    “That,” Nick said.

CHAPTER THREE
    S andy poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot she’d brewed earlier, aware that her hand was shaking. The coffee was dark and dense from sitting too long. It would probably only worsen her nerves. She pushed the cup away, sloshing black liquid onto the counter.
    Where had Ivy’s accusation come from? It had been like lying on a tropical beach, then all of a sudden getting hit by a tsunami. The one thing Sandy prided herself on and relied upon was the harmony of her family. Even the sudden onslaught of teenage moodiness consisted mostly of Ivy sequestering herself away in her room under a sullen cloud that never quite burst.
    It was a precarious way to live, Sandy realized. Pending storms eventually arrived.
    But the charge Ivy had hurled was absurd. Sandy had treasured her daughter from the moment she was born, and worked hard to weave closeness between the two of them. She’d never lied to Ivy—not even taking advantage of the shortcuts all parents used: substituting a
maybe
when the answer was clearly
no way,
or promising that the goldfish was going to live.
    Now Sandy was glad that Ben wasn’t home yet, caught up with some last minute booking probably. She wouldn’t have wanted him here for what had just taken place.
    Sandy got down off the stool she’d been perched on, and glanced upward at the ceiling. It was quiet up there, just the slow breathing of an occupied house. Sandy could picture Ivy stretched out on her bed, earbuds inserted, Mac lying below her on the floor since he was no longer able to clamber up. She turned toward the wide set of glass doors. A sinking orange globule of sun trembled on the horizon.
    Sandy’s breath began to level out. Storms came, yes, but they also blew over.
    She heard the grit of wheels on gravel and went out to greet Ben.
    —
    Stepping outside was like a plunge into cold water. Sandy wrapped her arms around herself. “It must’ve dropped