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not as tight as it would’ve been in our huggy-kissy teenage days, but it’s comfortable all the same. “Good to see you in something other than digital form,” I tell him.
    He sets me at arm’s length and smiles big enough that I can see his front teeth aren’t crooked anymore; he must have fixed them with all that Becker money. His hair is higher up his scalp but still all in sandy curls that never stay combed right. My hand wants to reach up and brush that one curl back in place. His face crinkles up more when he smiles.
    I’m sure I look different to him, too.
    “Yeah, e-mails aren’t quite the same as living color,” he says. “You look wonderful.”
    “Well, thank you, I –”
    “Will.” A tiny brunette has appeared seemingly from nowhere. “Maddie’s tired. We ought to be getting home.”
    Beck clears his throat. “Sam, this is my old friend Anna Geneva. Anna, this is my wife, Samantha.”
    “How do you do?” I say. I start to extend my hand, but Samantha has already nodded and turned away from me, so I take my outstretched hand up and fiddle with a curl, as if I’d intended to do that all along.
    “Will, we need to go. She’s falling asleep on Aunt Tabi.”
    “I thought I might stay a while, do some catching up.”
    “She likes to have you read her a story.”
    “If she’s that tired, she won’t even notice I’m not there.”
    “She hates breaks in her routine.” Samantha has folded her arms and gone all taut. The elder Beckers and I now pretend to be invisible and deaf, looking at the grass, the lake, anywhere but at the young couple or each other’s eyes.
    After a long moment, Beck says, “I guess I’d better go. Catch you later, Mom and Dad. Anna?”
    I come back to life again, looking at him directly and avoiding Samantha’s face.
    He says, “It was good to see you. Maybe I’ll . . . Anyway. Bye.”
    Samantha leads the way across the grass and Beck follows with his hands in his pockets.
    Mrs. Becker twirls her wedding ring, watching them go.
    “So,” I say brightly. “How nice about Amy and Paul.”
    “Yes,” William Becker Sr. says. “We’re pleased to welcome her into the family. Too bad we couldn’t have had you, too.” He leans in to take my elbow and peck me on the cheek, and then he’s off across the lawn, his own wife in tow.
    I glimpse Cami striding toward me across the grass, waving one long arm and balancing a huge plate of food on the other, but I turn my gaze back to the retreating form of Mr. Becker. Too bad we couldn’t have had you, too? What an odd thing to say to your married son’s old high school love.

Chapter 8
    Maeve
    W ithout Anna here, the store rings with silence. Even the customers talk less when there’s only me here. Funny, she’s only been home a week and already I’m used to her presence again. And now that Cami comes in, too, picking up her old job as if she’d only taken a few days off, the Nee Nance Store is feeling more like home than it has in years.
    Just as I’m about to lose it.
    When Randy finally finishes scratching off his instant ticket—leaving the discarded cardboard and silver scrapings all over the counter, the dust of his irrational hope—I am truly alone in the store.
    I finally get to read Robert’s letter. I promised Anna I wouldn’t respond; I never said I wouldn’t read it.
Oh Maeve, my dearest Maeve Callahan, I’ve missed you and couldn’t wait for you to write again. I just had to tell you something exciting. You know Charley? I mentioned him in the last letter? Turns out he’s got some property up north in Michigan! We worked out a deal, and get this, sweetness—at last I’m going to build you that house. Can you believe it? The one I always promised you?
We’re going to be coming up in August to check things out up there, and I hope you’ll agree to meet me then. I know I have a lot to say, a lot to make up for, and we’ll talk about it, I promise.
I’m a new man, finally deserving of