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paper—an adult version of a tree house. This was to be the home he and his wife would live in for the rest of their lives. But the house was empty now. Sherrie had moved out a month ago, taking with her not only their teenage daughter, but most of what was left of his heart. Since that time, he and his brother had knocked around the place like two aimless drifters, coming together occasionally for meals and then going their separate ways.
    As Randy cut the motor and got out, his cell phone rang. Flipping it open, he leaned against the front fender and said hello.
    â€œRandy, it’s Del. We got a problem.”
    â€œYou mean the drunk driving thing? I’ve already heard. I don’t think it will be a big issue. Happened too long ago.”
    â€œNot that. Something else. We gotta talk—and not on the phone.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œNow. Where are you?”
    â€œI just got home.”
    â€œStay there. I’m not far away. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
    Randy removed his briefcase from the backseat, stopped for a moment to make sure he’d brought home one particular file, then headed up the walk to the front door. It was a cool spring evening, the sky above him a vault of deep blue. Loosening his tie, he dashed up the stairs to the silent kitchen and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. On his way out to the deck, he checked to see if he had any voice mail messages. There was no blinking red light.
    Randy thought about going down to the deck off the living room with his drink. His favorite chaise was down there, but he decided against it. Upstairs, he could watch the sun set over the meadow. Besides, Del would be here soon. Ethan was probably around somewhere, up in his room watching TV, or down in his workshop working on a bird feeder. He sold them at the local hardware store. Not that he needed the money. Randy made more money than he knew what to do with. He’d offered the house to his wife, but she didn’t want it—probably because she didn’t want anything that reminded her of him.
    Randy was angry, but then he had a right to be. His carefully constructed life had come apart and he didn’t even know why. He’d been a faithful husband, a good father. Sure, he was moody sometimes, but who the hell wasn’t.
    Hearing footsteps on the deck stairs, he glanced down at the three-stall garage, but the only car in the drive was his own. It had to be his brother. Except when he looked over at the steps, the man coming up wasn’t Ethan. “Larry?” said Randy, standing, surprise and delight spreading across his face.
    â€œIf it ain’t the professor,” said Larry with a grin.
    They grabbed each other, slapped backs, then moved apart.
    â€œLet me look at you,” said Larry, holding Randy at arm’s length. “How you been, man? Seems like life’s been treatin’ you pretty good. Where’s Sherrie? I got a present for her. A new perfume she’s gonna love.”
    Randy wiped a hand across his mouth. “She left me.”
    â€œNo. When?”
    â€œA month ago.”
    â€œFuck, man, that stinks.” He knocked Randy on the shoulder. “She’ll be back.”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œSure she will. Listen, I’m six months older than you are, boy. Trust your elders. She’ll be back. Hey, maybe I should go talk to her. Me and Sherrie are tight. I could put in a good word for you.
    â€œI don’t think so. She’s pretty angry right now.”
    â€œWell, then, best to give her some time to cool off.”
    Randy leaned against the railing, studying his old friend. Larry was rail thin inside his leather biker jacket. He had a graying pony tail, a long Fu Manchu mustache, and a surly look on his long, pockmarked face. “What are you doing in Minnesota?”
    â€œJust travelin’ through. I got sick of the heat, thought I’d come see my old