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I’ll be grounded ’til fall.”
    Grounded ’til fall? Grace could live with being grounded ’til fall. As punishments went, that would be easy.

Chapter 3

    Michael Barr was revered in Leyland. A family practitioner before family practitioners had come back into vogue, he had spent his entire career in the town. He was the doctor of record for three generations of local families, and had their undying loyalty as a reward.
    He owned a pale blue Victorian house just off the town green. It was the same house where Deborah and Jill had grown up, and while Michael had always run his practice from the adjacent cottage, both structures had grown over the years. The last of the work, to the cottage, was done eight years before as a lure for Deborah to join the practice.
    In truth, she hadn’t needed much encouragement. She adored her father and loved seeing the pride on his face when she was accepted into medical school and again when she agreed to work with him. She was the son he’d never had, and, besides, she and Greg were already living in Leyland, which made it convenient. Grace was six, born shortly before Deborah started medical school, and, by the time her residency was done, she was pregnant with Dylan. Her mother, a born nurturer, would have provided child care in a minute had Deborah and Greg not already employed the de Sousas. Lívia served as a sitter, Adinaldo a handyman, and there were de Sousa relatives to do gardening, roofing, and plumbing. Lívia still stopped by to clean and make dinner, and since Deborah’s mother died, the de Sousas did similar chores for her father. He wasn’t as enamored of them as she was, but then, no one could measure up to Ruth Barr.
    Juggling her medical bag, bakery bag, and coffee, Deborah picked up the morning paper and went in the side door of the house. The accident would definitely be reported in the local weekly on Thursday. But in today’s
Boston Globe
? She prayed not.
    There was no sign of her father in the kitchen—no coffee percolating, no waiting mug or bagel on a napkin beside it. She guessed that he had overslept again. Since Ruth died, he had taken to watching old movies in the den until he was sure he could fall asleep without her.
    Deborah set her things on the kitchen table and, not for the first time, wished her father would bend enough to accept a pastry from Jill’s shop. People drove miles for her signature pecan buns, SoMa Stickies. But not Michael. Coffee and a supermarket bagel. That was all he wanted.
    She hated the thought of telling him about Jill’s pregnancy.
    “Daddy?”
Deborah called in the front hall and approached the stairs.
“Are you up?”
    She heard nothing at first, then the creak of a chair. Cutting through the living room, she found her father in the den, sitting with his head in his hands, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes.
    Discouraged, she knelt by his knee. “You never made it to bed?”
    He looked at her with red-rimmed eyes, disoriented at first. “Guess not,” he managed, running a hand through his hair. It had gone pure white since his wife’s death. He claimed it gave him new authority with his patients, but Deborah thought he was something of an autocrat already.
    “You have an early patient,” she reminded him now. “Want to shower while I put on coffee?” When he didn’t move, she felt a twinge of concern. “Are you okay?”
    “A headache is all.”
    “Aspirin?” she offered meekly. It was a standing joke. They knew all the current meds, but aspirin remained their default.
    He shot her something that was as much a grimace as a smile, but took her hand and let himself be helped up. As soon as he left the room, Deborah noticed the whiskey bottle and empty glass. Hurriedly, she put the bottle back in the liquor cabinet and took the highball glass to the kitchen.
    While she waited for the coffee to perk, she sliced his bagel, then called the hospital. Calvin McKenna remained in stable condition. This was