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find a princess or something and marry her,” Gracie suggested. “A princess who likes sports so she could buy lots of stuff at the store. And then maybe we could live in a castle. A big stone castle—” She cut herself off and handed Evan her towel. “Uh-uh. I don’t want to live in a castle,” she said, her expression pinched. “Brush my hair out, Daddy—and don’t pull, okay?”
    â€œI never pull.” So she didn’t want to live in a castle, he thought, hauling himself to his feet. He hung her towel over the rack, reached for her hairbrush and carefully brushed the snarls out of her hair, easing the bristles through the damp locks without tugging. He’d assumed most little girls wanted to live in castles, but then, Gracie wasn’t like most little girls. “I don’t think I’d want to marry a princess, anyway,” he told her.
    She relaxed. “You don’t have to get married, Daddy. But if you do, you should probably marry Heather.”
    â€œThanks for the input.” He and Heather would kill each other in a day, he thought with a smile. Heather was a wonderful secretary, but she was not his idea of promising wife material.
    Her hair smooth, Gracie brushed her teeth, then padded barefoot down the hall to bed. Evan tucked her in and turned off her bedside lamp. “I want my night-light,” she said.
    That surprised him. She’d stopped asking him to leave on her night-light a year ago. But whatever had bothered her yesterday was still nibbling at her.
    â€œOkay,” he said, clicking on the shell-shaped night-light. It gave the room a faint amber glow. “How’s that?”
    â€œGood. I love you, Daddy.”
    â€œI love you, too,” he murmured, returning to her bed to give her one last kiss. “Sleep tight.”
    Leaving her door cracked open, he headed down the hall to the den. Billy was sprawled on the rug in front of the TV, watching a sitcom about extraordinarily attractive young singles. “Bedtime, pal,” Evan said, because it was easier than telling him to stop watching shows in which three-quarters of the jokes had to do with sex or other bodily functions. He reached for his briefcase, hauled out the binder of Pep Insoles information Jennifer had given him and gave Billy a firm look.
    Slowly, grudgingly, Billy hoisted himself off the floor and stretched. He trudged toward the doorway, but Evan caught his shoulder and held him back. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asked.
    â€œYeah.” Billy stared at the sofa.
    â€œBecause you can tell me anything, Billy. If anything’s bothering you, if there’s anything you want to ask me, that’s what I’m here for.”
    Billy lifted his gaze to Evan. “Everything’s okay,” he said, sounding less certain than grateful. Everything wasn’t okay, but at least he seemed appreciative of his father’s attempt to reach him.
    â€œWhen you want to talk, Billy, let me know.”
    â€œIt’s okay, Dad. Really.” He smiled, flashing a gap where one of his front teeth was missing. Evan released him, and he clomped down the hall, his feet too big for his body.
    Maybe Billy would open up to Evan, and maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, Evan’s heart swelled with love andrattled with anxiety. Should he hire help? Find a nanny? Find a wife? Badger his kids until they told him what was bugging them?
    Molly had told him he was a wonderful father. But sometimes—far too often—he wasn’t so sure.

CHAPTER THREE
    T HANK GOODNESS the gas company had come through. The house had grown so cold Sunday night that Filomena had gone to bed wearing a nightgown, a turtleneck, a cardigan and knee-high socks, and she’d burrowed under two blankets, one down, one wool. Even with all that she’d awakened shivering before dawn. She could have built a fire in the living-room fireplace—if she