“Don’t you agree it’s pretty suspicious?”

“I agree it’s pretty personal and none of your business.”

“Well, jeez,” she said. “Not like he’s here to question, now, is it.”

“You heard me,” Sully returned emphatically.

* * *

When Cal had been gone three weeks, Maggie wasn’t sure how long she could continue to drive him from her mind with hard work and outdoor activities like hiking. She began to slow down. But just to reassure her the universe was not yet on her side, she saw a familiar black Lincoln move slowly up the drive toward the store.

She looked skyward. “Really?” she asked God. “Like this wasn’t enough?” Then she hollered, “Dad!”

Her father came running out of the store, a hunk of his turkey sandwich still hanging out of his mouth. He stuffed it back in before he could speak. “What the hell, Maggie?”

She pointed a shaking finger at the car. “Phoebe and Walter.”

Sully chewed and swallowed. “Well, that took ’em longer than I thought it would. Brace yourself, Maggie. They’re here to do war.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Phoebe hasn’t been near this place since she left and took you with her thirty years ago. Hell just froze over.”

Walter parked the big car beside the store and got out. He walked toward the porch, alone. “Where’s Mother?” Maggie asked.

“I decided to come on my own. Don’t you think she must have run out of things to say by now?”

“Highly doubtful,” Maggie said.

“Hey there, Walter,” Sully said. “Want lunch?”

“That sounds great, Sully.”

“Ham or turkey?” he asked.

“Turkey. Thanks.”

Walter came up on the porch. He wore yellow golf pants with a peach collared shirt and white sweater. He was a handsome man, she’d give her mother that. Phoebe had had two husbands and both were fine-looking men. Sully was stockier and had those strong arms and shoulders; Walter was reed-thin with silver hair and a surgeon’s long, slim fingers.

“Can we sit?” Walter finally asked.

“Yes. Right. Listen,” she said while she was taking her chair. “I’m sorry about the money, Walter. All the money you invested in my education and career and—”

“Maggie, do you think I came here to talk about money? I thought maybe we could have a conversation without your mother. Doctor to doctor?”

Maggie frowned. This was rare with Walter. “Where does Mother think you are?”

“The club. Where else would I be?” Then he grinned like a naughty little boy.

Maggie could count on one hand the number of times she’d had a serious and private conversation with her stepfather, yet each one had been meaningful. It wasn’t just that Phoebe rarely gave him time to speak, though that was often the case. On top of that, Walter was hardly verbose. And he was relatively soft-spoken. They loved working with him in the operating room. While other surgeons were swearing and throwing things, Walter was saying please and thank you.

Sometimes it seemed as if Walter saved himself for those important messages while Sully spit out weighty and sarcastic wisdom all day long.

“Here you go,” Sully said, putting a tray on the porch table. There were two wrapped sandwiches, two prepared and wrapped green salads with a packet of dressing and fork enclosed, two bags of chips and two bottled teas. “I’ll leave you alone to talk...”

“Join us, Sully,” Walter said. Then he looked at their surroundings. “This is a nice place. Quiet. Comfortable.”