When did the falls grow so cold? Robert wondered as he reached for his gloves. Snow hadn’t seemed to bother him this much when he was younger; ice and sleet were mere inconveniences, not such de ep annoyances, and certainly not so bone chilling. Sighing, he reached for his hat. The driver was already warming the car when the phone rang. “It’s a Mr. Van Horn,” his butler, Royce, said with a lift of a questioning brow. Robert’s heart nearly stopped. Maybe there was news. “I’ll take it in the den,” he said and felt his hands begin to sweat. Each time Van Horn called with a r eport, Robert’s spirits soared and he experienced the same sense of anticipation he used to feel whenever he’d won a particularly challenging or expensive case, or the first time he’d called a new young woman to add to his string of mistresses. “Yes?” “Good news.” Neils Van Horn’s voice was smug, and Robert, still holding the receiver to his ear, sank into his desk chair. “What?” “I think I’m close.” Disappointment choked off his premature euphoria. “You think?” “Let me be more specific. I’m in some podunk town in Montana. And believe me, I’m freezin’ my ass off here.” “What’s in Montana?” he hardly dared to ask. “My grandson?” He thought he heard a soft chuckle. “It’s not quite that easy, but Daegan O’Rourke owns a spread up in the foothills of the mountains—” “O’Rourke? What’s he got to do with this?” “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Robert listened as Van Horn filled him in on Bibi’s recent trip to San Francisco, and with each word he felt a mixture of elation and dread. O’Rourke had always been bad news, never good. If it weren’t for Frank’s bastard, Stuart would be alive today... Oh, Stuart, why, why, why? The old familiar emptiness caused him to hang his head. He felt like a husk of the man he was supposed to become, the man who had st epped into his dead brother’s shoes oh so willingly dozens of years before. What would William have done? he wondered as Van Horn prattled on. In these last few weeks, ever since his doctor’s prognosis, he’d thought about William more than he should have and realized what a great disservice he’d done to his older brother. “... I’m not certain why they’re in cahoots, but I’m going to find out.” “Wait a minute. Beatrice and O’Rourke?” he r epeated, his wandering attention back on track. “What could they possibly have in common?” “That’s what I intend to find out. I’ll call ya as soon as I know anything.” With that, the phone clicked and he was gone. For the first time since he’d decided to find his grandson, Robert sensed a coming doom, a reckoning that he hadn’t expected. It caused ice to form in the marrow of his bones, but he slid his arthritic fingers into the smooth leather of his gloves. He’d weathered storms before, personal tragedies that had nearly ripped his heart out. Whatever Van Horn uncovered, he and the family would be able to withstand the shock, but he couldn’t help thinking of
Pandora unlocking her box and releasing chaos. “Stand firm,” he muttered to himself as he made his way to the garage. “Stay the course.” He passed by a crucifix mounted near the back door. Crossing himself with the deft moves of one whose sixty-odd years were blessed by the church, he tasted the bitterness of hypocrisy on his tongue and heard the vague and discordant ring of ruin in his ears. “Where’s Daddy?” Wade’s eager eyes, as blue as her own, stared into Alicia’s. At eight he was tall for his age, blond, and incredibly bright. That s a good question, Alicia thought. “He’s going to meet us at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.” Leaning on one knee, she adjusted his bow tie, made sure it was straight under his chin, then eyed his suitcoat, sweater, slacks, and shirt. Perfect. Such a little prince. Starched and pressed, his dress shoes shined to an impossible gloss. God, he was cute. She was thankful for all of Wade’s attributes because she never wanted to go through the hell of pregnancy again. It had taken a year of diet, exercise, and appointments with the right plastic surgeons to return her body to its normal size four. “How come he doesn’t live here anymore?” “He, does, honey, but his work in Washington ke eps him there a lot. He’ll be here for the whole weekend.” She smiled, pretending not to grit her teeth, pretending that Wade’s father was a faithful husband and loving daddy. It didn’t matter anyway. Her marriage to Bryan had been a sham from the beginning, and she’d gotten what she wanted out of it, a son. A perfect, brilliant son who was her whole life, a son who would someday be in charge of all the Sullivan holdings. A son far superior to Stuart or Collin or anyone else. So Bryan could screw his brains out with his little secretary and she didn’t give a damn. “Come on, the driver is waiting,” she said, smoothing a stubborn cowlick in Wade’s hair. “We’re going to have a good time and Daddy will be there.” If he wasn’t, if that son of a bitch disappointed his son again, then she’d just have to get rid of him. He wasn’t going to hurt Wade. No one was. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bibi said as she tossed back the rest of her champagne and left her fluted glass on a wicker table. She was trapped, cornered by Collin, who had torn himself away from his reed- thin and wary wife to confront her in the sunroom of his parents’ home. Dusk crowded into the room, and outside, through a hundred panes of glass, the snow blanketing the flagstone veranda and Maureen’s once-lush gardens had melted only to refreeze as the sun set. Patches of grass speared through the white mantle, and icicles, looking like the jagged teeth of a huge crystal beast, hung from the eaves and dripped ever so slowly as the hours ticked by. The first beams of pale moonlight bounced off the ice crystals that had formed over the fountains and bird baths and gave a silver sheen to the darkened room. Bibi shivered, wishing she could leave, but Collin, her once-precious savior, now stood leaning against the door, barricading it with his slim body. He seemed to have lost weight in the past few weeks, his skin appeared paler than normal, and his eyes had sunken de ep into his head, as if he were in the throes of some kind of fever. Bibi had chalked up his declining appearance to the divorce that was whispered about between family members. Alicia had told Bibi weeks ago that Collin’s marriage was on the rocks, that Carrie was demanding a divorce and that Frank was fit to be tied that his son was even considering breaking the union. There was even scuttlebutt about Collin being written out of the will, but Bibi dismissed that bit of news as malicious gossip or misplaced optimism on Alicia’s part.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Bibi,” Collin warned, glaring at her with intense eyes. “It’s not your style, and even if it was, I can read you like a book.” “Can you?” “Christ, yes!” He closed his eyes a second, leaned his head against the aging panels of the door. He seemed tormented, his face a mask of pain as he sighed. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do here, and—” “I’m not doing anything,” she said, wishing she hadn’t left her cigarettes in her purse in the kitchen. God, she needed a smoke. Muttering a curse under his breath, he stared at the edge of a Persian carpet, then raised his eyes to meet her gaze. “I know about the baby.” “That’s hardly earth-shattering news, Collin. Everyone in the family knows now. Van Horn and my father have seen to it.” “Yes,” he admitted, his lips curling in on themselves as if he were in de ep concentration. “But no one else knows who the father is.” In voluntarily, she started. Collin knew? Oh, God. Fear congealed in her heart. “Everyone bought your lie, Bibi, until now. Until Van Horn started nosing around and discovered that there was no Roy Panaker. Now the family’s guessing—who was Bibi sle eping with?” His nostrils flared as if he smelled something foul, and the drip of the icicles seemed louder in the ensuing silence. “Wha—what are you talking about?” Collin’s patience was obviously worn thin. “I know the real reason you don’t want the boy found. It isn’t just because of Kyle and your intentions of marrying again. Nope.” Shaking his head, he pierced her with his cold blue gaze. “This goes de eper, doesn’t it?” Her insides crumbled. How had he known? Oh, God, her world was falling apart and she didn’t even have a goddamned cigarette. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell me, you know.” Hands flat against the door, hips pressed into the varnished panels, he stared at her in awe. “I—I could have helped.” So here was the old Collin she remembered, the hero of her girlhood, the boy who had gotten his suit pants wet in Grandma’s creek and taken a beating for it. “I couldn’t tell anyone,” she whispered, knowing that even now, she had to protect her secret. “But it was my responsibility. Bibi. You shouldn’t have borne all this shame alone.” “Your what?” Again she felt as if she was missing something— something vital. “I know when the baby was born and about the time he was conceived. Oh, Christ—” He rolled his eyes skyward. “This is hard, but I guess it has to be said.” Stiffening his spine, he said, “You don’t have to pretend, at least not with me. I know the boy is mine.” “Yours?” she whispered, disbelieving. Not only was the world starting to spin off course but a loud roar began to thunder in her ears. “You think he’s yours?” “From the night in the pool house—” “No!”
“No?” It was his turn to be stunned. “But—” Consternation darkened his features. “Then whose?” “I’ve told everyone. Roy—” “Bullshit, Bibi! I was there.” “Do you remember anything about that night?” she asked. Did he really believe that he and she had...? “Yes. Hell, I’ve lived with it all this time.” He shoved both hands through his hair and finally straightened away from the door, as if he knew that his words were strong enough to hold her prisoner now. He no longer had to resort to physically restraining her. Unnerved, he sank into a Queen Anne chair near a wicker and glass table. “God, Bibi, I’m sorry. Stu and I —” “Were shits, I know.” She didn’t need to be reminded of her humiliation at their hands. “But it’s more than that.” Dropping his head into his palms, he sat still, as if he couldn’t move, as if life had ceased to go on. “I would have done anything he asked, you know, and when he suggested that you and I... well, go at it so that he could watch, I argued with him.” “But still you went along,” she said, the old pain climbing up her throat and threatening to choke her. She couldn’t hide the condemnation in her voice, the anger that knotted her stomach. “Did you have any idea that I was in love with you?” His shoulders slumped farther. “Did you?” “Yes,” he said in the smallest of whispers, his voice tortured. “And still you used me.” “For him. I know it doesn’t explain things, but you don’t understand how much I wanted to please him.” “Even if you hurt me?” Raising his head finally, he stared at her with agonized eyes. “Believe me, I never wanted to cause you any kind of pain. In my own way I did love you, it... it just wasn’t what you wanted it to be. Eventually, I agreed.” “Because Stuart thought it would be a good idea.” Her stomach curdled. “Stu—he liked to watch.” Collin blinked hard. “So you performed like some trained puppy?” She started backing away, furious with him, with herself. Her hands coiled into fists, and her fingernails dug into the heels of her hands. “You spineless bastard, I don’t believe—” “You don’t understand. I loved him, Bibi. And not the same way I cared about you. I mean I really loved him—would have done anything, anything he asked.” “That’s not love, that’s sick,” she whispered, hardly believing what she was hearing, silently praying that he would stop, but Collin seemed, after over fifteen years, to need her forgiveness. “When he died, a part of me died with him. I just wanted him to love me back.” “Oh, God.” Revulsion spit through her as the full impact of what he was saying hit her in the gut. Suddenly every disjointed piece of her youth, of her friendship with Stuart and Collin, fell neatly into place. Her exclusion hadn’t been just an adolescent macho thing—it had been sexual as well. Stu and Collin had been lovers and they’d let her think, encouraged her to believe, that she could... Bile climbed up her throat and she nearly wretched. Oh, sweet Jesus, no! “Just like you wanted me to love you,” Collin explained. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear this,” she said, backing away. She died inside remembering how much she loved him, how she’d always believed de ep in her heart that if they hadn’t been cousins, that there would have been a chance
with him. Why hadn’t she known? And with Stuart. How they must have laughed at her naive and simple attempts at seducing Collin! “That was the reason I couldn’t perform at first,” he went on, as if unburdening himself to a priest while she was still reeling from the magnitude of his secret. “Until I saw Stu standing in the hallway watching us as he drank—” “Lurking, you mean,” she cried, nearly hysterical. In her mind’s eye she was back in the darkened pool room, hot and anxious for Collin to love her, knowing something wasn’t right. She relived all the humiliation, all the pain, all the sick, perverted embarrassment. “Stuart was lurking like a damned voyeur, getting his jollies by watching his sister try and seduce her cousin—his lover.” “We were never lovers,” Collin admitted and tears starred his lashes. “He could never take it that far—never allow me to touch him. He wanted to, he was tempted just as he was with everything that was outside of what his father considered acc eptable, but he couldn’t even kiss me.” Collin, as if ines capably weary, sagged in the chair. His voice shook with emotion. “He was, without a doubt, the love of my life.” “And so, to please him, you agreed to fuck me,” she spit, r epelled by the callousness, the pure vile malice, of their plan. He nodded miserably. “I would have done anything.” “Even screw a woman.” Wrapping her arms around her middle, as if to defend herself, she started to cry. “Not just any woman,” he said, “but the only woman I really cared about, the one I didn’t want to hurt. That was why he wanted me to do it to you. It wasn’t a sense of nobility on his part, he wasn’t setting me up with you because he knew that you loved me.” He shook his head and anger destroyed some of his sadness. “The reason he wanted me to sle ep with you was to confirm my utter and undying allegiance to him.” “That’s sick—” “Yes.” “Stuart was into power. Control and power.” Collin swallowed hard. His jaw slid to one side and his eyes narrowed in regret. “He just wasn’t into love.” “And so you agreed?” She dashed the damning tears away. “Oh, God, yes,” he admitted, the words torn from his throat. “And I drank as much as I could hold and convinced myself that I wouldn’t hurt you, that I was doing what you wanted, what Stuart wanted, and it didn’t matter. It was just sex between people who cared for each other. Oh, hell, I didn’t mean for this to happen.” “It didn’t,” she said, finally understanding and feeling pity for him instead of rage. He, too, had been a victim. “Of course it did.” “No, Collin,” she insisted, still caring for him enough not to want him to suffer for a crime he didn’t commit. She walked to his chair, laid a hand on his shoulder, felt him tense. Though he’d mortified her beyond words, he hadn’t fathered her son. “Liar.” “You just accused me of being a lousy one, of being able to see right through me.” Slowly he raised his eyes to her and she kissed his cheek, tasted the salt from his silent tears. “Do you remember that night, what happened?”
“Most. What I didn’t, Stu filled in later.” “And he told you that you and I... we made it.” “Yes.” A muscle worked at the side of his jaw. “Oh, Collin, no.” Kneeling at his chair, she cradled his head against her. “Stuart lied. You couldn’t do it. Either you were too drunk, or not turned on enough. I—I tried everything to get you in the mood and then, then I saw my brother and... you fell asle ep and Stuart and I had the fight of the century. I took off and...” “And I woke up with Stuart’s arms around me. He smiled at me, told me I’d done well, and that even though you were furious with us both, he’d been turned on enough to want me. I tried to kiss him then, but he climbed out of bed, called me darling, and told me we’d be missed at the party. I stupidly thought there was still a chance for us. But as usual, he was stringing me along, playing with my emotions, oh, shit, he treated me the way I treated you and then, within the week...” Again tears tracked from his eyes, shining in the moon glow. His words were choked. “Within the week he was dead.” He moved a hand, raised it from his knee, only to let it fall again. “Now, years later, I find out that you were pregnant—that you had the baby nine months after that night. You had to have gotten pregnant —” “Soon afterward. But you aren’t the father.” She took one of his strong hands and squeezed it. “Believe me, I know.” Relief flooded his handsome features. “Jesus, Bibi, I’ve been such an ass. I fucked up beyond fucked up.” She didn’t argue. There was no point. “I’m surprised you speak to me.” “You forced me in here, remember.” “But who’s the baby’s father?” “No one you know, and besides, it doesn’t matter. It’s my business. All we have to worry about now is to make sure that the child isn’t found. If he is, my life, your life, and his life would be ruined.” Collin snorted. “I don’t care about being the next crown prince or whatever the hell you want to call it for the whole damned family. That was Stuart’s role. He should have inherited.” “Just like Uncle William,” Bibi said, voicing a thought that had nagged at her conscience for years. “Don’t you think it’s strange that the firstborn always seems to die?” “I wouldn’t follow that line of reasoning too closely,” Collin warned. “Next in line would be that son you want to ke ep hidden away.” A vague unease pierced her mind. “Another reason for him to stay where he is.” Collin touched her tenderly, his fingers caressing her face. “You know, Bibi, if I were so inclined, you’d be the only woman for me.” “What about Carrie?” “My wife?” he asked, saying the word as if it tasted bad. “Frigid.” “But—” He shook his head. “We each had our reasons for marrying. I did it because my father was getting on my case and I was still young and stupid enough to think I had to please him.” “And her?”
“Her family was going broke. She couldn’t reconcile herself to being poor, so we worked a deal. Kind of like my mother and father. Ironic, isn’t it?” “But now, the divorce?” He laughed without a trace of mirth. “It’s damned hard to live a lie, Bibi,” he said, “but then you know all about it, don’t you?” “Oh, Lord, do I.” “My guess is you even know where your boy is.” She couldn’t trust him; not with a secret this big. “No,” she lied and felt a little tenderness for the boy he’d once been, the boy she’d loved so long ago. “I don’t. And I pray to God that I never do.” There was a soft rap on the door, and then it opened, a shaft of light piercing the gloomy shadows to fall on them huddled together. “Bibi?” Kyle asked, standing in silhouette, a strapping man with thick hair and a voice that rarely showed a note of concern. He frowned slightly as Bibi climbed quickly to her feet and put some distance between herself and Collin’s chair. She felt guilty as sin and he knew it. His brow furrowed in silent accusation. “Not that I really want to know, but could you tell me what the hell’s going on in here?” “So your mom’s pretty and can cook, too,” Daegan said, winking at Jon across the table covered with a turkey carcass, as well as platters of candied sweet potatoes, gravy, stuffing, white potatoes, peas, and cranberry sauce. “Watch out, Jon, Daegan is piling it up so high we’re all gonna need boots in order to slosh through it.” “Mom!” Jon admonished, but delight registered in his eyes, as it did every time she st epped out of her controlled, I’m-the-mother-so-I-do- everything-as-expected mode. “Well, okay, I was laying it on a little thick and there was a problem with the dinner.” “Oh?” She arched an eyebrow high, daring him to find fault with her masterpiece of a meal. She’d been working on it for days though she wouldn’t admit it. Ever since Jon had announced that he’d invited Daegan to dinner, she’d wanted everything to be perfect. Foolish woman. “There wasn’t enough food.” Jon nearly choked on a bite of stuffing. “Not enough?” Kate leaned an elbow on the table and held her chin in her hand to stare at him. “Well, not if you intend to feed the rest of the town the leftovers tomorrow.” “Very funny,” she said, but felt her eyes sparkle. Daegan found a toothpick in a little glass holder and jabbed it into the corner of his mouth. “I thought so.” “Me, too,” Jon agreed, anxious to have someone on his side when he and his mother battled. “Okay, okay, let’s not argue,” she said as she pushed her chair back and realized that this was the first holiday that she and Jon hadn’t spent alone since Laura had visited one Easter two years ago. Never a grandparent, an aunt, a cousin, or a brother or sister for her boy. Nor a father. Just the two of them. Sometimes it was too much for her—other times she was fiercely proud that they’d made it on their own. But today was different. She’d enjoyed having Daegan over and had even spread an ivory-colored linen cloth over the old dining room table and made a centerpiece of gourds and small pumpkins in a basket of candles and flowers. For the first time in a long, long
while, she felt content. The nagging restlessness that had been chasing her down was at bay this afternoon, and though outside it was bitterly cold with swollen dark clouds and snow falling from the leaden sky, she felt warm and safe. “We can have dessert by the fire,” she suggested, nodding to the living room. “Jon, help me clear—” “Awe, Mom, it’s a holiday.” “I’ll help,” Daegan said. “No way, you’re the guest!” Jon was horrified. “That’s right. You don’t have to—” “I’m used to cleaning up after myself. It’s no big deal.” Daegan shoved out his chair and gathered up his plate and silverware. “It’s not man’s work,” Jon argued. “You know better than that,” Kate muttered. “It is unless you’re lucky enough to have a woman do it for you, and even then, you’d better be careful,” Daegan said, “because some women take offense to duties being described as theirs, especially when it comes to kitchen duty. Get downright testy about it. Don’t say as I blame them.” To Jon’s utter horror, Daegan picked up Kate’s plate and his as well. “But—” “Be smart, Jon,” Daegan advised. “This is a holiday for your mother.” “So now you’re an expert on family relations?” Kate asked. Jon eyed him strangely. “Is this what your mom taught you? Or your dad?” A sadness scurried across Daegan’s features, but was instantly r eplaced by the same hardness Kate had come to recognize—tight jaw, thin lips, furrow between his eyebrows. “My mother,” Daegan said so softly that Kate barely heard the words over the clink of the glasses Jon was collecting. “But that was a few years back.” He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “My mother doesn’t talk to me anymore.” Kate’s heart dropped and she felt a sudden ache for this hard-edged man; so there was a softer side to him, a place where he hurt. He just k ept that part of him hidden. “Why not?” Jon asked. “Because of something I did a long, long time ago,” he admitted, frowning. “What?” “Jon, it’s none of our business—” “It’s all right,” Daegan said as he set the dishes in the sink and Kate slid the platter containing the turkey carcass onto the counter. Jon joined them in the kitchen and his gaze was glued to Daegan. “My father was a jerk of the highest order. Never married my mom. In fact, he was married to someone else but k ept coming around, cheating on his wife with my mother and cheating on my mom with his wife.” His gaze touched Kate’s briefly before he stared out the window and forced his hands into his back pockets. Kate guessed that he wasn’t seeing the snow falling in tiny icy pellets from the sky, that he didn’t notice how dark the sky had become. No, he was lost in his own private space—trapped in forbidden memories. “I finally took offense and had it out with my old man. And my mother...” His jaw clenched even tighter. “My mother stood by him even though he beat her and treated her like scum.” He said the last words as if they tasted bad. “You asked me once if I killed
anyone.” His gaze moved back to her son, and Jon, swallowing hard, nodded. “Yeah.” “Well, I didn’t lie. I never killed anyone in my life, but I tried to kill my bastard of a father once, aimed a gun right at him, but I missed.” “Holy shit!” Kate didn’t even admonish her son. She held on to the edge of the counter for support. Inside she was shaking. “Dear God.” “So you never talk to your mother?” Jon asked, his eyes round as proverbial saucers. “I tried. It’s a one-way street. Let’s not talk about it.” “When was the last time you saw her?” Jon asked, unable to let it go. “The day I moved out. A long time ago.” “But what if she gets sick? What if—” “I have someone who will let me know,” he said, then cleared his throat and wondered what had possessed him to open up to them. Hell, considering that he was here to break apart their little family, he had no right to try and garner any sympathy for his own sorry home life. Kate blinked rapidly, as if fighting tears. Jesus, he was making a mess of things. He’d been lulled into a sense of belonging this afternoon, of being a part of a real family. “Look, I’d better be leaving.” “But dessert—” Kate said, motioning toward two pies cooling by the window. Apple and pumpkin from the looks of them. “And you were going to teach me how to play pinochle and poker,” Jon reminded him. “Another time.” Daegan’s insides churned when he saw the look of utter disappointment on the boy’s features. Kate tried to disguise her own sense of loss, but it was there in her eyes, lancing through the thick skin he’d tried so hard to wear as a shield. “Thanks. Thanks for everything.” It sounded like an exit line and it was. He was getting too close to Jon and Kate, trapped in all the trimmings that a family meant. Candles and flowers and pumpkins and big meals. Laughter and wine and playing cards. Jokes and flashing smiles and disappointments. His insides churned and for a few fatal seconds he was the boy from South Boston again, the kid with no grandparents, no father and a mother who scraped by on her own delusions. He loved that woman for how fiercely she’d fought for him and cursed her when she’d chosen his father over him. That old searing pain shot through his soul and he silently cursed the family who had used and abused him. “Daegan—don’t go,” Kate said and her voice wrapped around him like a balming mist. “It’s Thanksgiving.” “Yeah, stay. Please.” Jon’s voice. His son. His own flesh and blood. But no one knew it. If he were a true man, a real father—the kind who put his son above himself—he’d walk out now, return to Boston, and tell Robert Sullivan the truth, that he’d sired Jon, that if Robert insisted on tracking the boy down, he would have to go through Daegan and face a scandal so dirty and shame-filled he’d never be able to raise his head among the social elite again. Jon would never know. Kate would be safe. “I’ll see you,” Daegan said and walked to the front door, where his jacket hung on the curved spoke of a wooden hall tree.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Kate said and he turned to look into her worried, whiskey-colored eyes. His heart twisted as he saw the accusations and disillusionment in his son’s gaze. “You, too.” He grabbed his coat off the hall tree and shoved his hands through the sleeves. Jon rushed forward, and as Daegan reached for the door, Jon touched his hand. Bare skin on bare skin. “You’re leaving,” he accused him. “Yes.” “But not just for today.” “Eventually I’ll have to move on.” “Soon.” “Probably.” Kate made a strangled sound in the back of her throat. Daegan glanced at her over Jon’s shoulder and his insides curled in disgust when he recognized the pain he’d caused her. “Why?” she asked. “It’s time.” “You’re a bastard,” Jon accused him, backing away from him as Daegan yanked open the door and a cold blast of wind tore through the house. Daegan turned his collar up around his neck. He st epped out onto the porch and slammed the door behind him. “You got that right, Jon,” he said to the bleak, frigid afternoon. “You sure as hell got that right.”