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Jackpot
, Bryce thought, her heart hammering as she opened the last of the albums in the stack and found herself staring directly into Matthew's senior picture. It was the shot for the yearbook, probably, and she smiled tenderly at the sight of his dark hair falling past his shoulders, long enough for a ponytail. Her breath caught as she lightly traced an index finger over the full curve of his wide mouth, her belly weightless at the memory of those lips all over her body. She touched his eyebrows, thick and dark over his beautiful smiling eyes, ran her fingers down the straight line of his nose, the twin dimples in his lean cheeks, his neck, just visible above a red letter jacket. He appeared to be genuinely grinning for the camera, and she felt weighted and heady with desire just gazing at this 8x10 of him.

The next page made her blood boil: here he was posing with the woman from the cemetery, obviously for their prom. Bryce felt a vindictive satisfaction to observe that her hair was terrible in a classic late-80s spiral perm, ratted and stiff with hairspray. But there was no denying her attractiveness, and the short, tight black dress left little to the imagination. Matthew's big hands were wrapped around her waist as they posed smiling beneath an arch of red and silver balloons.

God, what was my junior-high self doing as Matthew had this picture taken? I was living every day and didn't even know he existed, when he was here all this time…living his life, too.
Moving toward the moment years later when they would meet off a four-lane stretch of I-35, in a shitty motel in Middleton, Oklahoma…the place which would now be forever enshrined in her memory; as she moved further and further away in time from the night they had shared there, it would be all she had left to cling to.

Bryce flipped the pages and jealously studied all of the pictures: Matthew on his graduation; at the campground, with Riley and Debbie; with other friends she didn't recognize; with his father, Wilder, Erica, the kids. She felt obsessed and removed from herself, drifting to places she had never before been, and when she came across a picture of him taken as he lifted himself out of the lake and onto the dock amidst a diamond arc of droplets, snapped just as his biceps were bulging, his hands braced on the dock boards, his eyes shut and his head tipped slightly back, as though he hadn't a clue the photo was being shot, she made a sound that she had never heard emerge from her own throat, and slipped it from beneath the cellophane.

Never again was she without that picture.

***

Hours later
she and Cody were sitting on the dock chucking pebbles, watching the glinting, ever-shifting sun path over the lake lengthen slowly as the afternoon waned. Bryce found the little boy's company utterly enjoyable; he told her everything about the campground, especially its animal inhabitants. Once, apparently, he and Emma had found two raccoon babies, which they had raised at the campground and kept as famous pets for two years.

“What happened to them?” she asked, and then cried, “Don't fall in!”

He looked over at her. “Can't you swim?”

“It's not that,” she said, glancing uneasily at the murky indigo depths around the dock. “What about the snakes?”

Cody, not yet in that stage of boyhood in which every female comment such as hers is fodder for teasing, said seriously, “Oh…I don't think there's any around here. I've only ever seen them at the beach.”

“Okay,” she said, still unconvinced. “If you say so.” She sat cross-legged, her jeans rolled to the middle of her calves, not even brave enough to dip her toes. “So what happened to the raccoons?”

“They got big enough to live on their own, so Grandpa and me took them out to the woods and let them free. They used to hang around some, but I haven't seen them since last summer. Uncle Matty said they got married and have their own babies now.”

Bryce smiled, wrapping her hands around her bare feet. Her sandals were at the end of the dock, where it met the damp grass. She said, “What else does Uncle Matty say?”

“He says that when I get bigger we'll go skiing up north,” Cody said importantly, changing positions swiftly, dropping to his belly near her and dangling his hands over the edge of the dock. “He's a good skier. Him and Angie always go skiing. ‘Cept for last winter, when they broke up.”

Bryce swallowed hard, studied the far bank where pine trees grew densely. She felt slightly ashamed of herself, interrogating Cody this way, but she asked, “Was Uncle Matty pretty sad?”

Cody pursed up his lips, considered for a moment. Bryce realized she was holding her breath and let it out in small increments. “Noooo,” the little boy said at last. “He told Daddy she wasn't the one. The one what?”

“Ahhh—” Bryce was at a sudden loss. “What did your daddy say?”

“Daddy told Uncle Matty that the one is Mom!” Cody giggled. “But how can Mom be the one?”

Bryce ruffled his hair. “Your dad and mom are the one for each other. It means they're happy.”

“I know that!” he said, and peered at her over his shoulder with a freckled grin. “Grandpa said they were born for each other.”

Bryce smiled at him and from a quarter-mile away, the sounds of engines rumbled. Cody hopped to his feet. “Everybody's back! Come on! I hope Mom brought something to eat!”

He bounded off in a flash of blond curls and Bryce hurried to catch up, stooping to hook her sandals with one hand. She didn't bother to put them on, just jogged after Cody. In the clearing by the house, Erica was unloading paper sacks from the backseat. Evelyn and Emma, their arms full, were climbing the steps. Wilder let down the tailgate and the two huge dogs from the campground tore out of the truckbed and galloped across the lawn at Cody, barking hysterically. Bryce searched the yard for any sign of Matthew, observed none, and felt disappointment land like a leaded weight against her breastbone.

“Hey, let me help,” she said, hurrying over to grab several of the bags from Erica.

“Well, I see our little guy is feeling lots better,” his mother observed as Cody tore after the dogs toward the far end of the yard. “Thank you again, Bryce. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, better, too,” she lied, trying to smile. She was being anything but subtle, and tried to keep the desperation from her voice. “Isn't Matthew with you guys?”

Erica headed for the porch. “Oh, he and Riley decided to stay and have a beer. He needed one. It's been a hard day for all of us, but Matty especially.”

Our last night. And he's not here. He's not here.
A rush of panic tried to spiral up her throat, and for a moment she knew she couldn't walk forward another step…her knees would surely buckle under her…but Wilder came behind her and said, “Here, let me, honey,” thinking that she was carrying too much.

“Thanks,” she whispered, and followed him inside, could do nothing but follow him inside.

Erica unpacked about 20 containers of food, all left over from the lunch at Rose Lake Lodge. The girls had disappeared to change out of their formal outfits, and Cody was virtually alone with the bounty, excited to pile a paper plate with chicken legs, potato salad, spare ribs and jello squares. Bryce made it upstairs before vomiting to the point of weakness in the small guest bathroom, then tipped her forehead against the cool porcelain edge of the nearby tub, breathing shallowly, thinking that if she could make it through tonight, she would be home by this time tomorrow.

Not home
, she corrected herself.
That place isn't home. But at least away from here. Oh, God…
And her stomach rebelled, lashing her body back over the toilet.

Saturday, May 12, 1973 - Rose Lake, Minnesota

The girls
were lying in the twin beds in Rae's dark room. Caroline had just stuck her head in the door and told them to be quiet for the third time, and they were trying hard to restrain their giggling. Rae leaned and passed Michelle the small stainless steel flask they'd filled with wine; Rae's boyfriend of five months, Jeremy Ryan, had lent it to her for the weekend.

“So what's with you and my brother?” Rae demanded in a whisper, and Michelle almost choked on a swallow of sangria. She told Rae just about everything, but Bar was so concerned about what people would say, since he was 19 and Michelle two years younger. When Michelle didn't answer, Rae teased, “Have you gone all the way with him or what?”

“Raellen! Of course not! Dad would kill me!”

Rae snorted loudly. “Shell, he wouldn't even know. So, have you? Oh my God, you have to tell me. Are you going to be my future sister-in-law, or what?”

Michelle snuggled her jaw into the soft pillow, still not answering, and was suddenly thunked by a flying pillow. Rae followed the pillow a split second later, landing on the slim strip of space on the mattress beside her best friend and tugging at the covers as Michelle squeaked and then started laughing, trying to shove Rae onto the floor.

“Girls!” yelled Caroline from the hallway, and they froze, shoving the covers against their mouths to muffle their laughter. She sounded about three or four drinks in; really just the start of the weekend marathon for her. Bar and his dad were still at the Lodge.

“Just tell me!” Rae demanded again. Her voice was serious, and even in the dark room, Michelle could see the sincerity in her eyes. “Seriously, Michelle, if you and Bar work out I think that would be the greatest. You want to know what? I think he's crazy about you.”

Michelle felt a warm flood of happiness just beneath the skin, a feeling she was not accustomed to experiencing. She clutched Rae's hands for a moment, smiling brightly. “I think I love him, Rae,” she confessed, and Rae squeaked, clutching her best friend's hands right back.

“Oh, Shell,” she said. “But have you two…”

“No,” Michelle said. “Not yet. Probably not even soon. Bar is pretty hung up on our age differences.”

“Someday it won't even matter,” Rae assured her. “It's just right now. Shit, Mom and Daddy are like six years apart.”

“Rae, you won't tell him I said that, will you?”

“No, of course not. You can tell him yourself, when you're ready.” Like romantically inclined 17-year-old girls everywhere, they were utterly convinced and satisfied by a sudden imagined future. Rae bent and kissed Michelle's cheek, then snuggled affectionately against her. “Bar will marry you, and you can move out of that terrible house and be happy. No more Lydia!”

A moment had passed when Rae was all at once startled out of her dreamy imaginings of Michelle and Bar's wedding. Michelle suddenly tipped forward and buried her face in her hands. She was weeping, Rae realized, and wrapped one arm around her best friend's shaking shoulders. “What is it, Shell? What's wrong?”

Michelle lifted her face, tears shining in steaks, catching the faint light from the single window. “I have to tell someone,” she said then, and Rae's hazel eyes widened into perfect circles at the tone of her voice.

“What are you
talking
about, Shell?”

“Lydia,” she whispered fiercely, and then, “Rae, you can never tell anyone this, do you swear on our friendship?”

“Of course!”

“I know something terrible about her and my father,” Michelle said then, her voice low and raspy from the lump in her throat. “But I only found out by accident.”

Rae, though dying of curiosity, remained silent, forcing herself to wait. Michelle swiped at her eyes with her chilly fingertips, then continued. “It's about Matty.”

“
Matty?
”

“Just wait. It's hard to explain.” Michelle took a long swallow of the wine, found the courage to continue. “A few summers ago I heard Lydia having an argument with someone. About Matty.” Rae nodded avidly. “And I wasn't supposed to be hearing it, it was all an accident.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Matty isn't my father's son,” Michelle said in a rush, the secret she'd kept severely for the last two and half years pouring out like poison, something of which she was eminently glad to be rid.

Rae was speechless.

“It's so impossible to see Dad and not be able to tell him,” Michelle went on, after another deep drink. She was beginning to feel the small campfire glow of the booze in her belly. “But I'm scared of Lydia, Rae. She's crazy. She made me swear I wouldn't tell. I think she would try to hurt me, I really do.”

“Then who's his daddy?” Rae shouted in a whisper.

“This is even worse,” Michelle said, and gripped Rae's upper arm with clenched fingers. “You promise me on a stack of Bibles that you won't tell a soul?”

The intensity in Michelle's voice frightened Rae a little, but she whispered, “I swear, Shell.”

“It's…Jere and Lew's daddy, Rae. John Ryan.”

Rae was again speechless, her eyes so wide that Michelle could see a rim of white around her irises.

“Rae, say something!”

Rae blinked. When she spoke, her voice was low with horror. “John Ryan
cheated on his wife?
Shell, I just had supper with them the night before last! They seemed so normal.” Then something else occurred to her. “
Does your dad know?
”

“Of course he doesn't!” Michelle felt her belly seize up, the relief of finally revealing the horrible secret instantly sunk beneath a wave of regret for spilling it, even to her best friend. “Rae, promise me again! I have to know that you will never tell anyone. I would die if Daddy found this out.”

Rae seemed to come back to herself, and she caught Michelle in a fast, hard hug. “Don't worry, I never will. I promise, Shell.”

Rose Lake, Minnesota – Wednesday, June 21, 1995

T
wo miles north, Matthew bellied
up to the familiar auburn smoothness of the long bar at the Lodge, hooked his elbows on its length and wrapped both hands around the icy cold bottle. Riley elbowed beside him, drank deeply from his own bottle, studying their reflections in the mica-flecked Warthog Beer mirror that had graced the back of the bar since time immemorial. It was the first time the two friends had been alone all day, and Riley clapped one hand on Matthew's far shoulder, squeezed it.

“How you holding up, buddy?” he asked.

Matthew took another long swallow. He wanted nothing more than to get home and be near Bryce, even just in the same room, even if he couldn't touch her…he just needed to see her. But Riley had offered to buy him a round, and Erica had insisted, telling him he looked terrible.

“Thanks, Ma,” he teased her.

The afternoon had been eternally long and somehow hazy, as though a low-lying cloud with a slightly amber tint had settled within the Lodge, creating faint auras around the guests. Matthew had attended events here for as long as he could recall, but somehow the familiar place was foreign today, sighing with murmured condolences from strangers he'd known his entire life, filled with arm pats and well-meaning hugs he would rather have shrugged away from. And Bryce had gone back home with Cody, leaving a razor-edged gap in the day, precious hours that he could have been near her…hours that were dwindling even as he sat here with someone who cared about him deeply, who had been his best friend since they were little.

“You wanna get out of here?” Riley asked him, glancing again at a girl they had graduated high school with, Kelly Iverson. She and Angie Strickland were lingering at a table near the bar, seemingly deep in conversation with Rae Taylor, a damn fine-looking woman, even if she was at least 40, who had been sipping martinis all afternoon. Riley knew Angie was dying to get Matthew alone, and he wouldn't mind seeing if Kelly was also interested in further drinking this evening. The girls kept shooting surreptitious looks at the guys, which Matthew didn't seem to be reading at all. In fact, he was a million miles and then some away. Riley felt it was his duty as best friend to help him out with this situation.

“Sterno, you there?” he asked again, and bumped his shoulder against Matthew's. “Methinks someone is interested in consoling you,” he added, inclining his head just a fraction in Angie's direction. Matthew closed his eyes for a moment and polished off his beer, signalled for another. Bar, who was chatting down the bar with his brother-in-law, Lew Ryan, nodded in their direction.

“Help yourself,” he called to the guys.

Matthew drank another in less than a minute, and Angie grew frustrated and made the first move. She and Matthew had been on and off since their high school romance, and in her opinion it was way past time for on again. She had just returned to Rose Lake after trying out a year of tech college in Minneapolis, had lived with her older sister there for the last year, dated plenty, but still no one really compared to Matthew Sternhagen. Damn him…with his hunky shoulders and those killer brown eyes…and damn all her memories of making love with him in the back seat of her parents' car, in her basement, in his basement…it wasn't something she could just forget. For fuck's sake, they'd lost their virginity to each other. She wasn't entirely sure that this was the right moment – with Daniel's funeral and all – but he looked so sad. It was up to her to offer him a little comfort, and she knew just the kind he needed.

“Ange,” Riley acknowledged as she joined them, leaning provocatively over the edge of the bar. “How goes it?”

“Okay,” she said, playing it cool. “What do you guys think? Kel said her mom is watching the kids until midnight. You two ready to head out?”

“Sounds good to me,” Riley told her. He nudged Matthew again. “What'd'ya say, Sterno?”

Matthew said, “I think I'll stick around here for awhile, if you guys don't mind. I'll catch up later.”

Angie blew out a breath that lifted her bangs. “Matty, come on with us. We'll have a good time,” she added, pressing just slightly against him. He waited for the old rush, the one that meant,
Sweet! I'm getting laid tonight
, but it didn't come. To lessen the blow–shit, he owed her that much, at least–he leaned and kissed her familiar cheek, caught the scent of her same old perfume.

“Thanks,” he whispered into her hair, and she gripped his arm for a moment, wanting more. But he leaned away. “I'll find you guys later,” he told them, and Riley, seeing something in Matthew's eyes, nodded and didn't press the issue. He left with the girls, wondering what was up, thinking that Matthew was being a goddamn fool.

The place was almost empty now, only Bar, Rae and a couple of Ryans still hanging around. Matthew was about to take his own leave when Rae joined him, climbing delicately onto a stool and setting her martini glass down with a faint chiming sound. Two forlorn olives rolled around the bottom.

“Hey there,” Rae said, twirling the glass slowly with one small, perfectly manicured hand. Her nails were long, a gleaming raspberry color. Matthew watched the olives rotate as though mesmerized. Rae went on, “I'm sorry about your father, Matthew. He was a good man.”

Matthew remembered his manners with a jolt. He looked over at Rae, struck for a moment by the notion that she strongly reminded him of someone, before he blinked and replied automatically, “Thank you.”

She continued to study him, her hazel eyes unwavering. “You surely have grown up, Matty. God, I haven't seen you since you were a little boy. Shelly wouldn't believe her eyes if she saw you today.”

Matthew released a small, humorless huff of laughter. “I could say the same for her, I guess,” he responded ungraciously, buzzed and exhausted enough to speak without the buffer of politeness.

Rae was unperturbed. “You have a right to feel that way,” she said. “We're all stunned that she didn't make it up here for the funeral.”

“She has her reasons, I guess.”

“Yes, I suppose she does. I met her daughter today. Will she being staying with you guys this summer?”

Bryce, Bryce…I need to be home
, he thought, his mind swimming. He was more drunk than he'd realized, and set his fourth beer gently onto the bar. He was barely able to speak the words, “She's leaving tomorrow.”

Rae's eyebrows lifted. “Really? She told me she would be here this summer. Damn. Well, see if you can convince her to stay awhile.” She sighed and moved her gaze to the rows of glass bottles five feet from their heads, went on without waiting for a reply. “I am dying to talk to her. She's my last real connection to Shelly.”

Matthew heard himself say, “Bryce doesn't even know who her father is, for Christ's sake.”

Shit, where had that come from?
He reeled a little, and was it his imagination, or did Rae's face cloud just a fraction? She fiddled with her glass and suddenly her eyes darted towards her brother, a lightning flash that Matthew almost missed. When she spoke again, her voice was low, with a grit of sand in it. “I didn't even know she was pregnant when she left Rose Lake that night. She didn't tell me, but her little girl was born that July, so she must have been. It was all so terrible, when she left, and not two months later, your mother was diagnosed with cancer…I tried to get ahold of her, so many times, but it was impossible.” Rae was babbling, fairly drunk herself, delivering a self-lashing nearly 21 years after the fact. “I have a lot of regrets, but letting her go that night is the worst one yet. She was my best friend. She was the best friend I've ever had.”

Matthew watched her speak, trying to make sense of the words. Was she saying she knew who Bryce's father was? For that matter, did Wilder and Erica know? He suddenly realized that Rae's eyes were brimming with tears and he reached out and touched her hand, covered it gently with his own. She sniffled a little and blotted at her lower lids with a cocktail napkin in the other hand.

“Matthew, I'm sorry,” she said, regaining her composure. “It's been a long day for you, I'm sure.” She gave him a hint of a smile then, and noticed that Bar and Lew Ryan were heading their direction. Rae had kept Michelle's dark secret all these years, had actually almost forgotten it until this moment, watching Lew Ryan, who would certainly never know that Matthew was actually his younger half-brother, approach them with a friendly smile.

“Rae, good to see you,” Lew told her again. Lew was still handsome as a devil, same as all the Ryan boys, who had inheirited an eye-catching sexiness from their tall, muscular, stern-jawed father. John Ryan, who had never been forced to answer for his sins, who had died years back, even before Rae's own father, Bar, Senior. And Bar hadn't been that old, certainly not old enough to have a heart attack. Rae had never stopped missing him.

“You, too, Lewis,” she responded. She'd spoken to him earlier in the day, of course, but it was different now, away from nine-tenths of the prying eyes. Small towns with their unending rumor mills: it was one thing she hadn't missed while living in Chicago for the past 18 years. Here she was, nearly 38, educated, refined, newly divorced, and yet all people could recall was how she'd once dated Lew's little brother, Jeremy Ryan. Everyone peeked over their drinks at Rae and Jeremy, just to see if their eyes would meet in a significant way sometime today. Which of course hadn't happened.

“You back for good then?” Lew went on, giving her his complete attention; she knew, from Bar's wife Leslie, that Lew was single as of last year, when his wife Jody had left him and moved to Sacramento for her job. He, like herself, had no children, and Rae felt a small pang…it would be so damn easy to fall into this trap, and she was not about to give in to it, no matter how sizzling Lew's dark eyes were, no matter how lonely she was, no matter how much a damn good fuck would do for her self-esteem.

Jesus, Raellen, you're supposed to be talking yourself
out
of this
, she thought, and shook her head slightly at Bar as he raised both his eyebrows and the Grey Goose bottle at her.

“That's the plan, for now,” she said, trying for noncommital. Beside her, Matthew Sternhagen was staring into the middle distance, where a person went when soul-searching. Bar replaced the vodka and gave his sis a wink.

“Good. There's no place like home, right?” Lew added, and then abruptly slapped the bar with the flat of both hands. “Well, it's about time for me to head for the hills. Bar, Rae, thanks again.” The older man clapped Matthew on the back, seeming to startle him. “Sterno, you take care, all right? I'll be out to the Pull Inn sometime this next week to see about those craters in the parking lot.”

Matthew turned and shook Lew's hand briefly. “Great, thanks, buddy.”

“Sterno, I know it's been a tough day, but what the hell?” Bar asked Matthew moments later, as Lew disappeared out the doors. “Angie seemed a little disappointed…sorry, it's tough not to notice these things. Finely-tuned bartender observation skills,” he added, his lips curling into a half-grin. He poked the younger man lightly with the pour spout of the bottle of expensive vodka. “Am I wrong?”

“No, you sure ain't,” Matthew said ironically, curling his shoulders with a hint of defensiveness.

“So fill the new girl in,” Rae added, watching the exchange in fascination.

Bar offered the floor to Matthew with a tilt of his head. Matthew volunteered, his voice low, “Angie and I dated all through high school.”

“And?” Rae popped the olives into her mouth in quick succession, chewed them vigorously as she waited for his reply.

“And everyone thinks I should have married her by now,” Matthew said, studying his beer bottle, tracing the bottom in loose circles on the bartop.

“And I'm assuming Angie thinks that, too, but what about you?” Rae wondered aloud.

Matthew bit the insides of his cheeks, his eyes growing even darker and suddenly blazing hot, a look not unlike the one in Lew's eyes only moments ago, and something within Rae responded on a purely feminine level at the intensity of it. She was floored to fully appreciate how stunningly attractive he was, and she already knew what was coming when he confessed, “But I don't.”

Bar blew out his breath. “Hey, when you know, you know. There's not a thing in the world can change that.”

Matthew stood suddenly, shoved both hands through his dark hair. He said, “Thanks again, you two, I mean it. Everything was great.”

“Hey, no problem,” Bar responded. Rae felt compelled to ask, “Do you need a ride?”

“No, no, thanks,” he said, gave them a wan smile. “I'll see you around.” And then he too was gone, leaving Rae and Bar, Jr. alone in the establishment that had served as the sole focus of their parents' lives.

“How about that drink anyway, sis?” Bar asked, loosening his tie and pouring himself a double Crown.

“What the hell?” Rae asked rhetorically, stabbing three fresh olives with her toothpick. She didn't stop to think about her next question. Chalk it up to the strangeness of the day, burying Shelly's father, meeting Shelly's child. “Bar, I have to ask you something, and you have to tell me the truth. I never did at the time.”

For an instant he froze, and his face took on the hardened planes of a statue. But then he softened a touch and replied with forced ease, “Ask away.”

Rae was too old to pull her verbal punches anymore, though she found she couldn't look directly into his eyes as she asked quietly, “Is Michelle's daughter also yours?”

Bar drained his drink, and Rae watched the muscles in his throat flex. He set the glass down gently, braced his palms on the far edge directly opposite her seated form, leaned 45 degrees and pinned her with his earnest brown eyes. “No,” he said. And again, more softly, “No.” But in the next instant he looked down, at the bar. Guiltily, Rae thought, though she wanted to believe him. He was seeing Michelle's face as he remembered it: soft and fair and so trusting. It killed him still. He went on, “I loved her, Rae. I loved her with all of my heart, and I would have waited for her.” His eyes were agonized now, his voice rasping a little with long-buried pain and anger. “And then she left like that…and she was pregnant when she left…and she never even gave me the courtesy of a goddamn explanation.”