“Can I get you anything to drink or eat? I was just going to bring some snacks in for Eva.”

“Do you need a hand?”

“No.” She pats his shoulder in that weirdly faux-affectionate way of women far older than she is and motions toward the chair across from my uncomfortable sofa. “Have a seat and visit with Eva. If you tell me what you’d like, I’ll bring it in with hers. I was getting her some fruit salad, but there are sandwich fixings too.”

“I just ate, but thank you.”

My mother nods. “What would you like to drink? I have sweet tea, sodas, juice, and milk.”

Like any properly raised Southern boy, Nate knows not to refuse again. The first refusal is how one says “no need to go bothering over me,” but a complete refusal would be an insult. He smiles at her and says, “A glass of water would be great if you don’t mind.”

“Lemon?”

“Whatever’s easiest,” he replies.

She nods and leaves us there. We’re both silent as her heels click across the floor. There’s an elegance to the way she moves that even seems to permeate the sound of her footsteps. I’ll never be like her, but I think she’s mostly come to accept that truth.

Nate sits quietly across from me. “Are you okay?”

I debate how much to tell him. “I broke up with Robert this morning because he was cheating on me. That’s why he wasn’t there the night of the accident.”

I look up and meet Nate’s eyes. He’s staring at me, and I see the temper he had when we were kids. The two of us were both short-fused then, but I know that he’s made as much progress as I have on that front. Right now, however, he looks like that progress is about to slip away.

“I’m okay,” I add.

“Did I mention how much he didn’t deserve you?” Nate asks. “I’m sorry though. Cheating is . . . my dad cheated on Mom and on Nora. I don’t get it. Baucom will figure out that this other girl isn’t worth even half of your little finger.”

“She’s not all bad, but he’s not dating her either.” I decide not to tell him outright that the girl is Amy. She has been treated as unfairly as I have. All I say is, “She’s not the sort of girl one dates, apparently.”

“I reserve the right to veto any future boyfriend choices, Eva.” He frowns again. “Actually, I can’t think of anyone in Jessup good enough for you. We may just need to veto dating in general.”

“And here I was thinking that my father might have issue with us hanging out. You keep saying things like that, and Dad will be thrilled to hear that we’re friends again.” I smile at him. “I expected a little more rule-breaking and trouble-making. I’m starting to suspect that all the stories about you are lies.”

He swallows, looks down, and then quietly says, “Sorry to disappoint you, but most of the rumors are very true, Eva.”

I blush, thinking of the things I’ve heard.

“I was a stupid drunk. I got into too many fights and accepted ridiculous dares, but I stopped drinking when I figured out that I wasn’t going to be able to be here for Aaron if I kept partying.”

“I was teasing,” I say cautiously. “I didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “Sore subject, I guess.”

“There seem to be a lot of those.”

“Still worth the friendship?”

“Definitely.”

He nods and leans back into the chair as if he’s going to find a more comfortable position by moving. I don’t have the heart to tell him it’s impossible. The furniture here isn’t designed for comfort.

“I saw Grace this morning,” he says after a moment. “She talked to me . . . in front of Piper. I tried to tell her that she shouldn’t, but she hooked her arm through mine and paraded down the hall like she was escorting her prize hog to the state fair. I’m expecting to be blue-ribboned any minute now.”

I smile at the image of Nate winning a “best of” category at the fair, but then have to quickly steer my thoughts away from the things I’ve heard he’s best at. Those are not thoughts to have about him, especially with my mother due to walk into the room any moment. Nate might not notice the lingering looks I can’t seem to stop giving him, but my mother is like a bloodhound when it comes to figuring out who’s interested in whom. It’s one of the few things I hear my father tease her over: she predicts relationships the way some people predict the weather.

“You need to tell her not to do that again. People will think things about her, and it’s”—he shifts position in his chair again—“awkward to explain to her, but I don’t want people giving her trouble. She seems like a nice girl, but . . . you know how people are about girls who talk to me in public.”

“You do know I’m not going to ignore you in public,” I point out evenly.

The clatter of my mother’s heels heralds her return. I don’t turn to look at her; instead, I watch Nate. He tenses as she approaches, and I’m reminded how different things are from the last time he was at my house.

“Do you have summer plans, Nathaniel?” She sets the tray atop the coffee table, hands me my bowl of fruit salad, and then hands him his glass of water. A twist of lemon garnishes his glass. Even now, during her post-accident hovering, she’s still a polite hostess.

Mutely, I take a bite of my fruit salad to keep from saying something regrettable.