“That so?” he asked.

    In for a penny, in for a pound, she decided. She was going to be asking for a cabin if he proved tractable. And he was Cal’s father-in-law. “Well, specifically, I was usually the one who passed out. Sobriety is kind of...startling. And at times inconvenient.” She took another sip. “You know about me, right?”

    “Know what about you?” he said, refilling his half-empty cup.

    She told him her story, the abbreviated version. She was a recovering alcoholic, sober nine months. She’d been reunited with Cal while she was still in rehab, right before Cal and Maggie got married. She was in AA, the second A standing for anonymous. “But I figured Cal would have mentioned something about me,” she added.

    “Not a lot,” Sully said.

    She gave a short unamused laugh. “Someday I’m going to learn to play my cards close to my vest like that. Did you or didn’t you know?” she asked directly.

    “He mentioned you were in the hospital and he wanted to visit you before he and Maggie married. I think he wanted to know if you inherited your father’s malady. The mental illness.”

    “I wanted to know that, too. I didn’t.”

    “I guess that’s lucky, eh?”

    “It’s not too late,” she said.

    “That so? And how old was your dad when he succumbed?” Sully asked.

    “As close as we can figure out, he was in his early twenties. But he had some symptoms he and everyone around him tried to ignore. Like he was... Well, he was brilliant. I think under his schizophrenia he’s still brilliant. It’s just all twisted up.”

    “Your brother seems pretty smart. Is it possible those two things aren’t really connected?”

    “Huh?” she asked.

    “The smart and the crazy?” Sully asked.

    She just shrugged. She’d asked herself that a lot. Because it was horrible to be afraid of intelligence, especially one’s own intelligence.

    “I got the feeling they aren’t the same thing—smart and crazy. There’s some autistic kids from a group home come around in the summer. Not a one of ’em could pass an IQ test of any kind and some of ’em are just downright brilliant. You know? Memories like steel traps, math skills you wouldn’t believe, musical talents that knock me over. They’re a hoot, you should know ’em.”

    “Do you know them?” she asked.

    “Some,” he said. “I get on with the autistic kids just fine. That’s probably because I ain’t all that smart to start with but I have a talent or two. Not like them, that’s for sure. We open the grounds up to some youth groups now and then. You just don’t know how trapped they feel till you see ’em on the trails or in the lake—they cut loose.” Then he grinned in a way that showed the pure joy in him.

    And Sierra fell in love. Right then.

    “Who told you you weren’t all that smart?” she asked him.

    The smile stayed. “Girl, no one had to tell me. More coffee?”

    “No, this is good enough. I don’t want to get the wiggles. Listen, about that cabin...”

    “It’s all cleaned up and ready for you,” he said. “I knew you’d come around. Besides, I think this place helps.”

    “Helps what?”

    He looked reluctant to answer. “I don’t know—helps what ails you. I see it happen all the time and people need all different things. Your brother, for example. I had no idea what he needed but he hung around, made himself useful now and again even before I needed a hand. And eventually he stole my daughter right out from under my nose. It worked for me, way back when I came home after the war. Course it took a while before I managed to get what I needed. I wasn’t that much older than you.”

    “Oh? I’d love to hear about that,” she said.

    “Well, I think it’s boring to everyone but me. I’ll tell you one or two things if you’ll eat a sticky bun.”

    “Deal,” she said, smiling.

    “Let me fetch one and put it in the microwave,” he said. “It’s better warm.”

    He took a moment to do that. Then he took her cup away and refilled it anyway, bringing the coffee and pastry to her.

    “My grandpa built this place. He left it to my dad. My dad planned to leave it to me. I didn’t have much interest in it, to be honest. I had bigger plans. But my dad needed me home, I could see that. My mother died while I was in Vietnam and the Red Cross got me home for that but it wasn’t till I was in my thirties that I found a wife and brought her back here. But she was a terrible wife and I was an even worse husband. In spite of that, we had Maggie. It took six years before my wife got fed up and left me.” He raised a thick, graying eyebrow. “Bored yet?”

    She licked icing off her fingers and shook her head.

    “She took Maggie. I’m the first to admit I was crap for a father. I sulked, yelled, wandered off without a word sometimes, argued over anything, didn’t know beans about school lessons or homework, had no patience, drank too much whenever I got irritated and I got irritated pretty often. I had a tone of voice, I’m told, that would scare bears off. I treated my dogs better than my family and it made no sense because I loved my family. Well...well, the truth is, I didn’t love Phoebe all that much after the first few months. But then, she didn’t love me much, either. We were wrong for each other from the start. I brood while she fusses. She needles and I yell. Then I sat out here in the store and drank until she was asleep.

    “But I loved Maggie and I wanted to do right by her. So I had to start my life over. I reckon you have some experience with that, eh?”