They climbed back into their vehicles and drove away. At the far end of the lane, the SUV stopped. Trent stepped out alone and walked toward the porch, hands buried in his pockets, shoulders bent.

Without Rebecca beside him, he somehow looked older.

“Walter,” he said. I waited. “I’m sorry. About all of it.”

The apology was awkward and years too late. But it lacked polish, which made it sound more honest than anything Rebecca had said.

“She found out about the inheritance from Dale,” he went on. “Your cousin. She’s been planning this for two weeks. Rooms, school district, everything.”

“Of course she has.”