And then rage, at being used, at being lied to, a rage that would have overwhelmed all sense of logic or self-preservation. Chase could sketch in the whole scenario. He could even picture the woman, a woman like all the others who’d drifted through Richard’s life. She’d be attractive, of course. Richard would insist on that much. But there’d be something a little desperate about her. Perhaps her laugh would be too loud or her smile too automatic, or the lines around her eyes would reveal a woman on the downhill slide. Yes, he could see the woman clearly, and the image stirred both pity and repulsion.

And rage. Whatever resentment he still bore Richard, nothing could change the fact they were brothers. They’d shared the same pool of memories, the same lazy afternoons drifting on the lake, the strolls on the breakwater, the quiet snickerings in the darkness. Their last falling-out had been a serious one, but in the back of his mind Chase had always assumed they’d smooth it over. There was always time to make things right again, to be friends again.

That’s what he had thought until that phone call from Evelyn.

His anger swelled, washed through him like a full-moon tide. Opportunities lost. No more chances to say, I care about you. No more chances to say, Remember when? The road blurred before him. He blinked and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

He drove on, into the morning.

By ten o’clock he had reached Bass Harbor. By eleven he was aboard the Jenny B, his face to the wind, his hands clutching the ferry rail. In the distance, Shepherd’s Island rose in a low green hump in the mist. Jenny B’s bow heaved across the swells and Chase felt that familiar nausea roil his stomach, sour his throat. Always the seasick one, he thought. In a family of sailors, Chase was the landlubber, the son who preferred solid ground beneath his feet. The racing trophies had all gone to Richard. Catboats, sloops, you name the class, Richard had the trophy. And these were the waters where he’d honed his skills, tacking, jibbing, shouting out orders. Spinnaker up, spinnaker down. To Chase it had all seemed a bunch of frantic nonsense. And then, there’d been that miserable nausea….