Mickey went down on one knee. “Were you planning to come home sometime?”

“Sure.”

“When?”

“Eventually.”

“Good. Just so I know not to rent out your space.” He paused. “Oh, and in case you were wondering, Jim’s all right.”

Now her head did turn toward him, quickly, in surprise. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

“No reason. He’s fine. Really. I mean, after I got him home.”

“He went out? Where’d he go?”

“Shamrock. Then to drink-a-bye land.”

“Why did he do that?”

“Maybe he wanted somebody to talk to. Maybe his roommate didn’t tell him she was going out, and he didn’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t have to tell him where I’m going, or what I’m doing. Or you either.”

“Absolutely correct. I couldn’t agree more. You’re an adult. We’re all adults.”

“You don’t tell us where you go most nights.”

“That’s true. I probably should do that. I may start now. Or I might start staying at home again.” He changed his tone. “Jim’s getting older, you know.”

Her mouth turned down. “And your point is?”

“My point is he’s getting too old to go out on his own and drink too much. The bartender said he might have had to call the cops if he hadn’t reached me.”

“Lucky he did, then.”

Mickey let out a long breath and stared out over his sister’s head at the last vestiges of the sunset. “I’d have thought you might relate to how he was feeling.”

“About what?”

“About Dominic Como being dead.”

She turned up and stared at him. “When did that happen?”

“Recently.”

“And I’m supposed to relate to how Jim’s feeling about that because…?”

“Because Dominic was somebody he’d spent years of his life with? Kind of like you and Craig.” This was Craig Chiurco, formerly of the Hunt Club.

At the mention of her former boyfriend, she blinked a few times in rapid succession. A tear fell from her left eye and she wiped it away. Some of the tension seemed to go out of her shoulders. After another moment, she turned her head to face him. “What do you want, Mick?”