Tony didn’t apologize, but he came out of Barry’s room somewhat abashed and eager to please. He said he’d like to see the new house and Tom seized on the offer as an excuse to leave early. He let Tony follow him down the coast in the electric-blue Aerostar. Moving inland, up the Post Road and away from the traffic, Tony became a glare in Tom’s rearview mirror, lost when the car angled around stands of pine. They parked at the house; Tony climbed out of his van and the two of them stood a moment in the starry, frog-creaking night.

“Mistake to buy so far out,” Tony said.

“I like the place,” Tom offered. “The price was right.”

“Bad investment. Even if the market heats up, you’re just too damn far from town.”

“It’s not an investment, Tony. It’s my house. It’s where I five.”

Tony gave him a pitying look. “Come on in,” Tom said.

He showed his brother around. Tony poked into cupboards, dug a fingernail into the window casements, stood up on tiptoe to peer into the fuse box. When they arrived back at the living room Tom poured his brother a Coke. Tony acknowledged with a look that this was good, that there was no liquor handy. “Fairly sound building for its age,” he admitted. “Christ knows it’s clean.”

“Self-cleaning,” Tom said.

“What?”

“No—nothing.”

“You planning to have us out for dinner one of these days?”

“Soon as I get set up. You and Loreen and the whole tribe.”

“Good … that’s good.”

Tony finished his Coke and moved toward the door. This is as hard for him, Tom recognized, as it is for me. “Well,” Tony said. “Good luck, little brother. What can I say?”

“You’ve said it. Thanks, Tony.”

They embraced awkwardly. “I’ll look for you at the lot,” Tony said, and turned away into the cool night air.