But what was the right thing? Missy insisted I contact my grandfather and tell him alone of her situation. Yet I really couldn’t see that helping her at all. It would be like having her go from one drug dealer to another. In my opinion, getting the authorities involved and getting Missy and those kids to safety was the better plan.

But what if I called the police and everything backfired and Drake didn’t end up in jail? Drake would know Missy had talked to someone and she’d be in an even bigger mess.

By the time I pulled up to the house, all the extrapolation had launched a headache the size of Kadavu, that faraway isle in Fiji where I should have gone instead of here. Was it just a few months ago that Brad had taken me to the Rawlings Public Library and introduced me to Google? I’d typed in “remote tropical island” and up popped the most beautiful stretch of sand and water I’d ever seen.

I slammed the car door and waded through the snow. I’d need at least a year to get this place shipshape, but I promised myself the beaches of Kadavu would be my next stop. I’d promised myself that before. But this time I meant it.

I hung my coat by the door and kicked my boots off on the rug. I’d turned the thermostat down before I left, hoping to be a wise steward of something called propane, a natural gas alternative that enabled this middle-of-nowhere cottage to have heat at all. I had a feeling I’d get to know a good deal about that sewer thing called a septic system as well. Rural life sure wasn’t like living in town where all the necessities were magically provided as long as you paid the bills. Out here, I half expected to find my electric running off some nearby windmill.

After cranking up the wall heater, I headed for the phone book. If I called a heating contractor from Manistique, maybe my anonymity would garner some service. I flipped through the slim guide, hesitating at the “R” page. I ran a finger down the column. Raymond, Reno, Richard, Roberts . . . Russo. Three were listed: Bernard, Gerard, and Joel, all of Port Silvan. I stared at the print. I tapped at the names with my finger.

No.

I wouldn’t make the first peace offering. My family had wronged me, not me them. They’d have to make first contact. I wasn’t here for them anyway. I was here for myself, to put the past behind me and move on.

I tore through the book until I came to the yellow pages. Manistique Plumbing and Heating. They’d do. I put in the call, got the machine, and left a message.

Missy would simply have to be patient ’til my grandfather got around to calling me. She’d lasted this long without his intervention. She could hold out a little longer—or just do things my way and call the cops.

My stomach growled. I’d been so preoccupied with solving Melissa’s misfortunes that I’d forgotten to stop for groceries at the supermarket in Manistique. Now I’d have to stock up with the pathetically overpriced and limited selection of goods available in Port Silvan. I chugged a cup of reheated coffee, hoping to boost my attitude along with my heart rate before heading down to the village.

I walked into Sinclair’s thinking that a fresh glazed donut while I shopped might keep me from impulse buying.

“Hello,” I said to the bouffant blonde clerk as I scrutinized the selection under glass. I salivated over a powdered sugar one with red gel oozing out the side.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” the clerk said. “How’s things going down at Valentine’s Bay?”

I ripped my eyes from the white confection and looked at her. “Great. The place needs a new heating system, but other than that, there are no surprises.” Except for the defaced photo of my mother I found on my bed. I pointed through the glass. “Hey, do you mind if I get that donut in front?”

“No problem.” She took a square of waxed paper and pulled it for me.

I savored its sweetness as I pushed my small-town, reduced-capacity shopping cart down the narrow aisles. I rounded the end of the dried cereal row and headed for the meat counter. A woman stood with her back to me, peering at the rows of Styrofoam-and-plastic-wrapped cuts. I recognized her tall leather boots and fur-lined barn jacket as an Aunt Candice special.

She glanced up at the squeak of my cart. “Hello, Tish.”

“Candice.” I nodded.

Her warm smile caught me off guard.

“How did your first week home go?” she asked.

I stared at a family pack of New York strips. My first week. Let’s see. Pictures torn in two, murderous drug dealers, abusive husbands, neglectful relatives, not to mention uncooperative heating contractors.

I met Candice’s eyes. “Overall it went pretty good.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “I’m glad to hear that. Surprised, but glad.”

“Why are you surprised? Of course it went well.” A defensive tone crept into my voice.

“I thought perhaps you’d be disappointed with Port Silvan. So many wonderful childhood memories, only to find that everything had changed.”

“Heavens, no. Everyone is so helpful and friendly and full of information.” Jim Hawley had been helpful, Missy Belmont had been friendly, and Candice herself was full of information. I popped the last bite of donut into my mouth.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Candice picked up a package of chicken breasts. She weighed it in her hands. “And was your family everything you had expected?”

I dusted powdered sugar off my fingers. “Oh, absolutely. We’re going to get along great.”

She glanced at me with a “yeah, right” look on her face. “That’s wonderful. I guess I’d worried for nothing.” She placed the chicken in her blue plastic shopping basket. “You know, we really didn’t get a chance to chat long the last time you were over. I hope you’ll join me for tea again this week. Is Thursday good for you?”

My instincts said no way, but maybe Candice could help me with my Missy conundrum.

“Thursday’s fine,” I told her.

We agreed on a two o’clock teatime at the farmhouse.

I picked through the meats and settled on a tray of ground round and some lean steaks. I grabbed a few more staple items and ended up in line behind Candice at the checkout.

As the clerk rang up her selection, the bells on the door jangled. A tall, distinguished-looking man with gray hair and mustache entered and strode over to us. His dark blue peacoat set off the brilliant blue of his eyes. He stopped two feet from Candice.

He prodded a finger at her. “I thought I told you to stay off Russo land.”

I swallowed hard. My grandfather. With all the bad press Candice had given him, I’d expected some deformed ogre with a forked tongue. But the handsome man didn’t fit the stereotype of a viper-in-waiting.

Candice lifted her chin. “I would never dream of trespassing on your little kingdom.”

I stared at Bernard Russo, seeking some feature that I could claim in common. High cheekbones. Roundish chin. Wrinkles slashing across his forehead in an angry scowl. Maybe I looked like that when I was ready to blow a gasket.

He inched closer to Candice. “Then how come Joel saw your car pulling out down by Valentine’s Bay last week?”

She held her ground. “That was such a long time ago, I don’t recall where I was. Why not accuse me on the day the crime supposedly took place instead of waiting until the trail is cold?”

“Don’t get smart with me, Candice. If I so much as hear that you even looked at my granddaughter, I’ll track you down.”

“Why, Bernard, I wouldn’t recognize your granddaughter if she were standing in line with me at the grocery store.” Candice shot playful eyes my way.

Bernard followed her glance and saw me for the first time. His eyes opened wide. Maybe Jim Hawley was right. I really did look a lot like my mother.

He swayed back and forth a few times, perhaps debating whether to hug me or shake my hand. He rubbed the back of his neck. Then he broke into a huge grin. He skirted past Candice and wrapped me in an embrace that knocked the wind out of me.

His jagged breath rushed past my ear. “My baby. My little baby. You’re all grown up.”

I buckled into his arms.

“Puppa,” I gasped through tears. The word came to me as naturally as the grip of my elbows around his neck. Here was my family. My blood. My heritage.

When the moment ended, I stared at him, wiping the streaks from my face. “I’ve been here a week. Why didn’t you come see me? Why didn’t you call?”

His hands lingered on my shoulders. “I wanted to, but I didn’t know how you’d feel. I figured we’d take it slow.”

I swatted at his chest like a child. “Slow? I haven’t seen you in twenty years. Isn’t that slow enough?” But his blue eyes looked with love into my own, and I forgave any insult caused by his delay.

“Closer to twenty-six years. But now that we’re together again, let’s forget we were ever apart.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Come up to the house for supper tonight. Everyone wants to meet you.” He turned. “Candice, you . . .” His voice petered out.

Candice and her groceries were gone.

9

I hummed and boogied and did my hair in the bathroom mirror while I waited for five o’clock to roll around. I couldn’t believe I was finally going to meet the aunts and uncles and cousins that comprised the “everyone” my grandfather said wanted to meet me. For the first time in years, I had family.

“Fam–i–ly,” I sang at the top of my lungs. I barely heard my cell phone ringing from its place on the kitchen counter. I raced down the hall.

I flipped it open, so rushed to make the connection I didn’t even glance at the caller ID. “Hello?”