“I guess it makes me uncomfortable,” he confessed, derailing her inner tirade. “Because I remember living on my own, being lonely myself.”

The way he said it downshifted her irritation into a lower gear. His arm tightened around hers, and the way he looked at her convinced Audra that, despite their not knowing each other well, he was letting her in on a real secret. He wanted her to know him. And if that were true, it meant that this charismatic man wanted to know her, too. But, in exchange, Audra had to make an effort, had to reciprocate, open up.

“When you were talking about California,” she said, “you seemed saddened by the memory, like you missed it.”

His face brightened a little, as though charmed by the fact that she had empathized with him on their very first meeting. His expression fell a moment later though, and he nodded to say she was right. But he contradicted his nod with a denial. “Nah, I don’t miss it. I didn’t have anyone back there, at least no one that really understood who I am. I’ve left that life behind. Now, I don’t have a physical home, which can be pretty rough. But you don’t need a physical home when you’ve got an emotional one. You know what they say about people who surround themselves with material possessions, right?”

Audra shrugged.

“The man with the most possessions is the poorest of all. It’s why I left L.A. If you set eyes on the house I grew up in, you’d fall over right where you stand.”

“What do you mean? What was wrong with the house?”

“Nothing, and everything. You know those houses you see on TV shows with the motorized front gates? The bars are a metaphor. You can go in and out, but every night you’re sleeping behind them like a prisoner in a cell.” He paused, readjusted his grip on her arm. “My old man is a movie producer. He works on films with guys like Jack Nicholson and Robert Redford.” Audra gawked at him, and Deacon grinned at her piqued interest before continuing on. “You know Faye Dunaway?”

“Sure, who doesn’t?”

“She came over for brunch a few times. She and my mother smoked cigarettes on the patio while discussing the pros and cons of wicker furniture. Thankfully, this was before she did Mommie Dearest. Because at ten or eleven years old, I would have shit my pants had I known Joan Crawford was milling around our pool.” He made crazy eyes at her, and Audra couldn’t help but laugh.

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” she said.

“Guessed what? That I come from money?”

She nodded. Deacon looked more like a Texas Ranger than the son of a bigwig Hollywood producer.

“Well, good,” he said. “If you can’t tell, that means I’ve successfully wiped that part of my life away. You know, in a way, Mommie Dearest is a pretty good analogy for the lives we were forced to lead.” His statement was unflinching, as though he knew Audra came from the same place as him—a big house, absent parents. It was another correct assumption, one that led her to believe that she wasn’t as closed off as she had thought. He was reading her like one of his father’s screenplays. “Not all of us were beaten with wire hangers, but psychologically . . . emotionally?”

She nodded again, understanding what he was getting at.

“But you let that go, Audra. What’s in the past is in the past. Those people, your parents, they don’t have to matter. They only matter if you give them that power. Take back your life, take back control. You put your foot down and tell them ‘I’m worth something, worth more than your fuckin’ money, Pops. I’m worth more than your most precious jewels, Mommy dear.’ ”

Her heart fluttered inside her chest. She couldn’t tell if it was love or nerves. She dared to shoot a glance at him, and their eyes met as they approached the clearing that would lead her back to her parents’ home. It was as though he knew everything about her, knew just what she needed to hear.

“You understand what I’m saying,” he said. “I can see it.”

She looked away, nervous. “See what?” That he had her all figured out? That the longer he talked, the more she wanted to drag him upstairs and into her bedroom, lay herself out for him, and let him swallow her whole? If she took the power away from her parents, she may as well let the mystery man beside her have it instead.

“You and I are really alike,” Deacon said. “Our parents come from the same tribe—the rich, the avoidant. And Jeff, he’s like us, too. His folks . . .” Deacon shook his head. He had no words for Jeff’s parents. “They grew him the way one would grow a tree, and then they chopped him down. Whoever made up that crap about blood being thicker than water didn’t have a clue, and that’s where we come in.” He motioned to the camp behind them. “You can’t pick your blood family, but you can pick your spiritual one. Spiritual, not religious. Spiritual on the plane of mutual understanding, shared hopes, communal faith. Once you find the people you’re meant to be with . . .” He shook his head as if to say that he couldn’t describe the ecstasy of such a discovery.

“Is that what they are?” Audra’s tone was quiet, her gaze still diverted. “Your spiritual family?”

“I love them as much as if they’d come from my own rib.” Sliding his arm out from around hers, his hands drifted to rest upon her shoulders. “You don’t have to be alone,” he told her. “Don’t you see? Us meeting like this, it’s fate.”

Fate.

“Our past lives are nothing but darkness,” he said. “That’s why we have to leave those people and those memories behind. It’s like being stuck in a coal mine for half of your life. If you live in the darkness of your past for long enough, it makes you blind. You won’t be able to recognize enlightenment when it’s right in front of you. But I know it when I see it . . . and I see it in you.”

“See what?” She pressed her lips together in an anxious line.

“You’re ready,” he told her. “It’s time to open your eyes.”

4

LUCAS ROLLED THE U-Haul truck along the JFK departures curb, eased it to a stop, and shifted into park. His entire life was in the back of this box truck, all his stuff haphazardly crammed into cardboard boxes he’d picked up at the local Home Depot. He’d always known there was a chance Caroline would leave him to pack it all on his own—her things left to float around half-empty rooms—but there was a difference between maybe and certainty. Here, certainty won out in the end.

Caroline had filled a couple of suitcases with Jeanie’s summer clothes, but making room in her daughter’s closet was the extent of her involvement. Lucas hadn’t had the heart to beg her to reconsider her decision. Amid seemingly endless boxes and a mad dash to stay on Jeffrey Halcomb’s seemingly arbitrary four-week schedule, Lucas hadn’t allowed the magnitude of the situation to sink in. At least not until now.

The full weight of it hit him after Caroline asked for a ride to the airport, so nonchalant, no big deal. He had wanted to seethe through his teeth at her nerve. Why couldn’t she call the illustrious (and loaded) Kurt Murphy rather than bumming a ride with her soon-to-be ex? But instead of going off at the mere suggestion of carpooling, he had simply nodded despite their past ten days of avoidant silence.

He wanted to be pissed that Caroline hadn’t spoken so much as a handful of sentences to him for the past week and a half; wanted to rage at the fact that, while he had spent that time scrambling to get himself together—the boxes, the packing, the moving truck, the rental house—she hadn’t done anything but sit on the phone with her sister, talking about Italy while their marriage gasped its final breath. He couldn’t tell if she was pretending to be strong, or if she genuinely didn’t care.