When we reach Avon, which is a blip on the map, Casey has me make just two turns off the main highway and we are sitting in front of a small, classically stilted cottage that sits a few blocks from the ocean. Like Casey, her parents don’t have beachfront, but I can tell by the way their house is situated and the fact that there are fewer homes, that it means they have a better view of both the ocean and the sound.

We get out of the Jeep and round the front. At the base of the stairs that lead up, I hold my hand out to her. She looks down and then back up to me, slipping her warm palm against mine. I curl my fingers tight around her, and we walk up together.

As we reach the top step, the front door swings open wide and I’m staring at either Brody or Hunter. I really can’t tell without their respective women with them as they are indeed identical and even wear their hair about the same.

Leaning to the side, I whisper, “Which one?”

Casey giggles and whispers, “Brody,” just before she lets my hand go and steps into a hug with her brother.

Brody gives her a tight squeeze and looks at me over her shoulder, giving a jerk up of his chin. “What’s up?”

“Not much, man,” I say in response and our male greeting ritual is complete.

“What are you doing here?” Casey asks as Brody steps back into the house and we all walk in together.

“Alyssa had to head over to Manteo to pick up a dog that’s set to be euthanized in the morning, so I figured I’d come and partake of Mom’s cooking tonight.”

“And to make me squirm as I introduce Tenn to the family,” Casey guesses sagely.

“Yeah, something like that,” Brody says with a sly grin.

Casey just levels him with a look that dares him to make this difficult on her, reaches back to grab my hand, and then leads me through the living room. It’s small and cozy, with plush, beachy-looking furniture in blue and white striped cotton, bleached wood tables, and tile flooring covered by a shaggy, blue rug. Framed photos are everywhere. Walls, tables, corner curio. A brief glance and I see several of Casey and her brothers, and I can’t wait to look at them in a bit more detail. I want to study them, knowing that I’ll see something different in her eyes in those photos that are pre and post Jeff Parkhurst.

Just as I know I’d see something different now if I were to snap a picture of her.

“We’re here,” Casey calls out.

Brody says, “They’re on the back deck. Dad’s cooking up some steaks.”

“Steaks?” Casey asks in surprise. “I thought Mom said she was going to make some shrimp and grits tonight. I was looking forward to that.”

We head into a surprisingly large kitchen for the moderately sized house with whitewashed cabinets and cheery yellow paint on the walls, and just beyond, the sliding glass doors that lead out to the deck.

Casey releases my hand, opens the door, and steps out. I’m on her heels but momentarily forgotten as she hugs her mom first, who is leaning back against the deck rail with a glass of red wine in her hand while watching as her husband flips some steaks.

Casey and her brothers both take after their mother in coloring but you can tell they get their height from their dad, who I’m guessing is almost eye to eye with me.

Lillian Markham turns to me and with her wine in her left hand, reaches her right arm up in a clear indication that she prefers hugging as her primary method of introduction. I step forward, bend down, and she loops that arm over my shoulders. I wrap my arms around her lightly and accept her embrace.

“It’s so good to meet you, Tenn,” she says in an accent that is far more southern than Casey’s.

“Thanks for having me,” I say as she releases me, and then I look over to her father. He quickly switches his grilling tongs from right to left hand and leans past the grill. We shake hands, and he gives me a warm smile.

“Great to meet you, Mr. Markham,” I say.

He shakes his head as he turns his attention back to the grill. “It’s Butch and Lillian. None of that formal crap here.”

I chuckle and step up to the grill to take a peek at what he’s cooking. Five nice-sized rib-eyed steaks with perfectly charred hatch marks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Casey and her mother step back into the kitchen, presumably to get other stuff ready, and then it’s just me, Brody, and Butch out on the deck.

“Beer is over there in the cooler,” Butch says with a nod of his head.

I see frosty bottles of Budweiser and bottles of water. I know Brody doesn’t drink anymore after the accident. Even though he wasn’t driving, he takes alcohol consumption so seriously that he refuses to touch a drop, so I grab two beers for Butch and me, and a bottle of water for Brody.

When I stand up and pass the bottles, I can see surprise on Brody’s face that I would know he doesn’t drink. I suppose that tells them something about how their daughter and sister must feel about me… to trust me with that information.

“Casey said that you’re relocating to the area and are going to move in with her,” Butch says quietly as he flips the steaks and shuts the grill lid.

I’d expected this but not so soon in the conversation. I thought he’d might take a bit of time to check me out first. “Yes, sir,” I answer, but I don’t provide any explanation or argument about the saneness of our actions.

“Ordinarily,” Butch says after he takes a healthy swig of his beer, “I’d say it’s too soon, but I have to be honest… Brody here says he’s seen some amazing changes in Casey since you two have been together.”

I cut a surprised look over at Brody, and he shrugs his shoulders at me like he really didn’t say much of anything. When I look back at Butch, I say, “I’m not responsible for her changing. That’s all on Casey.”

The respect in Butch’s eyes increases further. “Yeah… Casey’s a strong girl. She can do anything she sets her mind to. But I expect you may have been the catalyst to make her want to change.”

Turning to Brody, Butch says, “Will you go get me a platter or something to put these steaks on?”

With a nod, Brody turns around and heads back inside, and then I’m alone with Casey’s father.

He flips off the grill burners, reaches under, and turns the gas off the tank. When he stands back up, he levels me with a stare. “There was a time that our family was a bit broken. Brody went to prison, Casey was a wild child, and Hunter was off trotting the globe. Then it started coming back together. Hunter moved back home and bought the bar. Brody came home and we found out the bitter truth that he went away for a crime he didn’t commit, but after Brody revealed that to us, I really felt us start to get close again. Both my boys settled down with good women.”

He pauses and takes a sip of beer before continuing. “But Casey… she was a bit lost, and we didn’t know how to reach her. Her mother and I love her very much, as do her brothers, but she always held a piece of herself away from us. Had been that way since Brody got sent away.”

I don’t disabuse him of thinking this all had to do with Brody. It’s Casey’s story to tell her parents if she wants them to know what Jeff did to her and how it made her so jaded. How it formed and directed her actions… her choices… the way in which she viewed the opposite sex.

“She’s different,” Butch says contemplatively. “A good different and it makes me happy.”

That seems to be the end of his soliloquy, and I heard the hidden message in there. He’s grateful for this. He’s happy for his daughter and he’s telling me that whatever has caused this change in Casey, it’s affected not only her, but her family as well.

“I love her,” I tell Butch bluntly, my gaze holding his.

His eyes start to crinkle in a grateful smile that doesn’t reach completion before I hear the small gasp behind me. Turning my head slowly, I see Casey standing there with an empty platter in her hands, her eyes pinned to mine. Wide, uncertain… possibly filled with alarm.