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seemed smaller than the other boys. She waved back to him, lifted a finger to say she’d be one minute.
    “I’m sorry,” her brother said. He issued a long breath. “I can’t. I just can’t do it this year.”
    “You have to,” she said. “You promised me.”
    She could see the boys jogging onto the field. Brendan threw a quick, anxious glance at her and then took his position. She heard the shrill of a whistle, the low sound of a few parents cheering.
    “Honey, I know,” her brother said. “But I’ve just realized that I can’t do this anymore.” She could tell by his tone that he was not going to change his mind. He added, “I’m not like you.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “You know,” he said. He sounded weary and a little peevish. “You have Dad on your side. I don’t even have that.”
    She felt a childish rush of tears, which she blinked back. Anger, disappointment, sadness were the all-too-familiar horsemen preceding any encounter with her family. They’d come early. And she had a feeling they were here to stay. She didn’t say anything.
    “Look, Kate,” he said into the silence. “I’m too old for this. I’m not going to travel for a full day to trap myself on an island with people who abuse me. There has to be a time in your life when you just start staying no.”
    She started to push out a disdainful breath. Abuse? That was a little melodramatic, wasn’t it? But that was her mother, too. Always arguing semantics to avoid the ugly truth.
    “What about me and the kids?” she said. She wasn’t above the pity play. “We miss you.”
    “We’ll come to your place for Thanksgiving.”
    “Teddy, please don’t make me do this alone.” Okay, now she was begging.
    “Try to understand,” he said. “You don’t have to do this, either.”
    She did have to do it. There were a thousand reasons why, all twisted around one another, a big tangle of hope and fear and obligation.
    “I have to hang up now,” she said. She sounded cold; she didn’t mean to.
    “Kate.”
    “Brendan’s game is starting. And I happen to care about the promises I make to my family.”
    “Oh, please,” he said. Now he was angry, too. “You sound just like her.”
    That was a low blow. It was unnecessary, and a reminder that as much as she loved her brother, there were serious challenges in their relationship. How could there not be? How could the children of Birdie and Joe Burke ever hope to be truly close? Where would they have learned those skills? Certainly not from their parents. Maybe it was better, after all, if he didn’t go.
    “Bye, Theo.” She ended the call.
    She sat a minute, rested her head on the steering wheel until she heard the referee’s penalty whistle from the field. Then she climbed from the driver’s seat and went around to the trunk to get the big cooler of water and the oranges she’d promised the coach she would bring. Promises were important. Why didn’t anyone seem to remember that anymore?

chapter three
    C helsea wasn’t supposed to talk to her biological father, Sebastian, without her mother present in the room. So when she saw his name and number on her caller ID, she pressed ignore. It had nothing to do with the custody agreement. It was just something Chelsea and her mom had decided on a couple of years ago.
    When she was younger, after calls with her father, Chelsea would feel inconsolably sad for reasons she couldn’t articulate. Maybe it was because he sounded so sad and so far away. Or because other times he was angry and said awful things about her mom. Often he made grand promises that she knew he had no way of keeping, as much as he might want to, like “Next year we’re going to go to Disney World for a week—just you and me.” Chelsea knew his custody agreement didn’t allow for weeklong trips. Early on, he wasn’t even allowed unsupervised visits. Worse than that, she wouldn’t have wanted to go with him if she had been allowed.
    Sometimes after his