Homeport

packed,” she said, and laughed.
    She was still laughing when she hung up the phone. Laughing when she slid bonelessly into a chair, and didn’t realize when she tucked herself into a small, defensive ball that the laughter had turned to sobs.
     
    She had both hands wrapped tight around a cup of hot tea, but she didn’t drink it. She knew the cup would shake, but it was a comfort to hold it, to feel the heat pass through the cup and into her chilled fingers, soothe the abraded skin of her palms.
    She’d been coherent—it was imperative to be coherent, to be clear and precise and calm when reporting a crime to the police.
    Once she was able to think again, she’d made the proper calls, she’d spoken to the officers who had come to the house. But now that it was done and she was alone again, she couldn’t seem to keep a single solid thought in her mind for more than ten seconds.
    “Miranda!” The shout was followed by the cannon bang of the front door slamming. Andrew rushed in, took one horrified study of his sister’s face. “Oh Jesus.” He hurried to her, crouched at her feet and began to play his long fingers over her pale cheeks. “Oh, honey.”
    “I’m all right. Just some bruises.” But the control she’d managed to build back into place trembled. “I was more scared than hurt.”
    He saw the tears in the knees of her trousers, the dried blood on the wool. “The son of a bitch.” His eyes, a quieter blue than his sister’s, abruptly went dark with horror. “Did he . . .” His hands lowered to hers so that they gripped the china cup together. “Did he rape you?”
    “No. No. It was nothing like that. He just stole my purse. He just wanted money. I’m sorry I had the police call you. I should have done it myself.”
    “It’s all right. Don’t worry.” He tightened his grip on her hands, then released them quickly when she winced. “Oh, baby.” He took the cup from her hands, set it aside, then lifted her abraded palms. “I’m so sorry. Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital.”
    “I don’t need the hospital. It’s just bumps and bruises.” She drew a deep breath, finding it easier to do so now that he was here.
    He could infuriate her, and he had disappointed her. But in all of her life, he’d been the only one to stick with her, to be there.
    He picked up her cup of tea, pressed it into her hands again. “Drink a little,” he ordered before he rose and paced off some of the fear and anger.
    He had a thin, rather bony face that went well with the long, lanky build. His coloring was like his sister’s, though his hair was a darker red, almost mahogany. Nerves had him patting his hand against his thigh as he moved.
    “I wish I’d been here. Damn it, Miranda. I should have been here.”
    “You can’t be everywhere, Andrew. No one could have predicted that I’d be mugged in our own front yard. I think—and the police think—that he was probably going to break into the house, rob us, and my coming home surprised him, changed his plans.”
    “They said he had a knife.”
    “Yeah.” Gingerly she lifted a hand to the shallow cut on her throat. “And I can report that I haven’t outgrown my knife phobia. One look at it, and my mind just froze.”
    Andrew’s eyes went grim, but he spoke gently as he came back to sit beside her. “What did he do? Can you tell me?”
    “He just came out of nowhere. I was getting my things out of the trunk. He yanked me back by the hair, put the knife to my throat. I thought he was going to kill me, but he knocked me down, took my purse, my briefcase, slashed my tires, and left.” She managed a wavering smile. “Not exactly the homecoming I was expecting.”
    “I should have been here,” he said again.
    “Andrew, don’t.” She leaned into him, closed her eyes. “You’re here now.” And that, it seemed, was enough to steady her. “Mother called.”

    “What?” He started to drape an arm around her shoulders, and now sat forward to look at her face.
    “The phone was ringing when I got into the house. God, my mind’s still fogged,” she complained, and rubbed at her temple. “I have to go to Florence tomorrow.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. You just got home and you’re hurt, you’re shaken. Christ, how can she ask you to get on a plane right after you’ve been mugged?”
    “I didn’t tell her.” She only shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking. In any case, the summons was loud and clear. I have to book a