Of course he had. They didn’t call them “donor-cycles” in the ER for nothing. Ry hadn’t ridden one in years. “But there’s nothing like the freedom you feel, weaving in and out of traffic, on two wheels.”

“Ry?” His father’s voice. Ry turned at the sound.

“Happy New Year, Dad.” He reached out to shake his father’s hand. It was show time. This is what he’d come home for. God willing, he planned to be a good son.

If his father were surprised to see Ry, he didn’t show it. He took Ry’s hand, holding the grip seconds longer than politeness required. That was a good sign.

“You’re looking well, Dad,” Ry said in good-manner mode, though his father didn’t look well at all. Ry wasn’t a doctor like half of the crowd here at the party, but he recognized a stressed-out man when he saw one.

“Have you seen your mother?” his father said, his eyes sweeping the room as if he were looking for her.

“Yes, I got my first New Year’s hug from her.”

The relief on his father’s face was pitifully real. “Good, that’s good,” he said, patting Ry on the shoulder.

His father’s touch was so unexpectedly moving that emotion tightened Ry’s chest. “I don’t want to take you away from your guests, Dad. Maybe we can get together tomorrow and talk?”

“Would that suit your schedule better, Ry?” Trey asked sarcastically. “Personally, I don’t think the prodigal son should expect a big welcome here.”

Ry clenched his teeth so tight his jaw hurt. This was a nightmare.

“Let’s take this to the study,” his father said firmly, giving Trey a silencing glance and leading the way.

“Fine with me,” Trey said, taking Isabel’s arm and quickly stepping to be next in line.

Beth grabbed Meg’s hand. “C’mon, we’re not going to miss this.”

Meg pulled back. “I don’t belong.”

“You belong as much as I do,” Ry muttered, shoving her in front of him. He could use their support. He looked around for his mother. Shouldn’t she be here, too, especially when she’d been so glad to see him?

Closing the study door, his father motioned for them to be seated. “How long are you here for, Ry?”

“I fly back the day after tomorrow.”

“How long have you been here?” Trey asked, as if Ry might have squeezed in a mere obligatory visit just now.

Ry checked his watch. “Less than an hour.” It was a shame that he felt he had to justify anything to his family, but trust wouldn’t be easy to win back. If he had to account for his time, that was an easy price to pay.

“You started the celebration without me?” his mother said as she swept into the room, her party tiara sparkling as if it might be real jewels.

Ry felt his heart accelerate as it used to when he was a child, knowing Mom had arrived and was now the one in charge.

When had Ry ever seen her so happy? Glancing around the room, all of them seemed to be asking the same question.

“Ry’s home! You know what this means,” she told them, as if they were collectively dense. Smiling at him, she sat down on the arm of his chair, wrapped her arms around his neck and locked her adoring gaze on him. “Tell them, Ry.”

He would if he could. He could barely breathe with his mother’s full affection squarely on him. Had it ever happened before? What would make his mother this happy, this full of joy?

Slow realization crept through his mind. “I’m not sure what you want me to say,” he said, stretching the truth, dreading the explosive moment that was sure to come if he didn’t come up with what his mother wanted to hear.

She stiffened in his arms. “Don’t quibble, Ry. There’s no in-between. You’re either here to follow your destiny, or you’re not.”

His heart sank. It was as bad as he’d feared. He could feel the tension in the room, as if they all held their breaths, and he felt terrible about it. He’d come home to make things right, not worse.

“Mom, I don’t want to disappoint you, but—”

“No!” She stood and whirled away from him, her eyes hot with anger. “Not another word. Not if you’re going to disappoint me.”

But wasn’t that his role in this family? He’d learned that before he’d learned to read.

“Why are you here?” she demanded, her tone so unwelcome it stung.

He dropped his eyes and prayed, not sentences, not even words. Just the name of his Lord, silently, fervently.

“Deborah, why don’t we go back to our guests?” his father said, taking her arm.

She shook off his hand and went to Trey, sitting on the arm of his chair as she’d sat by Ry. Trey put his arm around her protectively, gloating in her preference.

“I’m not leaving until I hear what Ry has to say.” His mother leaned against her elder son.

His dad had tried. Ry had to give him that. It was more than Ry could remember his dad doing before.

“Mom, the reason I came home was to wish you and Dad Happy New Year. And I want to say that I’m sorry for—”

“Sorry?” his mother interrupted. “Sorry! That’s it?”

Ry froze, speechless, staring at his mother’s angry, quivering lips.

“My father would turn over in his grave if he could see the lack of dedication you have in your life.” Her voice shook with emotion. “With the advantages you’ve had and the opportunities you’ve thrown away, you’re a disgrace to his name! Rylander Hamilton was a healer, not a glorified taxi driver. You could have been like him. You still can!”

The injustice of her words sent adrenaline pumping through Ry’s body. He wanted to rush out of the room, slam the door behind him and never come back.

But he sat, rooted in place, feeling sorrow creep through his mind, replacing that first flood of anger. In his work, he had seen sick people who couldn’t distinguish reality from fantasy. His mother—with her crazy highs and lows, her swings from utter devotion to utmost derision—had to be sick. He wasn’t trained to identify the problem, but the doctors sitting in this room ought to know.

One look at his dad said he did…and was helpless to do anything about it. What about the rest of them? Yes, Trey knew. And Beth? The sympathy in her eyes about broke his heart. Only Meg was as much in the dark as he was, but she looked as if she were ready to do battle if he gave her the nod.

He couldn’t leave it like this. He’d come all this way. Maybe by tomorrow his mother’s mood would improve.

Searching for words that wouldn’t ignite another outburst, he said, “You have guests. I don’t want to keep you from them. Mom, I told Dad that I’d like to come back tomorrow if that would be okay.” He hadn’t talked this way in years. Hat-in-hand polite, fearful of rejection.

“You’re not spending the night here?”

Another swing? She wanted him here?

“I’ve already invited Ry to stay with me, Mom,” his sister said, coming to his rescue.

“You only have one bedroom,” his mother argued.

“Ry can sleep on the sofa.”

“The sofa?” It was Beth’s turn to receive the maternal glare.

“It pulls out, queen-size,” Beth said, grinning in spite of the glare. Nothing ruffled Beth.

“Nonsense. Ry, you have a real bed upstairs.”

This was unbelievable. Now his mother was in a tug-of-war over where he slept?

“Not your old bed, of course,” Trey said, plainly delighted to enter the fray. “Mom redecorated soon after you left. The same summer, in fact.”

Ry almost laughed. Did Trey think that tidbit was important? His room had been right for a boy, with its sports theme and trophies that no one cared about except the guy who earned them, and he’d left them behind.

“So, would tomorrow be okay?” he asked again, trying to keep them focused on the real deal instead of where he would sleep and the decor of his room.

“That will be fine,” his father said. “Come for brunch. All of you.” His gaze included Meg.

“I’m sorry,” his mother said, cold as ice. “That won’t do.” She picked a bit of confetti off of her sleeve. “I won’t be here. I’m driving Aunt Jackie back to Palm Springs. Isabel and Trey are going along.”