Rachel’s arms were full of pumpkins when they came in, which felt symbolic in a way she didn’t have time to unpack.

  Not full full—she wasn’t being brave—but enough to make her elbows complain and her sweater sleeves ride up. Emma had swept ahead like a herald announcing their seasonal conquest, Chloe trailing behind with the practical bags, and Noah… Noah had been assigned the blob pumpkin, because it had apparently offended the cart.

  It rested in his arms like a lumpy infant with a stem. He held it with resigned dignity.

  Inside, the house was quieter than it had been at breakfast. Lynn wasn’t in the kitchen. The absence left a strange amount of space in the air.

  Mark appeared from the hallway, already in “project mode,” and smiled at the sight of them.

  “The harvest returns,” he said, then looked pointedly at the blob. “That one yours?”

  Noah glanced down at it like it might answer for itself. “It chose me.”

  Mark laughed. “Lynn ran out for groceries before everything closes early. She’ll be back later.” Then he turned to Noah, as if this was simply how the world worked. “Hey—could I steal you for a bit? Backyard thing. I need… man strength.”

  Noah’s posture shifted automatically into useful. “Sure.”

  Rachel caught his sleeve lightly, not stopping him, just anchoring him for a half second. Noah glanced down at her hand on his arm. His expression softened—brief, real.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  Rachel nodded. “Go be strong.”

  Noah’s mouth quirked.

  Mark was already steering him toward the back door. Noah glanced back once, and Rachel saw something in his face—gratitude, maybe, that she was here, that she'd be okay with his sisters while he was gone.

  Then the door closed and he was outside.

  Emma was already spreading newspaper across the dining table with focused intensity. "Don't worry, Rachel. We'll keep you entertained."

  "We're going to ask you so many questions," Chloe added, hauling pumpkins onto the table.

  Rachel helped distribute the pumpkins, giving each girl one to work on. "Should I be concerned?"

  "Probably," Emma said cheerfully.

  Rachel grabbed the bowl from the counter and set it in the center for pumpkin guts. Then she started arranging tools—the scoops for the insides, markers for designing, the knives set safely to the side for later when there'd be more supervision.

  "Okay," Emma announced. "Ground rules. One: no boring pumpkins."

  "Two: we ask questions," Chloe added.

  Rachel sat down with her own pumpkin—the small round one. "Do I get veto power?"

  Emma considered this seriously. "Two vetos. Use them wisely."

  "Fair enough."

  They started working. Rachel showed them how to cut the top at an angle so the lid wouldn't fall through, carefully supervising as each girl made their opening cuts. Then came the satisfying work of scooping out insides—stringy guts and slippery seeds accumulating in the bowl.

  The girls exchanged one of their silent looks.

  Then Emma asked: "What's the most weird thing about him?"

  Rachel's hand paused mid-scoop. "That's your opening question?"

  "It's a good question," Chloe said, pulling out a handful of pumpkin innards and making a face at the sound of the squelch.

  Rachel laughed and went back to scooping. "He's so organized it's borderline insane. His pantry is alphabetized. He has a specific place for everything."

  Emma giggled, seeds dripping from her fingers. "Really?"

  "Really. When he saw how I stuffed things into my cupboards, his eye twitched until I let him put all the spices in one place."

  They worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The scraping of scoops against pumpkin walls. The wet plop of guts hitting the bowl. The smell of raw pumpkin filling the room.

  Rachel's hands were getting covered in orange slime. She helped Emma reach a stubborn bit stuck to the side of her pumpkin.

  "Does he talk about us?" Chloe asked quietly, focused on her scooping.

  Rachel looked up. "Sometimes. He mentioned Emma's soccer. And your piano."

  Chloe's face brightened. "What else?"

  "A few things, here and there," Rachel admitted, scraping the inside of her pumpkin smooth. "We haven't been together that long, so there's still a lot I'm learning. But he mentioned you guys, and I could tell he really wanted me to come this weekend. He wanted me to meet you both."

  Emma leaned forward, elbows on newspaper. "Is he different here? Like, compared to at school?"

  Rachel considered that, pulling out more seeds. "We’ve only been here a day or so, so it’s a bit hard to say. He seems maybe quieter than usual. A little more careful."

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  They kept working. Rachel supervised as the girls scooped, making sure they got the insides clean enough. The bowl was filling up with orange guts and seeds.

  "We should save the seeds," Chloe said. "Mom usually bakes them."

  "Good idea," Rachel said, and pivoted her focus to separating seeds from the stringy bits.

  They worked together on that for a while—picking through the guts, dropping seeds into a smaller bowl. It was messy, tactile work. Rachel's hands were completely covered now.

  Emma had gone quiet, which was unusual. She was concentrating very hard on extracting seeds.

  Then she asked, voice more serious than before: "Are you in love with him?"

  Rachel's hands stilled in the pumpkin guts. The question hung there. Heavy. Real.

  She looked up. Both girls had stopped working, watching her with careful attention.

  Rachel set down her scoop slowly. Wiped her hands on a paper towel. The newspaper crinkled under her elbows as she leaned forward slightly. She thought about deflecting. Making a joke. Using one of her vetos.

  But that was the kind of question she felt the need to approach with some honesty, though she was having difficulty finding the words.

  "I… I think that’s something I shouldn’t tell other people first," she said carefully, meeting their eyes.

  The silence that followed felt full.

  Emma and Chloe looked at each other. Something passed between them—understanding, maybe satisfaction.

  "So yes," Emma said softly.

  Rachel didn't confirm it. Didn't deny it. Just picked up her scoop and went back to working on her pumpkin, focusing very hard on scraping the inside smooth.

  Her face felt warm. Her hands wanted to shake slightly.

  The girls didn't push, mercifully. They just went back to their own pumpkins, but Rachel could feel their quiet pleasure, their approval.

  They worked without talking for several minutes. Just the sound of scraping and seeds dropping into bowls and the occasional wet plop of discarded guts. Rachel found her breathing evening out. The physical work helped. The girls' easy acceptance helped.

  She glanced at them—heads bent over their pumpkins, completely absorbed. Emma's tongue stuck out slightly in concentration. Chloe worked with methodical precision.

  Rachel took the opening gently. "Can I ask you guys something?"

  "Sure," Emma said.

  "What was Noah like when he lived here?"

  Both girls looked up, thoughtful.

  "We were pretty young," Chloe said. "I was eight when he left."

  "I was ten," Emma added.

  They went back to scooping, slower now. Remembering.

  "He came to my soccer games," Emma said. "Like, all of them. Even the really boring ones where we got completely destroyed."

  "He walked me to piano lessons every Tuesday," Chloe added. "Mom was usually working and it was kind of far, so he'd walk with me and wait outside until I was done."

  "He helped with homework sometimes," Emma said. "Especially math. He was really patient about explaining things."

  Rachel kept her hands moving, separating seeds, giving them space to talk.

  "One time I had this huge science project," Emma continued. "And I'd totally procrastinated. He stayed up with me until like midnight helping me build this volcano. It actually turned out pretty cool."

  Chloe smiled, remembering. "He taught me this card game. I don't even remember what it was called anymore, but we played it a lot."

  These were good memories, Rachel realized. Normal sibling memories.

  "He was just around, you know?" Emma said. "If we needed something, he'd help."

  "He never got mad," Chloe added. "Even when Emma was being annoying."

  "I wasn't annoying," Emma protested.

  "You were definitely annoying sometimes," Chloe said. "But he never seemed bothered."

  They scooped in quiet for a moment.

  "There was this one time though," Emma said slowly. "When he got really sick. Like, bad flu or something."

  Chloe nodded.

  "Dad told him to stay in bed," Emma continued. "But he kept trying to get up and do stuff. He came downstairs to help with dinner even though he looked terrible. Dad had to actually make him go back to bed."

  "It was weird," Chloe agreed. "He could barely stand but he kept saying he was fine."

  "Dad was kind of annoyed," Emma said. "Like, 'just let us take care of you' or something."

  Rachel's hands stilled. She forced herself to keep working, pulling out the last stubborn bits of pumpkin string.

  "But mostly he was just nice," Emma said. "A good brother."

  "We didn't understand why he left," Chloe said quietly. "He wasn't causing problems. Mom and Dad said it was better for everyone but we didn't really get why."

  "We were sad," Emma admitted. "We still kind of are."

  There was a pause. Then Chloe asked, very quietly: "Do you know why?"

  Rachel's hands stilled completely.

  She looked up at them—two girls who still didn’t have an answer that made sense. They just remembered a kind stepbrother who helped with homework and came to soccer games and then suddenly wasn't there anymore.

  Rachel did know. Or, she'd pieced enough together to understand. But it wasn't her story to tell. And, even if it was, how could she explain to these kids that their stepbrother had left because he'd seen something in his mother's eyes one day and concluded that no amount of being helpful or quiet or good would ever be enough? That he'd decided his presence itself was the problem, and leaving was the only real solution?

  "I think," Rachel said carefully, "that sometimes people need their own space to figure things out. And that doesn't mean anything was wrong with the people they left behind. Sometimes it just means they needed to grow in their own way."

  It was a terrible answer. Diplomatic and hollow.

  But Chloe nodded slowly, like she'd heard something that helped a little anyway.

  "He seems good now," Emma said. "Different."

  Rachel's chest ached. She focused on her pumpkin, now clean and smooth inside, ready for carving later.

  "Yeah," Rachel said softly. "I think he's doing okay. I think he's happy."

  "Good," Chloe said quietly.

  They finished cleaning out their pumpkins. Rachel helped them get the insides perfectly smooth, showing them how to scrape the walls thin enough for light to show through when they carved. Then they grabbed markers and started sketching designs on the outside. Emma drew something chaotic and ambitious. Chloe measured out a geometric pattern. Rachel sketched a lopsided face with crooked teeth.

  Emma was working on an elaborate jagged mouth when she said, not looking up: "Do you think you could make him visit more?"

  Rachel's marker paused.

  "We miss him," Chloe added quietly, still focused on her geometric pattern.

  Rachel looked at them—two girls trying very hard to seem casual about something that clearly mattered.

  "I can't make him do anything," Rachel said gently. "But I can encourage it. And I think he'd like to see you guys more often too."

  "Good," Emma said, still drawing. "If… If he does come more, you should come, too. Because we really like you."

  "I like you guys, too," Rachel said, trying to hide the tightness she was feeling creep into her throat. “I’ll be sure to come along when I can.”

  Silence settled again, mostly comfortable, the difficulties having reached mostly satisfactory conclusions, so far as Rachel could tell. They went back to their designs. Drawing carefully, occasionally erasing and redrawing. Planning what they'd carve later when there were adults around to supervise the actual cutting.

  Outside, Rachel could hear Noah's voice, Mark's laughter. Normal Saturday sounds.

  Inside, she sat with his sisters and tried not to think too hard about the gap between their fond memories and everything she was learning this weekend. About a boy who'd gone to soccer games and taught card games and then quietly left because we was allowed to believe that he was the problem.

  "These are going to be so cool," Emma said, surveying her elaborate design.

  "We’re gonna need help actually carving them," Chloe said practically. "These are pretty detailed."

  "And when Noah's back," Emma said. "He should see our designs first."

  Rachel smiled. "He'd like that."

  They cleaned up the worst of the mess—pumpkin guts into the compost, seeds saved for roasting, newspaper folded and discarded. The pumpkins sat on the table with their sketched faces, waiting.

  Through the back window, Rachel could see Noah and Mark in the yard, moving something heavy. Noah's sleeves were rolled up, his expression focused.

  She'd have him back soon.

  For now, she had his sisters, and pumpkin-sticky hands, and the warm feeling of knowing there were people in this house who genuinely wanted him to stay.