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TRANSCRIPT
A L S O B YA N N A
D E S T E FA N O
ECHOESOFTHEHEARTSERIESHere in My Heart: A
NovellaSEASONSOFTHEHEARTSERIESChristmasonMimosaLaneThree Days on Mimosa
LaneLoveonMimosaLane
DAUGHTERSERIESTheUnknownDaughterTheRunawayDaughterThePerfectDaughter
ATLANTAHEROESSERIESBecauseofaBoyToProtecttheChildToSaveaFamilyThe Firefighter’s Secret
BabyROMANTICSUSPENSEShatteredWitness
SCIENCEFICTION/FANTASYSecretLegacyDarkLegacy
NOVELLAS/ANTHOLOGIES“Weekend Meltdown” in
WinterHeat“BabySteps” inMother of
theYear“A Small-Town Sheriff”
(Daughterseries)
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,organizations,places,events,andincidentsareeitherproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.
Textcopyright©2015AnnaDeStefanoAllrightsreserved.
Nopartofthisbookmaybereproduced,orstoredina
retrievalsystem,ortransmittedinanyformorbyanymeans,electronic,mechanical,photocopying,recording,orotherwise,withoutexpresswrittenpermissionofthepublisher.
PublishedbyMontlakeRomance,Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon,theAmazonlogo,andMontlakeRomanceare
trademarksofAmazon.com,Inc.,oritsaffiliates.
ISBN-13:9781477829158ISBN-10:1477829156
CoverdesignbyMumtazMustafa
LibraryofCongressControlNumber:2014958168
Tothewarriorsoftheheartwhonevergiveuponlove.
ContentsChapterOneChapterTwoChapterThreeChapterFourChapterFiveChapterSixChapterSevenChapterEightChapterNineChapterTen
ChapterElevenChapterTwelveChapterThirteenChapterFourteenChapterFifteenChapterSixteenChapterSeventeenChapterEighteenChapterNineteenChapterTwentyChapterTwenty-OneChapterTwenty-TwoChapterTwenty-ThreeAcknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
ChapterOne
OliverBowmansurveyed thespectaclebeyondthefloor-to-ceiling windows of hisMidtown Atlanta loft.Disappearing before itssetting sun, the dusky skywas a twilight miracle. Itmadehimthinkofhome.
Another high-stakes ITproject was behind him, hissecondsincehe’dreturnedtothe South. He’d conquered akick-ass gauntlet ofanticipated challenges, morethan earning the ridiculoushourly rate he’d quoted hisclient. Plus a bonus forjuggling last-minute crisesandbeatinghisdeadline.Twopotentialdealswerein
thepipelineawaitinghisnextpitch:oneinSeattle,theother
in Toronto. Within the hourhe’d pull the trigger on histop prospect. And he wouldlandit,beatingoutcompetingcontractors—other guns forhire who’d good-naturedlycurse him in theircongratulatory e-mails. Bythe first of next week he’drelocate. There’d be no timeto focus on anything butwork.But tonight, staring at his
sunset view after a nerve-
settling run through town,there was nothing to distracthimfromlookingback.Fromwantingtogoback—iffornoother reason than to silencethe question he couldn’t stophimself from asking. Whatdid it say that all thesemonths he’d lived andworkedonlymilesawayfromthefosterfamilyhe’dcrashedoutofateighteen?Yetnoonefrom seven years ago knewhe was back except for
Travis, the foster brotherOliverhadbeenclosestto.Hewasfocusedontheright
things, he reminded himself.And working his ass off tomake those things possible.Dwelling on the past was apointless distraction for aman who made his not-inconsiderablelivinggrindingout the day-to-day present.Hisdemandingcareerfedhisdrivetocompeteandachieve.Itkepthimontrackandfreed
everyone else to focus onwhat they needed to—includinghisfosterparents.Itkept quiet, nostalgic nightsliketonighttoaminimum.He’d just ridden the
elevator up after joggingthrough streets heavy withMay’s suffocating humidity.ThetempsinGeorgiaweren’twhat got to you this time ofyear.Themoisture in theair,rainorshine,madeyouthinkyou needed a snorkel to
breathe.Andwhilehe’dbeenaway, he’d missed even thatforsomegodforsakenreason.Hewas drenched in sweat,
logging five miles in underforty minutes. He’d lefthimself plenty of time toshowerbeforehis conferencecalltoatop-shelfWestCoastCIO whose six-monthcontract would solidify therestofOliver’sbusinessyear.Now he was going to smelllike a locker room when he
Skyped about cloudcomputing data solutions.Because he couldn’t stopwrestlingwith the impulse toturnabriefblipofdowntimeinto an excuse to visitChandlerville—a suburbtwentymilesnortheastof theA-T-L.Itwasnaturaltowanttosee
how his foster parents werehelping a new crop of kidslearn they were worthy oflove—onehug,onegentlyset
boundaryatatime.Andifhewerebeinghonest,towanttobe seen by Marsha and JoeDixon now that Oliver had“madeit.”Grunting, he scanned his
sparsely decorated apartmentwith an objective eye. Itwasa flashy penthouse unit, itsstaggering lease covered bythelatestcorporationneedinghis expertise.The top-of-the-line 4x4 in an undergroundgarage was another high-end
perk, freeing up his cash forbetter uses. But beneath theglossysurfacehewasstilltheguywho’dwalkedawayfromhis last chance at a familywith a threadbare backpackover his shoulder and theentire contents of his lifeinside. Just like he’d have tobe wherever and whatever anew client wanted him to benextweek.Joe and Marsha’s world
was rocking on just fine
without him. They didn’tneed him barging in andmucking with that. Theyneeded the money he senthome every month to helpthem raise a fresh crop ofparentlessboysandgirls.Anditwasasweetdealforamanwho’dnearlypissedawaythesecond chance he’d beengiven.Enough delaying the
inevitable.TimetoripofftheBand-Aid. One firm pull. A
rushofpain, followedby thesoothingreliefofhavingdonewhat he’d dreaded. Becauseliving this close toChandlerville, he’d neverstop wondering whether hisfoster parents were proud ofwhat he’d accomplished. Orif the beautiful girl he’d loston another late spring nightmightsmileoneofherperfectsmiles if she could see himnow.He rocked on the heels of
the worn running shoes hekept forgetting to replace.The light beyond hiswindows faded, purplebleeding to gray. Barelyrealizingwhat hewas doing,he rubbed a hand over thetattoo he’d had inked abovehis heart after he’d left theDixonhome.Theball-bustingteen still lurking inside himsneered.Why would Selena
Rosenthalbe thinkingofhim
afterallthistime?Since they were eighteen,
they’d been as over as twopeoplecouldbewho’dswornto love each other forever.Travis had said she’d leftChandlerville not long afterOliver. His first love hadmarried, had another man’sbaby. She’d created a totallynew life for herself, light-years from the small-townreality she and Oliver mighthavemadetogether.
Meanwhile in the last yearand a half he’d satisfied tworight-place, right-time, big-dog Atlanta clients. He’dregrouped and was workingharder and better than everfor his foster family. Workthat kept him perpetually onthemove.Whichmadeitoutof the question—his gettingany closer to the people itwould gut him to have towalkawayfromagain.His apartment phone rang,
ripping his gaze away fromthe final streaks of lightdusting the horizon. Thehandset in the kitchensoundedoffasecondtime.Only one person on the
planet knew how to contacthimon anything but his cell.Wherever Oliver moved forbusiness, he maintained alandline and the internationalmessagingservice it fed into.He’dshared thenumberwithnoonebutTravis,whoknew
betterthantouseitexceptforemergencies. Their sporadicconversations over the yearshad been the result ofOlivercontacting his foster brother,nottheotherwayaround.Oliver headed across the
loft’s Berber carpet, hisinsides twisting. He rippedthephonefromitsreceiver.“Hello?”“Youneedtocomehome,”
said the ragged voice on theother end of the line. Travis
still lived in Chandlerville,surrounded by the court-appointed family whose lovehad saved them both. “It’sDad.It’sbad,man.”
ChapterTwo
Oliver was back inChandlerville.Through Tuesday morning
shadows, Selena Rosenthallocked gazes with the onewho’d gotten away. Nextdoor, a ruggedly handsomeman stared at her from the
frontstepsofJoeandMarshaDixon’s sprawling house—ayard, a hedge, and anotheryard away. Dark hair.Dramatic green eyes. Oliverhadthefaceofanangelandamouth that could tempt awomanintojustaboutanysinon the books. She’d haveknownhimanywhere.Yearshadpassed.Sevenof
them, filledwithherwantingto go back and fix themistakes that had led to her
and Oliver’s last disastrousargument. She’d been toobusy tomisshimsince she’dreturned to town. At leastshe’drefusedtodwellonhowmuchshemissedhim—everytime she saw someone frombefore or stumbled into afamiliarplace.Andinsteadofreveling in the poignantmemories,she’dfelt likehalfa person, because Oliverwasn’t there to share themomentwithher.
Thenhe’dsteppedoutofashiny red truck in his fosterparents’ drive just now,dressed in a wrinkled whiteT-shirt, jeans, and rattyrunningshoes.Hermother’sscreenedfront
door whooshed shut behindher, smacking Selena in thebutt.ShewaitedforOlivertorespond, to move, to doanything except stare back.She couldn’t stop her smile,or thepathetichalfwavethat
followed it. While his non-response drippedwith you’redead to me, until she forcedherselftolookaway.Oh.My.God.Oliver.Shetriedtobreathe,toplay
itcool.And then theheadofthe precocious bundle ofenergy and hair bowsbobbinginherarmssmackedSelena in the chin. Shegasped so quickly, shehiccupped.
“We have to waterGrammy’s flowers,Mommy.” Camille struggledtogetdown.Herfirstmissioneach morning was to makecertain she and Selena caredfortheabundanceofbudsandbushes her grammy obsessedabout.“Ileftmywateringcanoutback.”“Gofindit.”Selenasether
daughteronher feet. “Hurry,orwe’llbelateforschool.”Two months ago Belinda
Rosenthal had welcomedSelena and Camille into herhome after a lifetime ofestrangement—Camille’slifetime. Selena had reachedout to her mother over thephone as soon as she’d hadher own child and begun tounderstand just howcomplicated mothering couldbe:onholidaysandbirthdaysand Mother’s Day. But forSelena, coming back hadneverbeenanoption.Untilit
hadbecometheonlyoption.Withanewappreciationfor
Belinda’s hands-off, distantway of caring, Selena wastrying to mend fences withher mom despite theirdifferences.Includinghelpingcare for Belinda’s obsessionwith all things botanical.Camille’swateringpotwasaprop.Itkeptherbusywiththeflowers that grew in a wildtangle under her bedroomwindow,whileSelenadidthe
heavy lifting of hoistinghoses and sprinklers frombeneath the azaleas flankingthefrontporch.Mostmornings the process
resembled a grudge match:her dragging and untanglingeverything, so the SweeTart-colored blooms of themonstrous hydrangeas thatsprawled near the Dixons’front yard could have theirmorning soaking. Dailywatering was a must
accordingtoSelena’smother,who’d mastered the art ofnurturing delicate buds andblooms to thrive underadversity. While the rest ofthe country slept off thelingering chill ofwinter, latespring graced Chandlervillewithunseasonableheat.UntilSeptember the afternoon sunwould revel in its power towilt even the hardiest ofindigenousspecies.A rattle from the Dixons’
place, the sound of keysjingling, recaptured Selena’sattention.Shebravedanotherpeek. The neighboring yardwas empty, almostconvincinghershehadn’tjustogled a full-grown, ruggedlyattractive version of herteenage obsession. But ofcourse she had. Her bodyknew she had. She wastingling,headtotoe,sameasalwayswhenOliverwasnear.He’d gone inside was all.
Sprinted was more like it,away from how she’dembarrassedherself.He’d made her feel safe
onceuponatime.She’dbeenspecial, because he’dwantedher.Fromthemomentthey’dmet she’d been at the centerof someone’s world again.He’d tried to protect her.He’d tried to help her, whenhe hadn’t yet known how tohelphimself.Her phone blared its
Mission:Impossible ringtone.Shedraggeditoutofhertoteand stabbed the Talk buttonwithherthumb.“We’re already running
late, Mom.” Selena’s littlegirl returned with herwatering can, squeezingthrough the screen door.“We’re taking care of theyard.”“Remember,”Belinda said,
“we’re helping Camille pickout summer shoes after
school.We’llhavetomeetatthe store afterwe’rebothoffwork.”If Selena’s mother stopped
remindingSelenaabouteverysingle detail of the life shewas rebuilding, someonewouldhave tocheckBelindaforapulse.“I’llbe there,”Selenasaid,
tampingdownherfrustration.Subtlety might not be hermother’s gift. But Belindawas making the best of
whatever time Selenaremained in Chandlervillewhileshegotbackonherfeetfinancially.At thevery least,Selena owed her mother thesameinreturn.“Lockupwhenyouleave.”
The line went dead,presumably soBelinda couldmicromanage herChandlerville post officecoworkersintoafuguestate.Selena wouldn’t hear from
her again until her mother’s
middaycheck-incall.Duringwhich Belinda would couchherconcernforthedeplorablestateofherdaughter’s life ineven more reminders aboutnonsense things that couldn’tpossiblymatter.As a child, Selena had
resented her single mombeing too busy to offer softgestureslikecomfortinghugsand encouraging pep talks.Her relationship with hermother would never be the
exuberantkindofloveSelenahad craved since her fatherwalked out when she wasfive.ButBelindahadworkedherfingerstotheboneforherdaughter—thesameasSelenawasnowdoingforCamille.She dropped her cell into
the tote bag her mother hadlent her. Selena’s anemicbudget had produced only asecondhandbackpack.Beforeleaving Manhattan, she’dgiven up her designer purses
and most of her Upper EastSidewardrobeand jewelry—including her wedding andengagement rings—to aresaleshop.Camille held up her
watering can like a prize. “Ifounditbythebegonias,”shechirped.Selena secured the front
doorandthenthescreen.Shehugged her child, enchantedwith the way Camille stillembraced each new
adventure. She’d fallen inlove with her grandmother’sblooming world. Theoutrageous names offloweringplantsrolledoffhertonguethewayotherchildrenchatterednurseryrhymes.“Pamper your forget-me-
nots.”SelenasteeredCamilletowardtheperkyblueflowersthat bloomed beneath herbedroom window. “I’ll giveGrammy’shedge itsmorningdrink while there’s still
shade.”And while Selena pulled
herself together enough todrive them to ChandlerElementarySchool.She peeled off her linen
jacket and draped it and hertote over the porch rail. Shegave the long skirt of herdeep-brown sundress a hikeand grabbed both sets ofhoses. She dragged the lotacross the freshly mownlawn, the ancient sprinkler
attachments thumpingbehindher. As she approached theDixon property she couldn’thelpbutpeek,hopingtocatchanotherglimpseofOliver.WhenwordreachedSelena
yesterday that an ambulancehadwhiskedJoeDixontothehospital, she should haverealized that someofMarshaand Joe’s grown fosterchildren might turn up intown.EvenOliver.EspeciallyOliver.
Afterhowbadlythingshadended,most everyone on theother side of Chandlervillefrom places like winding,affluent Mimosa Lane hadassumed Oliver would nevercome back. But he’d lovedhis foster parents. He’d lostso much when he’d left.Selena would never forgiveherselfforherroleinhurtinghimandMarsha and Joe andsomanyothers.She positioned the
sprinklers, focusing on notcompletely soaking herselfwith the dribbles of trappedwater leaking every whichwaynow that thehoseswerefullyextended.“Catch, Mommy,” Camille
said.The neon-pink Hello Kitty
Frisbee thathadbeen lurkingsomewhere in the front yardsailedoverSelena’shead...AndlandedatOliver’sfeet.
Selenawasreallythere.What the hell was she
doing there, so beautiful thatshemadeOliverache?Only a few feet away, she
was a paragon ofmotherhood,whilea floodofmessed-up and surprisinglysweetmemories tauntedhim.Themasbestfriendsfromthemoment they’d met. As a
teenage couple who’d neverlet each other go. As acautionary tale of howmuchtruelovecoulddestroy,whenyouletitslipaway.She’d been the one who’d
torchedwhatwasleftoftheirrelationship. Breaking upwith him after high schoolgraduation, telling him hewas to blame, and thensleeping with his best friendto rub a little extra salt intothe wound. But he’d let her
downfirst.Andhe’dacceptedhis share of the blame longago. Which was why heshouldhavestayed insidehisfolks’placejustnowuntilshewasgone.Heshouldgobackinsideandwaitforhisbrothertomeetupwithhim,thewayTravishadsaidhewould.ButOlivercouldn’tmove.He couldn’t take his eyes
offofher.Darkhaircascadedhalfway to the waist of hergauzy dress. Tall, willowy,
fragile, Selena still exudedthe vulnerability that haddevastated him when they’dfirst met, first kissed, andeventually became eachother’s first lover. As if theforever place they thoughtthey’d made in each other’shearts was there for him toclaim.When he was placed with
Marsha and Joe at thirteen—after his single mother hadbeenrobbedandkilledather
night job as a conveniencestore clerk—he’d discoveredSelena living next door.She’d seemedas lost ashe’dfelt,stilldealingwithherdadwalking out on her andBelinda. One look into herimpossibly brown eyes andOliver had begun to believethat someone else couldunderstand the lonelinesssucking him under. Shehadn’t seemed to belong onquaint, picturesque Bellevue
Laneeither.Together, they’d learned
how to love and dream andbelieve again—at least ineach other. Then their senioryearinhighschool,they’dletit all slip away, drinking andraging and trying to burnthrough the kind of loss noone else could possiblyfathom. He’d seen the endcomingandtriedtopullthemboth out of the spiral. He’dbeentoolate.
More than once over theyears, he’d dreamed ofsteppingaroundthefloweringbushes that separated theirfront yards and finding agrownSelenawaitingforhimlike this. But whatever shewas doing in town after allthistime,ithadnothingtodowith him. Mentally kickinghimself, he watched anadorable child—herdaughter?—run up to thewomanwho’dsaidshenever
wantedtoseeOliveragain.“Hey, mister.” The kid’s
soft lispwas even cuter thanher off-centered ponytails.She pointed to theFrisbee athisfeet.“Throwitback.”He bent and grabbed the
toy. When he stood, aninsomniahangoverdugclawsinto his skull. After haulingass around the clock forweeksonend,he’d spent thenightcheckinginwithTravishourly about Joe’s condition
—andwrestlingwiththeprosand cons of driving the halfhour between Atlanta andChandlerville. By sunupOliver had accepted that hehad to get himself home, ifonly to spend a few hourswith his parents beforeheadingbackoutoftown.Atthis point he was practicallyseeingdouble.He threw the Frisbee over
the hedge. It glided in abright, curving arc. The little
girl scampered away,giggling.Selena made hesitant eye
contact,lookingalittleafraidofhim.Heknewexactlyhowshe felt. This was pointless.Painful.Andavoidable.Nodding, he walked to his
truck, snatched the bag he’dcome out for, and headedinside. He was being rude.But it was for the best. Hecouldn’t let their teenagemistakes distract him from
the reality that had finallyconvinced him to return toChandlerville. Joe Dixonmight be dying. It simplywasn’tpossible.Oliver stepped into the
Dixon house. Its stillnessfurther frayed his calm.Because the small-townsimplicityofitwasmorehimthan anywhere else he’dlived. He leaned againstMarsha and Joe’s front door,his head thudding against
wornwood.His father’s denim jacket
hung from the coat rackbeside the entryway, thoughJoe wouldn’t need it foranother six months or so.Marsha’s flair for throwingcolorandpatterntogetherstillinfused the living room withhominess. Handmadeslipcovers and throws andpillowssoftened theedgesoffurniture sturdy enough toendurethebeatingitreceived
on a daily basis.Kid flotsamwasstrewneverywhere,cast-aside books and toys andshoes. Marsha’s nightlythreats to throw things out iftheyweren’tpickedupneverentirely cleared the playingfield.Framed images of the
Dixonclanstaredbackathimfrom the wall across theentryway: his own fosterbrothers and sisters, plus thenewerpasselMarshaandJoe
were raising. Oliver scannedpictures of himself mixedwith all the others, includinghis senior portrait fromChandlerHigh.Hecountedatleast a half dozen more kidsthantheoneshe’dknown.Footsteps sounded on the
woodenfrontsteps.Heedgedawaysecondsbeforethedooropened and a tall, muscularman stepped inside. TravisBryant fully grown wouldhave been intimidating
enough dressed in civilianclothes.Thesheriff’suniformhe wore these days wasdownrightoverkill.“Hey,man,”Travis said in
a booming voice that hesomehow kept at a whisper,indeferencetothekids—andtheir grown foster sister,Dru—he’dwarnedwouldstillbesleepingupstairs.“Officer.”Oliversmiledfor
thefirst time inwhatseemedlikeforever.
“That’s Deputy to you.”TravistookOliver’smeasure.“Damn, son, you’re lookinggood. A little Night of theLiving Dead at the moment.But if I took you on, it justmightbeafairfight.”Oliver jerked his chin.
“When I’m done, I guessthere’d be something left ofyou.ButI’mnotmakinganypromises.”“Before or after I throw
yourass in jail forassaulting
anofficer?”“Nothing says welcome
back,” Oliver quipped, “likebeing fingerprinted andprocessed.”Everyone who’d lived at
Marsha and Joe’s when he’dmoved inhaddone theirbestto make him feel welcome.Travis, too, though he andOliver had fought likemongrel pups at first.Squaringoff,they’dgoneatitinaturfwarthathadevolved
into mutual respect and abrotherly bond that stillendured.Oliverreachedouthishand
to shake. Travis yanked himinto a bro-code hug: quick,hard, powerful. They pushedaway, leaving unspoken,deeper emotions beneath thesurface.Travis cleared his throat
and propped his hands at hiswaist, shoving aside the gunholstered to his belt at his
righthip.“Druupyet?”Oliver shook his head—at
the question and the changesin his brother. As a teenagerTravisasmuchasOliverhadchallenged authority andbalked at their parents’well-intentioned structure andlimits.“I just got here,” Oliver
said.“That why Selena was
standingintheyardnextdoorwhenIpulledup,lookinglike
she’dseenaghost?”Oliverexhaled.“Itwasjust
badtiming.”“Notifyouwanttomenda
fewfences.”“I need to clean up before
we head to the hospital.”Oliver hefted his duffel ontohisshoulder.He didn’t ask why Travis
hadn’t mentioned Selena’sreturn to Chandlerville. Justlike Travis hadn’t pushedover the last year and a half
about Oliver taking on twosuccessive client contracts inAtlanta, while still keepinghisdistancefromthefamily.“Use Marsha and Joe’s
bathroom.” Travis—usingMarsha and Joeinterchangeably with Momand Dad, the way most oftheir foster siblings had—lookedlikeamanpickinghisbattles.“Dru’sbunkingonthefloor in the baby’s room.Teddy’s been keeping Mom
andDadupnights.Trynottowake either of them. She’llhave to get the broodbreakfast and off to schoolsoonenough.”“Sure.”Asmuch asOliver
wanted to see his sister, heneeded toget to theirparentsfirst. “So, she’s engaged,huh?”Travis had saidDruwould
beat thehousewith thekidsovernight while Travis hungat the hospital with their
parents, waiting on updatesandkeepingeveryoneelse inthe loop. Oliver rememberedhis sister in braces,scrambling after him and theother boys, determined tokeep up. Now she had afiancé?“Since last Christmas,”
Travisconfirmed.Olivernarrowedhiseyesat
the lackofdetails.Hishousekey bit into his clenchedpalm. The one his foster
parents had presented to himhis first day there, the waythey did all the kids.Everything that was theirshadbeenhisforever,justlikethat.He gazed through the
doorway into Marsha’skitchen, where she reignedsupreme as the familygathered for meals, makingthe kind of memories thatheldonwheneverythingelselet go. He and Selena had
donehomeworkinthere,too,eatingcookiesor leftoversorsomething Marsha hadwhippedupspecialforthem.“Bite the bullet,” Travis
said, “and talk with thewoman.”“Dru? Yeah, sure. Later,
when we get back from thehospital.”“ImeantSelena.”Oliver’s scattered thoughts
refocused on his brother.“Don’tgothere,man.”
“The woman’s living rightnextdoor.Whereelseistheretogo?”“I’mgoingupstairsforthat
shower so the CICU staffdoesn’t hose me down onsight.”Travis met Oliver’s stare.
“Listen, man. I know all ofthis has to be tough, andyou’re worried about Dad.Everyone will be thrilledyou’re home. But are yougoingtobe . . . Imean,after
whathappenedlastyear,isallof this going to be toomuchforyour—”“I’m fine.” Oliver shoved
the house key into his jeanspocket and carried his duffelup the stairs of the sleepyhouse. He was going to befine. Over his shoulder, headded, “I just need to stopsmelling like thebottomofarancidgymbag.”He’d yet to clean up from
lastnight’srun.He’dbotched
the conference call withSeattle. He’d prowled hiscondolikeacagedanimalforhoursbeforehe’dditchedhisrunning gear and thrown onwhatever clothes he couldfind so he could head home.He wasn’t certain he’dpacked anything but jockeyshortsandsocksinhisbag.“Ready to head out in
twenty?” Travis called afterhim.“Downinten.”
Oliverwasamess,andthathad to stop.Hewasgoing tobe where he was neededtoday—at the hospital withhis parents, not wanderingaround his foster homeremembering and wanting itall back. Not chasing afterSelena and the absurd notionthat talking with her couldcorrect things that had beenwrongfortoolongtofix.Hewasgoingtodothebest
he could for his family with
the short time he was back.Then tomorrow he’d refocusonhispitch toaFortune100paper manufacturer thatwantedhimonthenextplanetoCanada.
ChapterThree
Youneedhelp,Selena,Oliverhad said to her forever ago.She’d been drunk. Again.She’d been an alcoholic,though it would be monthsyetbeforeshe’dbegintodealwith it. Sober for the firsttime formuchof their senior
year, Oliver’s gentleencouragement that she dryout, too, had sounded to herstill-messed-up self ascriticism. Disappointment.Rejection. This is my fault,he’dsaid.Youwouldn’tbesooutof control if itwasn’t forme. Letme help you—letmemakethisright.I don’t want your help!
Selena had screamed, certainhe was dumping her. She’dbeen certain for weeks. You
wantout,justlikemydaddid.He said he loved me. Howlong’s it gonna take beforeyou leaveme, too?Huh? I’lltell you how long. Now!Because I’m the one who’sthrough this time. We’redone.Anythinghadseemedbetter
than Oliver finally giving uponherforgood.So she’d raged onward
solo, after his parents hadinsisted he stop drinking or
he’d have to leave the fosterhome he’d already aged outof. Until she’d destroyed thelast of her childhood, theirlove, and Oliver’s life inChandlerville.“Do we get to stop for
doughnuts?” Camille asked,dragging Selena back to thepresent.She hadn’t moved since
Oliver and then Travisdisappeared inside theDixonhouse. Her heart was still
doingpirouettesinherthroat.And now her daughter’swateringcanwasempty, andCamille was hopping up anddownatSelena’sfeet.Ouch! Make that on
Selena’s feet, smearing dirtand Georgia clay all overSelena’ssoft-soledshoes.“Mommy, you said we
couldget—”“A chocolate doughnut on
the way to school.” Selenaled her daughter back to the
house. She banished hermemories deep inside, to theemotionless corner of hermind where the past wasn’tanoldwoundforeverseepingfreshblood.The toes of her favorite
shoes squished, sinking intothe boggy soil beneathBelinda’s drippy spigot.Selena mentally crossed offanother piece of her oncestylishwardrobethatwastoodelicate for a busy day in
Chandlerville. Her silkballerina flats had beenbought to accompany a chicsheath dress embroideredwithamatchingarrayofseedpearls and tiny bows. Thedress was long gone. Theshoes she’d talked herselfinto keeping, because theywere beautiful and made hersmile.Nowtheywereanothercasualty of Selenaunderestimating just howlong her rocky fresh start
wouldbe.“Perfect,” she groused at
the spigot, twisting the dialon the hose’s timer andsettingthewatertoshutoffinhalfanhour.“What’s wrong?” Her six-
year-old tugged at Selena’sthrift-storedress.“Nothing, sweetheart,”
Selenarepliedtothequestionno child should ask as oftenashersdid.Selenaturnedthewateron.
Itgushedfromthesprinklers.She grabbed her things andkneltinthegrassbytheporchsteps, kissing Camille’stempleonthewaydown.Shetightened the ribbons she’dtied around her little girl’swispy pigtails. She alwaysmanaged to make themslightlyoff-center.Had Oliver noticed how
beautiful Camille looked,regardless?“We’re snagging your
nutritionally barren, dairy-free, nut-free breakfast togo,” Selena said, rather thandwelling on questions thatwouldgethernowhere.Ifshewere going to do anythingmore than stare at the all-grown-up version of Oliver,she’d had her chance twicealready. “We want to get toschool before KarenDavenporthoardsall thebestcraftsupplies.”“I’m going to rule the art
table.”Camillepumpedatinyfist into the air, celebratingher impending triumph overthe reigning mean girl indaycare.Selena dropped Camille at
Chandler Elementary’s earlychild-care center eachmorning Selena worked as asubstitute teacher, withouthaving to pay the fee shecouldn’t afford until herdivorce was finalized. Shewas fortunate the school’s
principal, Kristen HemmingsBeaumont, kept her in mindso often for the part-timeopportunities that a long listof subs could fill. Practicallyevery day for over a month,Selena had had steadywork,custom-madetofillthehoursher daughter was in school.Kristen seemed genuinelycommitted to helping themreclaimtheirfinancialfooting—at leastuntil school letoutforthesummeratthetailend
ofnextweek.Until then, Selena had to
wakeherdaughter forschoolmuch earlier than whenthey’dlivedinNewYork,soSelena could get toChandlerandplanforthedayahead.Itwasn’t what she wanted forCamille, but Belinda headedto the post office eachmorning at five. So foranother week at least, thiswasthewaythingshadtobe.Selena hugged Camille
close. Her earliest memorieswere of her parents fightingnonstop,andofoneorbothofthemthreateningtomoveout.Then Selena and her motherhad had to make their wayalone, finally arriving onBellevueLane—withBelindaearning barely enough inthose early years to keep thelights on and food in thehouse.NowthatwasSelena’sdaughter’s reality. AndSelena was determined to
make all the scary changesand confusion and worry upto Camille. They would getthrough this—one day, onesquishyfootstepatatime.“Let’s go, Cricket,” she
said, using her favoritenickname for her daughter.SheledCamilletotheircar.Selena had affectionately
named the heap Fred. He’dbeenallshecouldaffordwithwhat remained of themoneyshe’d squirreled away before
filing for divorce from hercheating, fabulouslywealthy,well-respected yet not-to-be-trusted husband. When Fredslowed as he struggled up ahill,sheimaginedtherewasarusted-out hole beneath thefloor mats where she couldstick her feet through, likeone of the Flintstonespedaling to help the enginealong. But he was hers freeand clear. She didn’t oweanyoneanythingforhim.And
he’d come through like achamp on their long journeyback to Georgia, charmingSelena down to herunpedicuredtoes.Slipping behind the wheel
after buckling Camille’s carseat, she turned the key.Theignition sputtered and thendied. Black smoke spewedfromthetailpipe.“Uh-oh,”Camillesaid.Selena’s next attempt to
rouse Fred from his funk
ended in an emphysemicbelch.“No doughnuts?” Camille
asked.Selena laughed. She
dropped her head to thesteering wheel. This wasn’thappening.She didn’t mean to glance
next door at Oliver’s shinyred truck and the Dixonhome.Herheadjustrolledtothesideonitsown.Thenshegritted her teeth and turned
Fred’skeyagain.Becausehewas going to cooperate. Therumblings beneath his hoodwarned that he didn’t takekindly to being bossedaround.Buttheenginefinallycaughtandroaredtolife.“Yay!” Camille cheered.
“Chocolate!”Soaking in her daughter’s
celebration, Selena cajoledher ancient Chevy intoreverse. She steered him outof the driveway and pulled
away from their morning’srocky start. Taking the turnonto Maple, she headed forDan’s Doughnuts on Mainand settled into the drive.She’d almost cleared hermind of everything but herdaughter’s morning treat andthe workday ahead, whenMission: Impossible heckledher from the depths of hertote.Sighing, one hand on the
wheel, she kept her attention
fixed on the road in front ofher and fumbled the phonefromherpurse.“I’mdriving,”shesaidafter
thumbingthecallthroughandputtinghermomonspeaker.“Tell me you’re going to
steer clear of him,” Belindainsisted.“Mom . . .”Selena tried to
remember that her motherwas trying to help, notobsessed with every newmistakeSelenamightmake.
“I heard he was back.Jonathan Ritter said hismother saw a red truck pullup into the Dixons’ drivewhile you were working intheyard.”“Janet Ritter needs
somethingelsetodowithhertime than peeking out herfront windows at what therest of the neighborhood isdoing.”And Jonathan needed to
stopbeingquiteso interested
in every move Selena made.Hermother’scoworkeratthepost office had graciouslyofferedmore thanonce to letSelena reconsider her hastydecisionnot todatehis fifty-something, single, still-lived-with-hismotherself.“Was it Oliver?” Belinda
shuffled things on the otherendofthephone.Selena didn’t answer.
Thanks to Mrs. Ritter, shedidn’thaveto.
“Didyou talk tohim?”hermomwantedtoknow.“No.” A touch of
disappointment escaped withthe word. A deluge ofunwantedquestionsthatmadeSelenaqueasy.Had she missed her last
chance to clear the air withOliver?Tomake things rightwithhimandhisfamily?“Tellme,”Belindainsisted,
“that you’re going to steerclearof theDixonhouseand
the hospital until he’s goneagain.Don’t complicateyourlifeevenmore.”“I’m not, Mom. I haven’t
visited the hospital. Neitherhave you, no matter howgood friends you’ve beenwith the Dixons, or howserious Joe’s heart conditionsounds.”“I know, honey.” Her
mother’s work noise stalled.“I feel bad about it, too.But...”
“It’s better not to rock theboat.Igetit,Mom.”Marshahadwantedtohave
CamilleovertoplaywiththeDixon kids. Selena andBelindaandCamillehadbeeninvitedmorethanoncetojointheirneighborsforoneoftheDixons’ Saturday afternooncookouts. Selena haddeclinedeverytime.“It would be asking for
trouble,” Belinda warned.“You’ve got more than
enoughonyourplateas it is,right?”“Right.”ExcepttheDixons
weretheonesintroublenow.Which made Selena feelshabby for the way she’drejected their friendlyattempts towelcome her andCamilletotown.“Honey?” Belinda asked.
“You know he’ll be there ifyoustopbythehospital.”“I’msurehewill.”And that would be even
shabbier—Selena insinuatingherself into an already tensesituation,whenthefostersonshe’d helped oust fromMarsha and Joe’s home hadjust made it clear he wantednothingtodowithher.“It would be a mistake,”
hermotherinsisted.“Itabsolutelywouldbe.”Except the prospect of
losingsuchafine,lovingmanasJoehadhitSelenaandalotoftheircommunityhard.And
as Selena flipped on Fred’sblinker to turn into the lotbeside Dan’s, she wasstrategizing how she couldcarve a few minutes awayfrom school aroundlunchtime.Toofferher long-overduesupport totheDixonfamily, and to make whatwould hopefully be her finalmistake where OliverBowmanwasconcerned.
“I almost didn’t recognizehimwhenhefirstwalkedin,”Marsha Dixon said a fewminutesbeforeeleven.SheandSelenaweregazing
throughthelargewindowsofJoe’sCICUroom.Amother’sproud smile bloomed acrossherweatheredfeaturesasshewatched her husband andOliver.
“He looks so grown up,”she said. “Of course he’sgrownup.It’sbeenyears.ButImean. . .Iwasn’tpreparedfor him to look so . . .responsible and, I don’tknow, corporate orsomething. Even in thoseraggedyclothes.”To Selena, Oliver looked
all of that and more. He’dchanged into different jeansand a plain black T-shirt.Thereweredarkcirclesunder
his eyes. His face wasshadowedwith beard stubblethat gave his cheekbones aneven sharper edge. From thelooksofhimhe’dbeenupallnight. But there wassomething coollysophisticatedabouthim,too.The rough-and-tumble
rebelwho’doncemesmerizedSelena was long gone. Andyet, he was exactly whatshe’d somehow known he’dbecome. Successful.
Independent.Makinghisownwayinacompetitivebusinesswhere few entrepreneursthrived.AndafterMarshahadhugged Selena and thankedher for coming, she’dproceeded to behave as ifSelena belonged there besideher, watching the manperched on the edge of hisfather’sbed.Defying the hospital’s
frigidartificialclimate,adropof perspiration trickled
between Selena’s shoulderblades.Shefeltasifshewerestaring down a caution sign,flashing for her to turn backbeforeallhopewaslost.“He’ll be glad you came,”
Marsha said, carrying theirconversation pretty much onherown.“Your husband’s a
wonderfulman.”Joe’s hand fumbled across
the mattress. His fingerscurled around Oliver’s.
Something dangerous rattledSelena’scomposure.“I meant,” Marsha
corrected, “my son will begladtoseeyou.”Selena kept her focus on
the touching scene playingout in Joe’s room. “Becauseofme,youhadtobootOliverfromyourfosterhomeaweekafter graduation. He nearlykilled his best friend in abare-knuckles brawl becauseofme. Hewas finally sober,
and because of me hedrownedhimselfinabottleoftequila and totaled yourminivan. Glad to see me?YouandIbothknowbetter.”“What I know is that it’s
been two months since youcameback to town.Andyouhaven’tbroughtthatbeautifulchildofyoursoveronceforapropervisit.”“I’d love that, really.” It
would be heaven. And hell.“Butwejustcan’t.”
“Can’torwon’t?”Selenashookherhead.She wasn’t ready for this.
She and her daughter werenowherenear ready for this.She’d put Camille throughenough. She’d promised tomake her life and herdaughter’s as uncomplicatedaspossiblefromnowon.Andthiscertainlydidn’tqualify.But Marsha had kept two
generationsof foster childrenin line. The woman could
teach an NFL linebacker athing or two about notbacking down fromconfrontation. And Selenahadsetthisawkwardnessintomotionwhenshe’dshownupat the hospital. She turned toher neighbor, her handclenchedaroundthestrapsofherborrowedtote.“You deserve your say,
Marsha.” And then some.“I’mlistening.”“It’sbeenalongtimesince
youandmysontalked.”“I wouldn’t call our last
conversation talking.” Thenight Selena had gotten herdrunkonandbrokenupwithher soul mate. After whichBrad had consoled her, haddrank toomuchwithher . . .And,Lordhelpthem,theresthad just happened. “Olivercouldn’t get away from mefastenoughthismorning.”Her neighbor’s expression
softened with understanding
. . . and something more.Selena held her breath,wondering if this was it, ifsomeonehadfinallyguessed.But Marsha went back towatching her husband andfoster son. Worry tightenedher smile to the breakingpoint.Selena placed a palm on
Marsha’sshoulder.Therewasfrailty today beneath all thatstrength. “I’m so sorry aboutJoe.”
Marsha shivered. Selenawrapped her arm around thewomanwhosegenerosityhadsmoothedsomeofthejaggededgesofSelena’s young life,created by her ownmother’sbitter fight to survive as asingle parent. Selena held ontighter. Marsha and Joe hadbeen a lifeline for her whenshe and Belinda first movedto Bellevue Lane, yearsbefore Oliver arrived. Itshouldn’t have taken their
son’s return to get Selena tothehospitaltocheckonthem.Marsha eased away. And
like the marvel she was, shesquaredhershoulders,allfivefeetoneofher.“Weneverknowhowmuch
timewehave,”shesaid,shortgrayhairfeatheringaboutherrounded face. “We’vegot nobusiness wasting a singlechance we’re given to makethings right. Oliver just gotback to town. You’ve been
keeping to yourself.But in amatterofhours,youtwohavesomehow managed to seeeach other long enough foryou to think he’s avoidingyou?”Sheraisedaneyebrow.“Yet here you are, rightwhere you knew he’d headnext.”“This morning was a
coincidence.”Adangerousonethatcould
cause them all a lot oftrouble.Especiallygiven that
for Selena, being carefulwhere Oliver was concernedwas a Zen state she clearlyhadn’tmastered.“ThefactthatJoeandIgot
custody ofOliver in the firstplace was happenstance.”Marsha wiped at the cornersof her eyes. “Or providence.There’s not much differenceonce you take a closer look.Andwe’re thrilledhe’sback.Don’t throw away youropportunity to at least speak
with him, whatever’shappenedbetweenyoutwo.”“IcametovisitJoetoseeif
there’s anythingBelinda or Ican do to help.” Her motherhad been more Belinda thanMom for years. “It must notseem like it, but I really docare.”“Of course you do.”
Marsha hugged her. Thewave of peace that washedthrough Selena should bebottled and sold. “You and
your mother have alwaysmeantsomuchtobothofus.”Marsha let go. Selena kept
hergazedown.All of Chandlerville
admiredwhattheDixonshadaccomplished with theirgroup foster home.Belinda’sgardenclubhadjustlastweekchosen Joe as Father of theYear. It would be a lovelycommunity ceremony. AndSelena knew she’d belongedin the front row, leading the
applause.Hermarriagewasamiserable failure. But thefamily she still dreamed ofgiving Camille had alwayshaditsoriginsinwatchingthemagic Marsha and Joeachieved with their eclectictribeofkids.Selena had never felt the
crush of her reckless secretsmore. But how did she facethe truth and the peoplewhoneeded to hear it? How didshe create more chaos and
confusion for them and herchild, when Selena had nointention of becoming apermanent part of anyone’slife in Chandlerville again?She’dcomehome to regroupfor a few days, aweek tops.She’dnevermeanttostaythislong,getthisattachedor,Godforbid, to be here whenOliverreturned.Andnow...All she knew for certain
was that if there was ever aright time for her to come
clean about her daughter’spaternity,thiswasn’tit.She tookone last look into
CICU. Joe smiled atsomething. Oliver grinned inresponse, his lips curlinghigher on the right side. Sheraisedaclenchedfisttoscrubat her cheek. The needyteenager still inside herlonged for Oliver to look upand see her and forgive herand somehow makeeverythingokaythewayhe’d
oncepromisedhewould.“Tell Joe I stopped by. I’ll
. . .” She forced out thewords, the lie. “I’ll comebackwhenit’sabettertime.”“Don’t you want to wait
until—”“No . . .” She backed
towardtheelevator.Itdinged,urginghertohurry.“Selena—”“I shouldn’t have come at
all. I don’t knowwhat Iwasthinking.” She stopped,
appalled at the rudeness ofwhat she’d said. “I didn’tmean...”“Stay.” Marsha stepped
towardher.“I can’t.” She wasmoving
again, twistingaway.“Ihaveto—Oof!”She’d barreled into
something solid that felt likea wall with arms and legs.Shesawablueshirtandstars.Shecouldn’tmakehervisionclear.
“Are you okay?” asked adeep voice that was asachinglyfamiliarasMarsha’shughadbeen.“Travis . . .” Selena
brushedhairoutofhereyes.Oliver’s brother wore a
deplorably wrinkled versionofthestarchedshirtanddarknavy pants that made up hissheriff’s department uniform.He looked rumpled and inneed of a hug. But he wassmilingdownatSelena,same
aseveryothertimehe’dseenheraroundtown.“I’m fine,” she said. “I
didn’tknowyouwerebehindme.Beenbouncin’off thingsall morning. Stuff jumpingoff practically every table Ipassed at school. It’s been abit crazed, ever sinceCamille’s and my morningdoughnutdash.AndI...”Good God. She was
babbling. Lines of friendlyconfusion wrinkled Travis’s
foreheadandratcheteduphisblond, boy-next-door goodlooks.“I need to get back to
school,”shesaid.“Not yet you don’t.”
MarshapushedSelenatowardOliver’s brother. “Don’t letheroutofyoursight.”At Selena’s scowl,
Marsha’s eyebrow shot upagain.“Five minutes, my dear.”
Marsha’s voice had shifted
intothesamemywordislawtonethatkeptherkidsinline.“You’ve been running fromus longenough.Youwant tohelp Joe andme.Thenbreakthe ice with Oliver and ourfamily. My boy being backisn’tbecominganotherreasonwhy we never see you andthatbeautifulchildofyours.”Marsha disappeared into
herhusband’sroom.“Make yourself
comfortable, darlin’.” Travis
shot her a wickedly smoothSouthernsmile.“Noonesaysno to Mom once she makesuphermind.”Selena gave him her best
puh-lease glare. She’d beenimmune to his charm sincethey’d been teenagers andhe’d harmlessly flirted withher once or twice, admittinglaterthathe’ddoneitonlytoget a rise out of Oliver. Butshewasalsoarealist.Marshawanted Selena and Oliver to
talk. Likely as a distractionfrom the helpless feeling ofwatching the love ofMarsha’s life suffer in ahospitalbed.What were the chances of
the woman turning the idealoose until she’d had herway?“Five minutes.” Selena
rolledhereyes.Five minutes followed
immediately by her avoidingtheentireDixonfamilyagain,
atleastuntilOliverwasgoodandgone.
ChapterFour
“Computers?” Oliver’s dadwasbeaming.Joealsohadanintimidating
array of tubes and wirescoming out of him, hookeduptoaroomfulofequipment.The hearty, indomitable manOliver remembered appeared
anything but indestructiblenow.“Imakecomputersdowhat
myclientswant them todo,”Oliversaid,keepinghisshockat Joe’s weakened state tohimself.His dad hadn’t wanted to
talkabouthimselfor thepastany more than Marsha had.She’d hurried Oliver intoJoe’s CICU room, andOliver’s dad had instantlyinsistedonarecapofOliver’s
life since he’d been gone.Marsha had slipped away togivethemsometimealone.“It takes you all over the
world?”Joeasked.A man could get addicted
to hearing the growingwonderinhisvoice,likeakidopening presents onChristmasmorning.“Wherever they’re paying
themost,”Oliversaid.“Wherever they need the
best?”
“Somethinglikethat.”“Tell me everything. Not
that I’ll understand much ofanyof it.”Joecoughedoutasoft laugh and winced at thepaininhischest.Everything...Notthekindofeverything,
Oliver warned himself, thatwould unnecessarily worryeitherofhisparents.“I reengineer systems and
software other people can’thandle. It’s crisis work,
usually at the eleventh hourfor clients who can’t affordfor things to staybrokenanylonger. I untangle whatevermess they’ve made trying toavoid paying a professionalproblem-solver who chargeswhat I do. I straighten thingsout, good as new. Better,usually.”Oliver huffed out his own
laugh. He sounded like thekind of PR-pimped-out jerkshe avoided at corporate
parties.Thewalkingbillboardtypes, touting their brillianceto whoever’d listen. Oliver’sworkspokeforitself.Hewasalreadyontheshortlistofthecorporate officers who spenta fortune on damage control.That’s all that mattered.Usually. But this was Joe,withprideshininginhiseyes...It was a crazy perfect
moment.“Any type of company?”
hisdadasked.“I’mwilythatway.”Oliver
winked, when in actualityhe’d been called a con manby more than a few of thecompetitors he regularlyfinessedcontractsawayfrom.XanCoulterinparticular.She’d made sure to e-mail
him that morning during hispredawn pilgrimage toChandlerville. She’d closedtheSeattlecontractlastnight,after his less-than-convincing
pitch.Arareenoughoutcomethat she’dwanted to know ifhewasokay.“But no college?” Joe
asked.Oliver squeezed his dad’s
hand.A formal education was
whathisfosterparentshopedall their kids would try for.Kids who aged out of thesystem often weren’tpreparedforordidn’tseethepointofgoingtocollege.Too
much of life had landed onthem at too young an age,makingithardertobelieveinthings like going for yourdreams.MarshaandJoewerehavingnoneofthat.“I did tech school for a
while,”Oliver said. “Scrapedmywaythrough,bustingitatpart-time jobs to maketuition.Then I realized Iwaspretty much better at what Iwas doing than myprofessors.”
“Computers were alwaysyourthing.Theywereallyouwanted to do,whatever classyou were in”—Joe coughedaround another soft laugh—“on the rareoccasions thatyou actually found yourwaytoclass.”Oliver wanted to hug his
dad and hold on to themoment. He wanted to goback and better appreciateevery day he’d had hisparents’ unconditional
supportinhisteenagelife.“I’ve been lucky,” he said.
“My first real client paidmecrapinreturnforgivingmeashot. The company hadcontacts everywhere. Nowcorporations part with achunkof their bottom line tohave me reengineer thecommunication and data-sharing nightmare thatmodern cloud computing canmake out of businesssolutions.”
“You’ve worked your assoffmaking your life happen.That’s determination, notluck.” Joe pointed with hisfree hand for emphasis.“Your mother and I alwaysknewyou’dfigureouthowtoputbeingsoobstinatetogooduse.”Oliver grinned, the
memories bittersweet. “Iwasapieceofwork,wasn’tI?”“You were finding your
way.”
“Listen,Dad,I’msor—”“Don’t you say sorry to
me.” Joe soundeddisappointed for the firsttime. “You were young andmaking the mistakes youngpeoplehavetomake.Doyouthink I regret a single thingthat’s happened,when I lookat the man you’ve become?What you’ve donewith yourlife,whatyou’vedoneforourfamily, working as hard asyou have—it’s a miracle. I
won’t have you apologizingforthat.”Oliver shook his head but
kept his peace. His dad’spraise was everything he’dwanted.Andnowthathehadit, it only made him wantmore. He got a grip andshrugged. “I solve problems.Wrangle them intosubmission. Most messeswant to be figured out. Youjust have to dig under thesurface, find a place to grab
hold, and get to work. Therest falls into place if youkeep pushing and don’t giveup.”It was the mother of
oversimplifications.Hisclientscheduleonatypicaldaywaslooselyorganizedchaos.XanCoulter had been hammeringat him about partnering up:sharing project loads; notworkinghimselfintoanearlygrave; maybe even having ashotatapersonallife.Which
heclearlydidn’t,iftheparadeofwomenhe’dtorchedshort-lived relationships with—including Xan—was anyindication. And then therewashisburnout,springoflastyear.Oliver would have given
anythingtotellhisdadaboutall of it. Get his advice. Butnot today. Not ever.Not hisparents’problem.“You’vedonealotofgood
with the money you’ve
made,” Joe insisted. “There’sso much your mother and Icouldn’t have given the kidswithout you. Extra schoolsupplies and field trips andcomputers at the house,vacationsforthefamily,evenpresents at Christmastime.Tuition for Bethany at thecommunity college after shegaveupherscholarshiptoartschool. Specialized therapythe state can’t cover becauseFamily Services is forever
tightening their budget. Mysalary’s stretched to thebreaking point just coveringtheeveryday.”“I’mglad,Dad.”Soglad,it
wasdownrightembarrassing.“Butwe’dhavebeenjustas
proudofyou,withorwithoutthe money you make.” Joepointed his finger again.“Because you rememberedyourfamily.Youstillwantedto make a difference here—even if being with us is still
hard for you. That’s worth ahundred times more to yourmother and me than thefortuneyou’vesenthome.”“It’snot that it’shard . . .”
Oliver shook his head,wondering how to say whathewantedtosaynowthathehad the chance, withoutworrying his parents withthingsthathecoulddealwithonhisown.“It’sjustthat—”Marshaappearedbesidethe
bed. “Travis is back from
grabbingabitedownstairs.”Her touch on Oliver’s arm
felt even better than the hugshe’d given him when he’dfirstgottenthere.“Go spend a little more
timewith your brother.”Hervoice was breezy and light.Her smile was the genuinearticle. But none of it erasedtheworryfromhereyes.“Letme get this troublemaker tosleepalittle.”“Trouble is your favorite
thing aboutme.” Joegrinnedat his college sweetheart.“And what makes you thinkI’mgoing tobeable to sleepnowthatourboyishome?”Oliver inhaled around the
desperate love he felt forthese two, dreading alreadythe reality of walking awayagain. Marsha was at herstrongest when life threw itstrickiestcurveballs.Whatevershe had to do, it got done.He’d admired that about her
evenwhenhe’dbeenanf’ed-upkid.You’ll be fine, son, she’d
said to him his last night inChandlerville. You’ll makethiswork.Andyou’llbeback.Joe had just brought him
home from county lockup—free of charges for wrappingthe family van around a treein a drunken stupor. But thedamage had been done.Marsha had packed the fewthings Oliver owned outright
in Joe’s old backpack fromwhenhe’dgone tocollegeatthe University of Georgia.She’d met Oliver and Joe atthe door: Oliver hung over,Joe grimly worried andominously silent the entireride home. Marsha hadhugged Oliver, and he’dknown it was over. For thefirst time since losing hisbirth mother he’d been trulyterrified.It was time for him to
figure out if he wanted toself-destruct or make a lifefor himself. And he wasgoingtohavetotakethenextsteponhisown.Iknowthisishard,Marsha
had said, her voice strong asshe clung to him.But I havefaith in you. And we’ll behere. We’re your family,Oliver.We’ll always be hereforyou...Her resilience, her belief
that life’s hardest struggles
couldmakeyoustronger,wastheconstanthe’dcircledbacktomostovertheyears.She’dhad confidence in him, evenwhenhe’d been at hisworst.Now she was just asdeterminedthatJoewouldgetbetter.Eyesopen,armswide,convincing everyone else tofight a little harder than theythought they could, she wasgoing to will Joe’s completerecovery into reality. AndOliverwoulddohislevelbest
tohelpher.Joewas studying himwith
his uncanny ability to seemore of people than theyoften wanted to be seen.“You’lldoit?”Oliver’s mom glanced
betweenthetwoofthem.“Dowhat?”“Thehouse,”Joeexplained.
“Thekids.Teddy.”“No . . .” She shook her
head.“Icantakecareof—”“You’re going to take care
ofyourselfbeforeyouendupbeingadmitted,too.”Joeheldtight to her hand when shewould have pulled away.Oliver stood and let his dadtugMarshadowntositbesidehim. “You’re alreadyexhausted. You haven’t leftthe hospital since we gothere.Drucanbringyousomethings from the house tomake you more comfortable.Oliverwilltaketheleadwiththekids,at leastuntil I’mon
the mend enough for you todivideyourtimebetter.”“ButTeddy’s just a baby,”
she said. “And FamilyServices—”“Oliver helping will show
thecountythatthingsarestillstable. Dru and Travis canshiftstuffaroundattheirjobsonly so much. Oliver’sbetweencontracts,right?”Olivernodded,feelingasif
a noose were cinching a tadtighteraroundhisneck.
Joe had explained aboutTeddy,anewbaby,atoddler.He was on provisionaryplacementwiththefamily, toensurehewas thriving inhisnew environment. WhichmeantMarshaandJoeneededsomeone from the familylivinginthehousearoundtheclock, even if that someonewasmoreofastrangerthanabig brother. It was the onlyway to be certain the babywouldn’t be displaced and
reabsorbedintothesystem.“But you’re so busy,”
Marsha said to Oliver. TherushofworryandreliefinherexpressionwouldhavesettleditforOliverevenifhehadn’talreadymadeuphismind.Each minute he was home
would cost him when it wastime to get back to his ownlife. He’d lose the Canadianpitch, too, if he didn’t getback toAtlanta toworkon itbefore the weekend. He’d
become even more attachedtohisfosterfamily.Andasanaddedbonus,he’dbe stayingnext door to Selena, an off-limits siren he had nobusiness wanting to talk toagainasbadlyashedid.ButMarsha and Joe needed himin Chandlerville, so that’swherehe’dstay.“I’ll take care of it, Dad.”
He’d find away through.Healwaysdid.“Thank you,” his dad
rasped.Oliver remembered his
father’svoiceboomingacrossa roomful of kids, freezingeveryoneinmid-mischief.“I know it’s a lot to ask,”
Marshasaid.“But—”“I got you covered.” He
knew zilch about riding herdon a battalion of kids whowouldn’t trust him, a totalstranger,fromtheget-go.Butflying blind had neverstopped him before. “Don’t
worryaboutathing.”A fresh wave of pride
warmed Joe’s pastycomplexion. “Your brotherand sister will pitch in asmuchastheycan.”“Sure.”“They’re good with the
youngerkids.”“Sure.”Olivergrappledforanother
word but couldn’t find one.Because it was just plainwrong to be feeling this
excited. His dad was incardiac ICU, damn it. ButOliver couldn’t help it. Hewas home for at least a fewmoredays.“You should make a point
of seeing Bethany, too,”Marshasaid.LittleBethanyDarling . . .
Though she wouldn’t be solittlenow.“Shewas,what?”heasked.
“FourteenwhenIleft?”“Fifteen,”Joesaid.
“Travis said she’s mostlysteered clear of the familysinceshegraduatedfromhighschool and punted on herscholarshiptothatNewYorkartinstitute.”“She’s confused and
hurting,”Joesaid.“Butshe’sstuck close to home. ShekeepsupwithDruand—”“And we haven’t seen her
at the hospital yet,” Marshasaid. “Maybe you could findherand—”
“Sure,”Oliversaid.He and Bethany had been
almostascloseasheandDruandTravis.Buthe’dkepthisdistance from her for yearsthe same as from the rest ofthefamily.What’stosayhimtracking her down nowwouldn’t hurt his parents’chancestoreconnectwithherwhilehewasaround?“I’ll do what I can, Mom.
Don’tworryaboutanything.”“Your mother’s cranky,”
Joeteased,“notworried.I’vespoiled her plans for tonight. . .” He took a shallowbreath. “Belinda Rosenthalandhergardenclubladies-in-waitingwere coming over tothe house to talk aboutwhatever they’ve gotbrewing.”“FatheroftheYear,”Oliver
said. “Yeah. Travismentioned that. You’reofficiallythebomb,Dad.”Joe waved away the
suggestion.“Admitit.”Marshabrushed
a butterfly kiss across hischeek.Shewipedperspirationfrom his forehead. “You’rehiding out in your cushyroomherebecausecoffeeanddessert with Belinda and herladies who lunch has yourunningscared.”“Enough to risk hospital
food?” Oliver shuddered.“Tell me you’re not thatdesperate.”
He’d eased closer to thedoor. He wasn’t slinkingaway, he told himself. Hewasn’t desperate to sniff outthecaffeinehe’dswornoff—a nod to cleaner living, likemeaning to get more sleep.He’d handle staying in townjust fine,oncehehadacalmmoment to plan an exitstrategy that would suiteveryone.Once he could seethe end of a project, healways found the right path
throughthechaos.He reachedbehindhim for
thedoorknob.“Get some rest,” his mom
advised. “You’re going toneed it once the kids gethome this afternoon. Travisand Dru are helping me talkwith everyone at the houseafterschool.Icouldintroduceyou to younger brothers andsistersthen.”“Soundsgood.”“Thank you for being
here.”His father’s smilewastighterthanbefore,butjustasgenuine. “For staying. Youdon’t know what this meanstous.”“No worries.” Oliver
pushed through the door tocover his worry about all ofit.At the moment, he’d kill
for a quick ride home and afew hours of beingunconscious. But he turneddown thehallway toward the
CICUwaitingarea,searchingforhisbrother...andputonthebrakessofasthissneakersskiddedonthelinoleum.Selena stoodwithherback
to Travis. She stared atOliver,herbottomlessbrowneyes rounded like saucers.She was the best part of hismessed-upchildhood,andshewas once more just a touchaway.He’d survived his teenage
years by promising himself
Selena would be his future.After they’d imploded, toomanyofhisrestlessnightsasan adult had been filledwithdreams of what they couldhavebeen.Andnowthattheywereback in the sameplace,fate seemed determined tothrow them together. Fate,andOliver’sfamily.He could hear every
hesitant breath she took. Hecouldseewhatlookedalmostlike regret in her gaze. Only
there was something morethere—enough to completelylose himself in, if he wasn’tcareful.“Hello,Selena.”Hisglance
toward Travis promisedretribution if his brother hadhelped set this reunion intomotion.Travis held up his palms,
innocencepersonified.“I justgothere.”“I’m sorry about this,”
Selenaaddedinarush.
ShelookedlikeanysecondshemighthugOliverorburstinto tearsorworse.Whilehewanted to close the distancebetween them,holdherbodyagainsthis,andbecertainshewasreallythere.Shestayedput.Sodidhe.Oliver was officially one
surprise over his copingthreshold.“Now isn’t a good time,”
hesaid.
Dippinghistoeintohispastwith Selena would be liketaking that first hit ofcaffeine. Innocent enough intheory.Justonesip.He’dstillbe in control. No problem.Until his addiction had himby the gut and there was noshakingitloose.Selenafussedwiththestrap
of the tote bag she’d slungoverhershoulder.Shelookedreadytocrawloutofherskin.But she didn’t move. And if
shedidn’tmovesoon,oneofthem was going to scream.MostlikelyOliver.Thentheelevatorattheend
of the hall dinged, its doorsrolling open, and BradDouglas stepped onto theICUfloor.
Having Oliver close wasbetter than Selena
remembered. Every part ofherwantedhimevencloser—when reason said she shouldbe getting the hell out ofthere, while Oliver stared ather, and then Brad, and thenheragain.Brad had stopped just
outside the elevator. Eventaller thanOliver andTravis,he managed to look botheasygoing and badass in asheriff’s deputy uniformidentical to Travis’s. Except
Brad’s was neatly pressed,and Travis looked like he’dsleptinhis.Brad had steered clear of
Selena since she’d comehome, to spare her themortification of having toface him.Ormaybe to sparehimself—since he wasengagedtoyetanotherpersonin Chandlerville who hadreason to despise Selena. Heseemed as shocked asOliverto find her in CICU.
MeanwhileTraviswasgazingat them as if all the oxygenhadn’tjustbeensuckedoutofthehallway.And it felt so . . . right,
somehow.“The Three Musketeers,”
Selena couldn’t stop herselffrom saying. “Togetheragain.”Travis chuckled and
popped his chewing gum.“I’dforgottenaboutthat.”Brad flicked an answering
grintowardOliver,lookingasself-conscious as Selena hadfeltbackatthehouse.“I’m sorry about Joe,” she
saidtoOliver.Shereallywas.Andshereallyhadtogetoutofthere.Because, God, she wanted
to hug him instead—all ofthem—and catch up. Emptysecondstickedby,filledwitheverything she and Olivercouldn’t say to each other.Notnow,infrontofBradand
Travis.Maybenotever.“Thank you for coming to
checkonDad.”Travis’shandgentlyclosedaroundSelena’selbow. “It’s great to see youagain,evenif—”Selena tugged free. If he
said one more nice thingwhile his brother stareddaggers at her . . .Whywasshe still there, letting herselfhope for thegood things thatmightstillbepossibleforherand Camille—if Selena and
Olivercouldfindaway toatleastbeciviltoeachother?“I have to go.” Her legs
finally cooperated, movinghertowardtheelevator.Halfway there, with Brad
aiming his hesitant smile ather, she sensed someoneclosing in from behind. Hercontrolfinallysnapped.“Travis,I—”She turned andOliverwas
there instead. Right there.Belinda’s tote slipped off
Selena’s shoulder andwhackedhiminthechest.“Shit,”shesaid.Selena swallowed another
of the curses that had comefar too easily since hermarriage imploded.Then shelost herself in Oliver’semerald gaze. It was as pureand clean as spring rain.Herdesperation to leaveshimmered into instant need.This close to him, all she’deverbeabletodowaswant.
I’ll love you forever,Selena, he’d said the nightshe’d thrown him away, nomatterwhat.I’mnotlikeyourdad.I’llneverleaveyou.“I’llwalkyoutoyourcar,”
hesaidnow.Marshapokedherheadout
of Joe’s room.She smiled asOliver reached for Selena’sarm,touchingherforthefirsttime since that long-agonight.“Weshouldtalk,”hesaid.
No.No,no,nono.“No,” she said
emphatically. “We shouldn’ttalk.Notlikethis.”She felt her resolve to do
the responsible thingevaporate.If he stayed in town and
Marsha kept meddling theway she was, some kind ofshowdown was inevitable.There’d be no escaping itunlessSelenaboltedagainfor
parts unknown. And havingthings finally in the openwould probably be for thebest. She’d put it off longenough. But the heat rollingoff Oliver’s powerful framemadeherwantfarmorefromhim.And she had to get thatnonsenseundercontrol.He seemed so . . . distant.
So completely differentsuddenly. Itwaspossible herheart was going to melt intonothing.
“Watchout,”TravissaidasMarsha headed their way.“Matchmaking mom,incoming.”“IhopeJoe’sokay,”Selena
muttered to both brothers.“I’mso sorry,Oliver . . . foreverything.”She raced for the elevator,
sidesteppingBrad.“I’m sorry about this,” she
said to him, too, as shestabbedthecallbutton.Theelevatoropenedwitha
cheery ding. Inside the car,she turned back. Brad andOliver and Travis were sidebyside,theirhandsbracedontheirhips,identicalperplexedexpressions on hermusketeers’faces.Her cell phone played its
“Danger Zone” ringtone,savingherfromwalkingbackonto theCICU floor.Marshajoinedhersons.Selenaturnedher back as the elevatorclosed and answered the call
fromher,iftherewasaGod,soon-to-beex-husband.“Whatisitnow,Parker?”
ChapterFive
“Goafterher.”Marsha stoodclose to Oliver withouttouching him, the way shehadthefirstdayhe’dcometolivewiththefamily.He’d felt unbearably raw
then, after losing his birthmom. A similar flood of
violent emotion clawed athimnow.“I’llgo,”Bradsaid.Hehesitated.Heblinkedat
the killing stare Oliver cuthim and headed for theelevators,shakinghishead.Marsha followed at his
heels. “This is all my fault.Poorgirl.”“You’rejustgoingtostand
there like a chump,” Travisasked, “and leave Mom todealwiththisonherown?”
Oliverwanted to snarl andripintosomething,preferablyhis brother. But Travis wasright. Marsha looked almostas rough as Joe had. Sheneeded to be caring for herhusband, not consolingSelena. And Oliver couldhave prevented all of this ifhe’d had the balls to dealreasonably with Selena fromthestart.His mother and Brad had
already disappeared, their
elevator heading down.Oliver punched the button tofollow.Hecouldstillfeelthesoftness of Selena’s skinbeneath his fingers. Travisjoined him, stepped withOliver into the car, andpunched the button for thegroundfloor.“Butt out,” Oliver said. “I
canhandlethisonmyown.”“You bet. You’re one
smoothdevil.”“Do yourself a favor and
backoff.”“Hey.” Travis cuffed
Oliver’s shoulder with anopen palm. “Don’t hate yourwingman.”“Is wingman slang for
‘deadmanwalking’?”Travis chewed his gum,
unfazed.The elevator dinged. The
doorsopenedintimeforthemto catch Selena hurryingacross the lobby toward thefront entrance. Brad and
Marsha watched her leave.BythetimeOliverandTravisreached them, Selena haddisappearedoutside.“I feel horrible,” Marsha
said.Shewasn’t theonlyone. It
had gutted Oliver upstairs—the stricken look on Selena’sface.“I’msorry if Imade things
worse.” Brad’s remorse wasas genuine as his earlierwelcome home smile. “But
it’s good to see you, man.”He offered Oliver his hand.“It’s been a hell of a longtime.Toolong.”Oliver shook out of habit,
while watchingMarsha stareafterSelena.“I stopped by on an early
lunchbreak.”Brad’suniform,identical to Travis’s,explainedtherest.Travis had conveniently
forgotten to mention that heworkedwiththeguy.
“Dru’s tied up at therestaurant,” Brad continued.“She dropped Teddy at thechurch daycare after gettingthe kids off to school. She’llpickhimuponherwaybackfor this afternoon’s meetingat the house. Shewantedmeto see if there’d been anyupdatesfromJoe’sdoctors.”“Dru?” Oliver pictured his
baby sister, forever taggingalong after him, Travis, andBrad—theThreeMusketeers,
Selenahaddubbedthem.“My . . .” Brad turned to
Travis.“Youdidn’ttellhim?”“Tellmewhat?”A fresh batch ofmemories
attacked, images of Oliver’skid sister and his then bestfriend. Dru and Brad weredancing together when Druhad been a high schoolsophomore and Oliver,Travis, and Brad wereseniors. She and Brad wereslow dancing way too close
while the spring formal’sbandplayed“EndlessLove.”Oliver’sheadwasgoing to
explode.“Brad and Dru were
engaged last Christmas,”Marsha explained. “After hecame home to help hisgrandmother.”Brad.AndDru.Whose crush on Oliver’s
best friend had been so big,she’d been the first to guess
that the boy she’d fallen forhad hooked up with Selena.She’d been the one to breakthe news to Oliver and hadbeen just as devastated as hewas. She’d sworn to neverforgiveBrad.“When Vivian died,”
Marsha added, “she left DrutheDreamWhiptorun.Yoursister and Brad have beendoing a fine job with it.They’relivingintheDouglashouse now, exactly the way
Vi thought they alwaysshouldhave.”“Seriously?”wasallOliver
couldmanage.Brad’s good-natured vibe
dimmed at Oliver’sunderwhelming response.What? Was Oliver supposedtocongratulatetheguywho’dhelpedSelenakickhimtothecurb, because Brad hadmovedontoOliver’ssister?Marsha laid a comforting
hand on Brad’s arm. “Joe’s
resting better this morning.We’re still waiting to hearfrom someone about what’snext.Theyranmoretestsandscans early this morning.Another EKG about an hourago.TellDrutoheadovertothe house whenever she canthis afternoon, and thank herfor running Teddy around.We should know more bythenaboutwhat thenext fewdayswillbelike.ButatleastOliver’s agreed to stay for a
while.”Travisgrinned.“Well,hell,
man,that’sgreat.”Bradlookedlikehewanted
to agree. Oliver saw theprecise moment the otherman decided that keepingquiet was a wiser course ofaction. Marsha crossed herarmsatthelotofthem.“Seriously?”shemimicked.
She looked ready to knocktheir heads together, thewayshe’dfrequentlythreatenedto
when they’d been kids. Sheneverhadbackthen,buttherewas a first time foreverything. “Tell me youboys aren’t planning onkeeping this up the entiretimeOliver’sback.”“Why don’t I stop by
later?” Brad suggested. “I’llhave some time when myshift is done, unless Druneeds me to cover therestaurant. Unless . . .” Hisattention shifted toTravis. “I
don’t want to make moretroubleforanyone.”“Come by anytime you
can,”Travissaid.“Thank you,” Marsha
added, “for taking suchgoodcare of Dru and the Whipthroughallthis,soDrucanbewhereversheneedstobe.”“Anything I can do.” Brad
includedOliverintheoffer.“I’ll walk you out.” Travis
steeredBradaway.“Brad and Dru?” Oliver
askedhismother.“You need to talk with
Selena,”Marshainsisted.After the stunt she’d just
pulled, her gentle reprimandfinished pissing him off. “Ineed to focusonhelpingyouand Joe. Other than that, Ishouldprobablysteerclearofconversations that tempt meto take my sister’s fiancéapart again with my barehands.”He rubbed the side of his
nose.Adelay tacticwhenhewas close to doing or sayingsomething he’d regret. Hewas supposed to breathedeeply and regroup. Hesneezedinstead.“Blessyou.”Marsharooted
inthepocketofhercardigan.He’dneverknownhernot tohavea spare tissuewheneversomeoneneededone.Hestoppedher,keepinghis
hand on her arm until shelooked up. The worry in her
gray eyes damn near brokehisheart.“Let me take care of you
andDadrightnow.Please,lettherestgo.”“DealingwithSelena—and
Brad, too—isoneof thebestthings you can do for yourfatherandme.”“Not if you want me to
stay.”He would handle diving
headfirst into his family.Somehow he’d still find a
waytowalkoncehisjobherewasdone.Buthowdidhedothatifheopenedthedooranywider to reconnecting withSelena?He’d treatedher likeshit twicealreadybecausehedidn’t trust himself to getcloserandbeable to findhisway out. Some part of himwasstillsostuckonher,he’dcomeclose topunchingBrad—justforbreathingnearher.“Ifyou’regoing togiveus
ahandwitheverythingelse,”
Marsha insisted, “you’regoing to have to at least talkwith Selena. She lives nextdoor. Brad and Dru areengaged. He’s over at thehouseallthetime,pitchinginas much as your sister does.And—”“Hold on.” Oliver’s vision
narrowed to one suddenlyobvious detail. “Before yousentmeoutofDad’sroomtotalk to Travis, when youknew Selena was there . . .
You were stalling. Brad wasalready on his way. Drucalled ahead, right?Damn it,Mom. What were youthinking?Throwing the threeofusbacktogetherwithoutatleast warning me, whileDad’s in the next roomfightingforhislife?”“Takeiteasy,man.”Travis
stepped beside their mother.His gaze was the kind ofintense thatmustput thefearof God into people he
confronted on the job.“Mom’stryingtohelp.”And maybe she was
helping. Oliver’s firstconfrontationwithSelenaandBradwas done. The surpriseof it was behind them. Butthat’s where this ended.Selena’s sweet face and sad,hurting eyes while she’dapologized for theirdisastrous end that had beenasmuchOliver’sfaultashers. . . What was the point of
repeating that, just so theycouldallhurtsomemore?“I’m sorry,” he said to his
mother.“But,please.Layoffwhateverthetwoofyouwereanglingforupstairs.”Oliver’sfistclenchedatthe
memory of Brad’s friendsagain handshake. The manwas going to be his brother-in-law, which meant at thevery least Oliver had anuncomfortable conversationahead of him with Dru. He
had no bandwidth left foradditionaldrama.“If you won’t go find that
girl for your own sake,”Marshasaid,soundingdugin,“doitforourfamily.”The wanting place inside
Oliverrippedwideropen.Herubbedahandacrosshisface.“I need some air,” he said.
ExceptMarsha’s complexionhad turneddeathlywhite.Hegrabbed her elbow. “Mom?Areyouokay—”
“Dr. Kask,” she said overOliver’sshoulder.HeandTravisturnedtosee
a middle-aged man in a labcoat heading their way fromtheelevatorbank.“You’ve met Travis,” she
said to the fifty-somethingdoctorwitha fifty-somethingcomb-over. “This is Oliver,anotherofourboys.”Comb-overlookedupfrom
his clipboard to acknowledgeOliver and Travis. His
attention tracked to Marshaand held. The clipboarddropped until it was in frontofhiswaist.“The charge nurse thought
perhaps you’d headed to thecafeteria. I wanted to speakwith you and Mr. Dixontogether before I went offshift.”“Okay.” Marsha’s voice
was hushed, as ifwhisperingmight soften the blow ofwhatever the doctor had to
say.“We have your husband’s
test results back.Unfortunately, they’re notwhat we’d hoped. He’s notresponding to themedicationwell enough for that toremain our only course ofaction. This morning’selectrocardiogram isn’tshowing enough increasedblood flow. Given thesignificance of the blockageto his left coronary artery
...”The doctor glanced at
Oliver and his brother as ifthey should find somewhereelse to be. Neither of thembudged.“I need to discuss a few
options with you and Joe,”Comb-oversaid.“Options?” Travis and
Oliveraskedinunison.“More invasive
alternatives, to get bloodflowing properly to the
patient’s left ventricle.Interventions that willincrease his oxygen levelsand reduce the degree ofpermanent damage done totheheartmuscle.”“The patient?” Oliver bit
out. Theman sounded like awalking,talkingtextbook.“I’m sorry to be so
technical,” the doctor said toMarsha. “Occupationalhazardwhen I spendmostofmy days with other doctors,
poring over lab tests andresearch. We’re wastingmuscle, Mrs. Dixon, thelonger we wait to trysomething else. I’m afraidthere’s no clearrecommendation for me tomake. There are twoprocedures that offer yousimilar potential results,withdifferent sets of risks andprobabilityforcomplications.Itwill takeme some time toexplainthem.ButI’dlikeJoe
scheduled for surgery latertonight, first thing tomorrowatthelatest.”Marsha turned to Oliver
andTravis.“I’ll let you know what
yourdadandIdecideassoonas I can,” she said, ready tobattle onward. “Travis, couldyou give your sister a call?Let Dru know I might notmake it to the house thisafternoon. You kids talk tothe younger ones on your
ownifIcan’t.”“Sure,”Travissaid.She left for the elevators
with Comb-over. A flash ofpanic shook Oliver—apremonition that he mightneverseehisfatheragain.Hisnext calming breath did littleto loosen the dread clogginghiswindpipe.Heshookitoff.Marsha would have made
damn sure Joe had the bestdoctorforthejob,eveniftheguy had the bedside manner
ofachunkofcomputercode.She and Joewouldmake theright decision. And, surgeryornot,Joewouldbefine.Hehad to be. Then he andMarsha would pick up thepiecesthewaytheyhadafterevery other setback they’dfaced. Oliver’s whole familywould.A firm grip closed around
his shoulder and yanked himfrom his thoughts, spinninghim to face his equally
worriedbrother.“You’re coming with me,”
Travissaid.
“Mom and Dad will beawhile.”TravisshovedOlivertowardahallway to the rightof visitor reception. “Let’sgo.”Oliver rounded on him.
“Hands off, man. I’m not
going anywhere but backupstairs.”“I’ll textMom. She’ll join
us if she’s finished with thedocbeforewe’reback.”“Backfromwhere?”“Hellfreezingover.”Travis kept a firm grip on
Oliver’s shoulder as theywalked. Oliver’s optionsnarrowed to cooperating orstartingabrawl.“That ass kicking we’ve
been talking about?”he said.
“Consideredyourskicked.”“Lookingforwardtoit.”Something was slipping
insideOliver,moreoutofhiscontrol by the second.Listening to that doctor talkmedical options remindedOliver of how he laid outsystem specs to a wafflingclientwhohadamotherofadesign mess on their hands.Bythatpointitusuallydidn’tmatter what decision wasmade. Oliver was already
focused on the inevitablefallout.Eitheroptionwasjustas likely to blow up in theirfaces.Only this time it was his
dad’s life on the line. Notsome faceless IT applicationhe felt no attachment tobeyondgettingpaid.“Let me go, Travis.
Seriously.”“NotuntilI’mdoneruining
both our mornings. We’resettlingafewthings.”
Travis, biceps bulgingbeneath the short sleeves ofhis uniform, hustled Oliverdown a hallway a sign saidled to the cafeteria. Peoplewerestaring.“I asked Brad to wait for
us,” Travis continued. “Youtwo are going to have it outbefore you spend anothermoment with Mom. Beforeyou see Dru. I’ll contain thecarnage,enoughtokeepyourass out of jail this time. But
you’regivinghimthebenefitofthedoubt,orI’mthrowingyouinacellmyself.”“There’s nothing to have
out.” Oliver yanked his armfree,buthekeptwalking.“That’sright.Youbothgot
onwithyour lives.Youbothlearned everything the hardway.Andwhatdoesanyofitmatternow?We’ve allmadepeacewiththecrapwepulledwhenwewere kids.The restis holding a grudge, Oliver,
and nobody needs that fromyou.”“So?”“Sotalktotheguy,without
looking like youwanna havehisspleenfordinner.”Olivertreatedhisbrotherto
an under-his-breath,anatomically impossiblesuggestion. “I’m just as sickoverDadasyouare.”“I know that. Brad’s
worried, too.So let’sget thisout of the way, so everyone
can focus on what Joe andMarshaneed.”Olivermarcheddownbeige
corridors washed with thekind of fluorescent lightingthat seemed manufactured toeffectmaximumgloom.Theycornered into the cafeteriaand were assaulted withskylights. People. Ambientnoise. Oliver squintedthrough his growingmigraine.Bradwasatajust-this-side-
of-shabby table, in a cornerwherehesatwithhisbacktothewall.Therestoftheroomwaspackedwithafast-eatinglunchcrowd.Doctors,nurses,visitors of patients. Groupstalkingwithhushedintensity.Brad watched Travis and
Oliversettleacrossfromhim.His resigned expression hadtaken a definite tilt towardpissed. He was expecting afight.Maybe hewas lookingforone.
“Idon’tgiveashit,”Oliversaid straight off. “About youand Selena and seven yearsago. I did.” His handclenched intoa fiston topofthewobblytable.“Istilldo,Iguess.And let’sbeclear, I’llknock you from here to nextTuesdayifyoudoanythingtohurt Dru again. But I figureshe’s a grown woman. Sheknows what she’s gettinginto. If you weren’t onehundred percent into her this
time,she’dhavestompedyouinto the dirt when you camesniffingatheragain.”Travis’s chuckle loosened
someofthetightnessbetweenOliver’sshoulderblades.Brad scratched behind his
ear and stretched his legsunder the table. “Your sisterdidafinejobstompingonmeherself when I first got backtotown.”Oliver was cheered by the
image.“Go,Dru.”
“But I couldn’t let her slipawayagain.”“Obviously.”“Shestillgivesmehellona
regular basis if that sweetensthedealforyou.”Itdid.NotthatOlivercared
to admit it. “You and mysister fighting like a marriedcouplealreadydoesn’tsquarethings between us. But Ihaven’t been part of thisfamilyina longtime.If theywant you here, at the house,
wherever, then be there. Bethere forDru.Don’t hurt heragain, and youwon’t have aproblemwithme.”“Icareaboutyourmomand
dad.” Brad braced hisforearmsonthetable.“Icareaboutyourwholefamily.AndI couldn’t live without yoursisterinmylife.”“He makes Dru happy,”
Travis said. “Brad’sgrandmother was the first toguesshowmuchDruwasstill
stuck on him. Vi made sureDru had one last chance torealizeitherself.Stickaroundlongenoughandyou’llseeit,too.”Oliverstood.Hegotit.Dru
and Brad were tight. Noharm, no foul. All better.ExceptwhileBradandTravistalked about second chances,images of Selena’s face keptflashing through Oliver’smind.“I’m sorry to hear about
Vivian.” He had genuinelyliked Brad’s cantankerousgrandmother. She’d been anice old lady, if you likedthem brutally honest andloyaltothebone.“Shewasarealdame.”“Thankyou.”Bradstaredat
Oliver.Meanwhile,Olivercouldn’t
seem to get moving. Hecaught his brother checkinghis phone. Travis shook hishead. No update yet from
Marsha. Oliver dug into hispocket for his truck keys,then remembered his brotherhad driven them over.Travis’s raised eyebrowconfirmed that Oliver wasn’tgoing anywhere just yet.Oliver threw himself backintohischair.Brad had grabbed coffee.
He took a long sip from afoam cup. Oliver’s mouthwatered. Brad had alwaysdrunk the stuff black as sin,
wicked strong. Exactly theway Oliver liked it. Excepthe’d cut all stimulantsoutofhis life and made acommitment to keep it thatway.“Youneedalineonalocal
meeting?”Bradasked.Oliverstrummedhisfingers
on the table, letting thesubtext of the question sinkin.“Excuseme?”Brad shrugged. “Sisters
talk,man.You’reback.Dru’s
worried about you stickingwith your program. I’msavinghertheangstofaskingyouherselflater.”Oliver’sthreatstopoundon
Travisheldnewappeal.He owed his brother big
time. He’d called Traviseighteenmonthsagoforhelp,and Travis hadn’t blinkedbefore using his localcontacts to muscle Oliverlast-minuteintoatopAtlantarehab facility. But they’d
agreed to keep that and theoutpatient counseling Oliverhad completed afterwardbetween themselves. Oliverwas taking care of himselfagain. He was following theguidelines of his program—eat better, no stimulants, tryto sleepmore andwork less,letgoofthepastandfocusonwhat he could accomplishtoday and why it wasimportanttostayclean.There’d been no sense in
worrying their folks oranyone else over Oliverlanding in rehab after nearlyblowing a project for a topclient. There was definitelyno reason for it tobe a topicof conversation now withBradorDruoranyoneelse.“Evidently,” Oliver said to
hisbrother,“sistersaren’ttheonlyoneswhotalk.”“It’sbarelybeenayearand
a half, man.” Travis plunkedhissmartphonedown,display
up. “I thought maybe Druwould see youmore. I askedher to let me know if shenoticed anything we shouldbe worried about, assumingyou stayed in town for awhile. Now that you are,there’sasolidlocalmeetingIcan hook you upwith if youneedone.Iknowacoupleofguys who go, good men.Friends who’d keep an eyeoutforyou.”Brad and Travis calmly
waited forOliver to respond,as if theywere talking aboutwhere he should gas up histruck.TheThreeMusketeers.Togetheragain.“Who else knows?” Oliver
asked.“No one.” His brother
shook his head. “But I don’tsee the point in keeping it asecret. No one’s going tojudge you. But if keepingquiet about the fact that
you’ve finally laid yourdemons to rest is what youwant, I’ve got no problemwithit.Aslongasbeingbackdoesn’t mess with yoursobriety.”Oliver thought of his dad
upstairs,Marsha’sreactiontoKask just now, Selenarunning from facing all ofthem, his reaction to seeingher . . . There seemed to bedemons everywhere helooked. He shifted gears,
glaringatBrad.“Hey,”Brad said, “I’mnot
talking.”“Excepttomysister.”“Shetoldme.”“Because,” Travis said to
Oliver, “she’s worried aboutyourass.”“We all are,” Brad added.
“Thiswouldbealotformetotakeinallatonce.”“This?” Oliver asked.
“What the hell do either ofyouknowaboutit?”
“We know family hasn’tbeenaneasythingforyoutobe close to for a long time,”his brother said. “So go to ameeting, man, if that’s whatyouneedtodo.”“Ineed. . .”Oliverwished
to hell he knew. He pushedoutofhischair.“Ineedtogetback upstairs and hear whatthedoctor’ssayingtoJoe.”“Soyoucanbargeinonour
parents lookinghalf-crazed?”Travisasked.
Brad eased deeper in hischair. “You’re not going todumpyourproblemsonyourparents. Sit back down andgetyourselftogether.”Oliver sat, his brother and
former friend’s support anunwanted comfort. And asunsettlingaswatchingSelenabolt as if loving Oliver wastheworstmistakeofherlife.“Thanks.” He exhaled a
razor-sharpbreath.Bradnodded.“Thedoctor’s
talkingwithyourparents?”“Surgery.” Travis grabbed
Brad’scoffee.Heshotitbackandgrimaced like itwas twofingers of bourbon. “Wedon’t know what type orwhen. All Kask said wassoon.”
ChapterSix
“HowcanIhelpyoutoday?”Ginger Reid Jenkins askedSelena.HerattentiondroppedtoCamille,whomsheflashedan indulgent smile. “Aren’tyoujustthecutestthing?Andthe spitting image of yourmamawhenshewasn’tmuch
older.”“Except my eyes are
lighter.” Camille preened. “Igetnewshoes,’causemyfeetaregettingtoobigformyoldones, and Grammy says Ineedgoodones,andIshouldget them here, ’cause yourswon’twearout as fast as theonesfromWalmart.”“Sometimes it’s better,”
Gingeragreed,“tospend justa little more for somethingyouwanttolast.”
She gave Selena a wink.ThemorethancausalinterestlightingGinger’s eyes hintedthat the rumors aboutSelena’s current financialstraitshadmadetheroundstoheroldclassmate.“We’ve got some real nice
things on sale,” Ginger saidtoCamille,“thatI thinkyourmommy and grammy willlove.We’remakingroomforthe summer trends. A prettygood selection of sizes, too.”
She pointed to the backcorner of the Neat Feetboutique that occupied thesameMain Street address asit always had. “Go checkthem out while I catch upwithyourmom.”With a nod from Selena,
Camille took off toward thecolorful display. The salewallwasinthesameplaceasalways,decoratedtodaylikeaspring garden. Each flowersportedashoeatopitscheery
green stem. As a child, NeatFeet displays had beenSelena’sfavoritepartofeachvisittothestore.Thatandthefact that buying good shoes,even for growing feet, wasoneofthefewthingsBelindanever scrimped on whenshe’d made her quarterlybudget.Andeverytimeshe’dbrought Selena to theboutique,Ginger’s fatherhadtreatedSelena likeaprincess—no matter that sale wall
shoes were the only onesBelinda would let Selenachoosefrom.“It’s crazy,” Selena mused
whileCamille inspectedeachblossom. “It feels like justyesterdaythatIwantedoneofeverythinginthisplace.Yourparents had a knack formaking you believe thatpretty shoes you can’t affordcanmagicallymakeyour lifebetter.”Ginger’s attention snapped
up from eyeing Selena’stragically muddied silk flats.Her smile didn’t waver, butsome of its soft-sell sparkledimmed.“What are you in the
market for?” she asked,tactful ifcurt.“Sowecanbesure to get your little oneexactlywhatsheneeds.”“I’msorry.”Selenacringed
atherrudenessforthesecondtimethatday.It was a sore spot, that
she’d let herself dream thateverything really would beokay, just because she’dmeta successful businessman inNewYorkwhocouldbuyherandherdaughteralltheprettythings that Selena andBelinda had never been ableto afford. But comparing themastersalesmanGinger’sdadhadbeen to the soullessmanSelena married was horriblyunfair.“Iswear,”shesaid,“Idon’t
knowwhat’swrongwithme.It was a long day before Ieven left the house thismorning, and things wentdownhill from there.Belinda’s supposed to meetus here, but she’s late. AndI’m afraid I’m too distractedto be good company. I’vealways loved being here—yourparentsmadecoming toNeat Feet feel better thangoing to a candy store. Icouldn’t believe it was still
around when Belinda firstmentioned it. It looks thesame, smells the same, feelsthesame.Howareyourmomanddaddoing?”Ginger ducked her chin.A
lockofhair fell tohalfcoverher face the way Selenaremembered happening a lotwhenthey’dfirstmetinthirdgrade. Mrs. Shultz wouldalways ask Ginger questionsin front of the class, andGingerwouldget so shyand
tongue-tied she’d look downatherdesk,hidingbehindherhair,untiltheirteachermovedontosomeoneelse.Suddenly—too late—
Selena remembereda snippetof gossip her mother hadsharedaboutLizzyReid,whowas a member of Belinda’sgarden club. Lizzy hadmissed most of this year’smeetings because herhusbandhadadvancingALS.“Dad’snotdoingtoowell,”
Gingerconfirmed.“He’s inarehab place just outside oftown. It’s the only wayinsurancewillcoverhiscare.Mom goes to be with himevery day. It’s weighing onher,notkeepinghimathome.I’mmostlyholdingdownthefortbymyselfnow.”She’danswered inacasual
way, seeming to expectSelenanottoreallycare,ortobe looking for a reason tochange the subject. Instead,
Selena gave Ginger a hug.They’d been friends once,bothofthemwithpigtailslikeCamille’s, long before theworld had gotten socomplicated they’d forgottenthe simpler things that hadonce made them giggle andsmile and twirl around eachother’sbackyards.“I’m sorry about George.”
Selena stepped back. “Yourdad’s the best. He alwaysmadeuslaugh.Andheloved
this store. I’m sure he’d beproud to bursting if he couldsee what you’re doing withit.” She took a moment towatchCamillepickupapairof black-and-white oxfordshoes, her smile ear-to-ear.“You’re carrying on yourfamily’s legacy. I’mgladmydaughtergottoseethisplace.I really didn’tmean to be sorude.”Ginger turned from
watching Camille, too. She
fiddled with the pearls shewore at the neck of a silksweater twinset. A multi-karat diamond twinkled atopthe thick platinum band onherweddingfinger.“I can understand the long
day part,” she mused. “Thewhole town is talking aboutit. Honey, I’d have sprintedforthehills,too.Bothtimes.”Selena’smindblanked,not
followingatfirst.Shewassotired,shewaspracticallydead
on her feet. And it was onlyfouro’clock.“Oliver being back,”
Ginger explained. The bellatop the door jingled,announcing anothercustomer’sarrival.“It’sgoingto stir up a lot more peoplethan just you. The town’sbuzzing about you twomeetingupatthehospitalthismorning, after hedrove rightup his parents’ drivewayearlier and just stood there,
staringatyou.”“Which is why”—Belinda
breezed to their side, joiningthe conversation withoutmissing a beat—“I thoughtwe’d discussed you steeringclear of the hospital whilehe’sintown.Whywouldyougo and open yourself andCamille up to even moregossip?”The bell over the door
chimedagain.“LetmegoseeifIcanhelp
Camillemake her selection.”Before she slipped away,Ginger exchanged smileswith the new mother anddaughterwho’d come in, thelittle girl skipping alonginsteadofwalking.“Tennis shoes,” Selena
called after her. “Somethingthat will last through asummerofplayingoutsideinmymother’syard.”“So,”Belindasaid,“you’ve
definitely decided to stay
awhilelonger?”The other mother glanced
over from the table of dressshoes, thepatent leatherkindthat little girls in the Southwore to church on Sundays.The woman looked awaywhensherealizedshe’dbeencaughteavesdropping.A growing part of Selena
would have liked nothingbetter than to pack her andher daughter’s things andleave Chandlerville by
nightfall.“We don’t seem to have a
choice but to stay,” she saidtoBelinda,keepinghervoicedownandprayinghermotherfollowed suit. “Parker’s gothis lawyer delaying thedivorceagain,askingfornewbriefs about joint assets.Somethingaboutcategorizingthem differently. The schoolyear is almost over, takingmy anemic income streamwith it until I can find
something else. Parker’s andmy joint accounts are stillfrozen. And I haven’t savednearly enough yet to get meand Camille set up with aplaceofourown.”“Hecalledagain?”Belinda
turned her back to their still-avid audience. When Selenanodded, Belinda sighed.“Whydoyouencouragehim?Stop answering when youknowit’shim.”“I was leaving the
hospital.” Selena stared theother mother down until thewoman finallymovedherselfandherchildacrossthestore.“I was distracted. Besides, Ican’t riskagitatinghimmorethan he already is. He’sswearinghe’llhold thingsupuntilIagreetoflymyselfandCamillebacktoNewYorktomeetwithhiminperson.”“Themoreyourlawyerhas
to do to get you out of thismarriage, the less money
you’lleverseefromwhateversettlementyou’reawarded.”Selena shrugged, despising
theno-winlimboherhusbandand his financial resourceshadexiledherto.Ithadallbeenexplainedto
her. Why a judge’s rulingwould be better than aprotracted trial. How amediatormight be anoption.But thatwould require eitherParker’s agreement or ajudge’s order, and so far
Parker’s attorneys hadprevented the latter. Andwhileshedidn’toweherownlegal team a dime until asettlement was awarded,they’d take their fee out ofwhatever she received. Andthat bill was growing at analarming rate, given thatSelena had filed to end hermarriagesixmonthsago.“Ihate this,Mom.Owning
nothing of my own, havingnothing to offer Camille that
Parker doesn’t control, andowing you more every daywestayhere.”“Allyouoweme,”Belinda
said, her tone brooking noargument,“isyourpromisetodo what’s best this time foryourself and your daughter.Besmartaboutthis,Selena.”Belindawas trying sohard
tobesupportive.Selenaknewthat. But her mother’sconcern, her disappointmentat thestateof things,dripped
fromeveryword.“Be smart about Parker,”
Belinda insisted. “AboutOliver. About Camille. Stayas long as you need to. I’vetold you that. Get your lifestraight and figure out whatyoureallywant.I’lltakecareof what I can in themeantime. You save yourmoney for you and Camille.We’llmakeitwork.”Liquid sprang to Selena’s
eyes, emotion she wouldn’t
letfall.We’llmakeitwork.How many times had her
mothersaidthatwhenSelenahad been a little girl andwanted something theycouldn’t afford? Somethingthat her friends like Gingerhad gotten so effortlesslyfrom their parents. Belindawould inevitably have to sayno, but that they’d make itworksomehow.Selenawouldsee,hermotherhadpromised.
AndnowSelenadid.She’d blamed both her
parents forhowhard lifehadbeen after their divorce. ButBelinda had borne the bruntof everything Selena hadthought she’d gone without.Material things Selena hadbeen obsessed with, likepretty new shoes, shinychurchgoing shoes,whilehermom insisted on buyingsturdier ones that would dojust as well for nice as for
everyday. Now Selena wasrelyingonBelindatohelphernavigate the same limited-incomechoicesforCamille.“Thank you, Mom.” She
hadn’t said it enough as achild. She’d never againforgettosayitasanadult.“Iamgoingtomakethiswork.”“Iknowyouwill.Juststeer
clear of Oliver Bowman,honey. Don’t go down thatroadagain,unlessyou’reonehundredpercentsureofwhat
youwant.”“WhatIwant?”Sometimes Selena
wondered exactly what hermother knew, or whatBelinda thought she knew,where Oliver, Selena, andCamillewereconcerned.Andafter the mess Selena hadmadeofthingsatthehospital,today of all days, she foundherself wishing she andBelindawerecloseenoughtotalk about everything. The
way other mothers anddaughters seemed to soeffortlessly share life’s upsanddowns.“Mom,” she said, “do you
—”“Let’s go make sure your
daughter’snotbuyingoutthestore.” Belinda left to chatwith Ginger and Camilleaboutshoeoptions.Selenastaredafterher.She
didn’t have the energy tofollow. The rest of her day
andthedecisionsshestillhadtomakeaboutOliverandtheDixons and Camille—whiletheentiretownwatchedon—were for once making herissues with Parker seem likethe least of her problems.Except that if Parker hadn’tbeen yanking her aroundfinancially all this time in anattempttomanipulateherintotakinghimback, she andherdaughterwouldbe longgonefrom Chandlerville. Then
there’d be no Oliver forSelena to have to deal with.Atleastnotuntilshe’dsettleddown somewhere withCamille and begun buildingthe happy life she wasdeterminedtogiveherchild.Maybe then Selena would
havebeenabletoseeherwaycleartoreachouttoOliveronher own terms. Instead of itfeelingliketheworstpossibletimingforher to tell themanshe’d loved the deepest
secrets of her heart—andhopehedidn’tcrushbothherand her daughter with moreof the cool indifference he’dshownSelenathatmorning.
“Leave the boy be for awhile,” Joe cautionedMarsha. “Let him settle inbefore you throw more athim.”
Marshashookherhead,herthoughts more scattered thanshe ever remembered thembeing. Her Joe was gettingworse,notbetter.AndOliverwas back—still strugglingwithseeinghimselfaspartoftheir family, no matter howhonest and responsible he’dbecomeintherestofhislife.But there was one thing shewascertainof.“We don’t have time for
himtosettlein,”shesaid.
The doctor was gone. Thedecision between theavailablesurgicaloptionswasmade: angioplasty, scheduledfor ten o’clock that night.There was only the waitingnow.Thewonderingifthey’dmade the right choice. Andthe worrying over their kids.Joe’s mind was preoccupiedbyfamily,sameashers,evennow. The kids had alwaysbeen their priority since thedaythey’dbegunfostering.
“Besides”—she smoothedsalt-and-pepper hair backfrom her husband’s forehead—“when has Oliver eversettled in anywhere? Fromwhat he told you earlier, I’dbe surprised if he’s stayed inoneplacealltheseyearsmorethanafewmonthsatatime.”And now they had him
home—theirbrilliantboy, allgrown up, with his heart inhis eyes each timehe lookedatMarshaorhisfather...or
Selena. That fine mind wasno doubt already fixated ongetting away from themagain. Which wasunacceptable. She was doneenabling his believing thatbeing responsible to thefamilywasallhehadtooffer.That sending home moneywasallthecontactwithlifeinChandlervilleheneeded.Joe shook his head. “He’s
not going to put up withmuch more meddling from
you, love. Not if he doesn’tunderstandwhy.”“Then I’ll have some fast
explainingtodoatthehouse,won’tI?”Afterwhichshe’dtalkwith
the younger kids and getherself back here, to makecertain Joe had whatever heneeded.They’d scraped by without
opting for bypass. Butangioplasty was invasiveenough. Kask and his team
would attempt to widen themain artery leading to Joe’sheart without cracking hischest open to do it. And iftheycouldn’t...She brushed the backs of
herfingersoverthestubbleofher husband’s beard. “Iwantoursonback.”“Ido,too.Forlongerthana
few days. But he’s seenstaying away as the answerfor himself—and us—for along time. He’s never been
readyto—”“Givehiswholeheartaway
again? Have we waited toolong?”“He reached out first,” Joe
reminded her, “when hecontacted Travis aboutsending money home. Andwe didn’t give him a reasonnot to keep that door open.He felt comfortable cominghomeagainbecauseofthat.Ifwe’d pushed for more, hemightnothave.”
“He’d have been here foryou.”“He needs to stay for
more.”“Andifhe’snotreadyto?I
won’t be at the house aftertoday, to make sure he seeswhat’s right in front of him,waiting for him to want it,too.”Joe eyed her. “So you’re
going tocut to thechase thisafternoon?”“He needs to know, before
it’s too late and he makes amistakehe’llregret.”“He’s a fineman.He’ll do
therightthing.”“Hedoesn’tknowwhatthe
rightthingisyet.”“Neitherdoyou.”“Hestillbelieveshe’sletus
down.” Marsha stared at theclock across from Joe’s beduntil her vision cleared. “It’sbreakingmyhearttoseehowmuch being back means tohim, and to know he’s
already decided that beingelsewhereassoonaspossibleiswhat’sbestforeveryone.”Hewas a fine young man
with a bottomless heart thathadrefusedtolethimcuttiescompletely with the peoplewhowanted to love him.Heneeded to give folks inChandlervilleachancetoseethat—especially Selena. Heneeded to give himself thechancetofinallybelongtoallofthem.
“The years away havetaughthimgoodthingsabouthimself,” Joe reasoned. “Thenext fewdayswill teachhimmore.”“Ifhestays.”“Hewon’tturnhisbackon
thepromisehe’smade.”Marsha wanted to believe
that. “If anything can showhim what’s still inside him,diving headfirst into helpingwiththekidsshould.”HerJoe’seyessparkled.He
drew her palm to his heart,his hand trembling as itcoveredhers.“The kids get what they
need,”hesaid.It hadbeen their pact from
the beginning of this crazydreamoftheirs—tostillhavea huge family, despitelearning that they couldn’thave babies of their own.They’d from the start putdoingwhat was right for thekids first. The rest had
workeditselfouteverytime.“Brad and Oliver and
SelenaandCamille,”Marshasaid. “It’s not a coincidencethatthey’reallbacknow.”“Not if you have anything
tosayaboutit,”Joeteased.“I don’t know what has
Oliver more spooked.Agreeing to stay in town forlonger than he’d planned.”She could still see her son’sshock in the hallway. Hisanger downstairs. “Or the
prospect of still being sotangledupoverSelena.”“They weren’t ready for
what they had when theywereyounger.Orhowharditwas going to be to keep it.Not everyone gets it rightfromthestart.”The way she and Joe had.
“Brad and Dru worked pasttheirissues.”TheirDruhad learnedhow
to believe in someone,something, as her very own.
Oliver needed the sameconfidenceinhimself—inhisheart. A lot of their kidsstruggled to trust the best ofwhat life had in store forthem.“What if he’s still not
ready?” Joe looking worried—forherandtheirson.“WhatifSelenaisn’t?”The young woman was so
deliberate now, so careful.LikeOliveralwayshadbeen,even when he’d been
drinking and self-destructinginhighschool.HeandSelenahad worked hard for theirnew lives. And both weredetermined to believe thoselivesshouldbefarawayfromChandlerville.“This may be their last
chance.” Marsha rested herhead on her husband’sshoulder.“Our lastchance tohelp them. We have to dosomething.”She and Joe had guessed
for a while now that therewas more going on thanSelena admitted to. Theyhadn’t said anything toanyone else. There was noway to ask questions aboutCamille without making thesituation worse. But afterwhathadjusthappenedinthehallway, Marsha was evenmore convinced that Selenawas hiding something, andisolatingherselfbecauseofit.Her husband sighed.
“You’re determined this istherighttime?”“Is there ever a right time
todig into thepast andhopethe truthdoesn’tmake thingsworse?”Marshawasthinkingof Dru now, and everythingshe and Brad had alreadybeen through.“The last thingIwantistocausemorehurt.”“A lot of good can come
from believing that peoplewill support eachother, evenifithurtsalittle.”
“Camille,” Marshawhispered. “She’s a verygoodthing.”“She’s the most important
thing. Oliver will see that.Dru and Brad, too. Selenaalready does, the way shedotesonthechild.We’llhaveto convince her that shebelongs with us, too. Or nomatterwhatOliverdoesnext,Selenamightbolt.”“Oliver will make sure
everyone’s taken care of.”
Protecting his own was asoul-deep part of the manhe’d become, the same aswith Travis. And Joe. “But...”“Heneeds towantCamille
for himself—not see her asanother responsibility tothrow money at while hekeeps himself from gettingtoo attached. If she turns outtobehis.”“She’s so beautiful. And
she’s so Oliver’s.” Marsha
had hoped so at least, sincethe first time Camille hadflashed her crooked, heart-catchingsmile.“Ourfirstgrandchild.”Joe sounded exhausted—
and positively bewitched.Thenhisbreathcaughtonhisnext chest pain. He insistedthey weren’t nearly as badnow as when he’d collapsedin the heat of the lateafternoon sun, mowing theirlawn. Fin Robinson, one of
their newest kids, had foundhis father and run screaminginside to get Marsha. Herown heart clenched at theterrifyingmemory.Straightening,shemadeher
smile wider, softer, wantingJoe to know. Did he know?Hewashereverything—theirfamily’s everything. He hadtopullthroughthis.“Ican’twaittoseeCamille
wrap her grandpa around herlittle finger,” she said.
“You’ll be toast. You’realways such a pushoverwiththegirls.”He smiled through
whatever discomfortremained, reassuring,determined,andthensomber.Ateartrickledfromhiseye.“I . . .Idon’twanttomiss
any of it. But I know it’sgoing to be okay. All of it.And I believe in you, love,whateveryou thinkyouneedtodoforOliver.”
Marsha wiped his cheek,wiped her own. Her Joe’sbeliefwasapowerfulthing.Ithad gotten them through somuch. It wouldn’t fail themtonight.“After your angio’s a
smashing success,” she said,“you’ll get to see plenty ofCamille and Oliver andeveryone else. All the kidscan come for a visit onceyou’re on the mend and outofCICU.”
Her husband’s eyes slidshut,theweaknessthatstruckwithoutwarning stealinghimaway.“My first grandchild,” he
whispered.Marsha kissed him. “You
betterbelieveit,Gramps.”She slid into the chair
beside his bed. Useless tearswelledbehindherclosedlids.Buttherewasnotimeforthatkindofnonsense.Time, she’d learned years
ago,slippedbytooquicklytowaste wishing things weredifferent. Whatever wascoming next always arrived,regardless. Steering into thecurrent was the only way.Makinglifeworkthebestyouknewhow,insteadoffightingwhat needed to be done orgivingupandgoingunder.Maybe Joe was right. It
might be safer to let thingsfollow their own course. Buteveryone needed to be
navigating the same troubledwaters sooner rather thanlater. It was the onlyway totacklethehardworkthathadgoneundonefortoolong.“Leaveittome,love.”Her
hand still covered herhusband’sheart,desperateforthe feel of its steady beat. “Iwon’tletourboyleaveagainwithout him knowing howmuchweallneedhim.”
Chapter
Seven
“No, Parker,” Camille’smommy said on her cellphone, while Camille playedout back of her grammy’shouse. She was in the shadeby the tallbushesnext to theDixons’yard.It was one of her favorite
places to play, near all thepretty white flowers—camellias—thatwere likehername. ’Sides, it was too hotto play anywhere else, evenin the front yard where shewouldn’t have to hearMommyarguewithParker.And she’d already spread
out one of Grammy’s quiltswhere she was. It wasCamille’s favorite—the onewith thebig flowersallover.Andshehadherbubblewand
and the big bottle of bubblestuffMommyhadletherbuyat the dollar store. Andbubbleskindamade it not sobadthatParkerhadruinedthedrive home from the shoestore by calling and makingMommysadagain.AndsinceCamille was sitting next toGrammy’s camellias, shecould watch all the peoplenextdoor.Andthatwasevenmorefunthanbubbles.Therewerelotsofpeopleto
watch today—extra cars inthedriveway,plusallthekidswere home from school. Theman from that morning andhis truckwereback,andDruand Travis and Mrs. Dixonnow.Plus,Camillewascloseenough to still hearwhat hermommy was saying if shewanted to. And she kindawanted to, even though shewished they really had leftParker behind for real, theway Mommy kept saying
they had. Only Parker keptcalling and calling. AndCamille worried about hermommywhenhedidthat.“No,” Mommy said.
“We’renotcomingupthere.Itold you this morning, lastweek,lastmonth,twomonthsago. My answer hasn’tchanged. It’s not going tochange. You don’t want afamily.Youwanttolooklikeyouhaveafamily,whileyoulive your life however you
wantto.Wedon’tneedtoseeeach other again to agree onthat. And Camille doesn’tneedtobeanymoreconfusedby what you think being afather and a husband lookslike.Webothknowwhatwewantandwhatwedon’t.Youneed to tell your lawyers torelease enough money so Ican get Camille settledsomewhereelse.I’vesaidyesto mediation. I’ll say yes towhatever’sfair, includingnot
asking for child support. Butthat’snotenoughforyou.Weagreed...”Mommykeptsayingthatto
Parker—themanthey’dlivedwithallofCamille’slife.Theman who’d married hermommy so they could be afamily forever, and had keptasking Camille to call himDaddy when Mommy saidshe didn’t have to, ’cause hewasn’t really. The man whomadehermommycryatnight
sometimes still, whenMommythoughtCamillewasasleep andwouldn’t hear hertalking to Parker on thephone.Weagreed...Her mommy saw Camille
watching and turned awayand started whispering. Likeshe didn’t want Camille toworry. Like she didn’t wantCamille to miss the thingsthey used to havewhen theylivedwithParkerinhisfancy
apartment in NewYork. ButitwasokaywithCamille, allof it, ’specially leaving.Becausenowtheygot to livewith Grammy. Whatever weagreedmeant,NewYorkhadnever felt as good as livinghere, and living next door toGrammy’sneighbors.Watching the Dixon house
around the shady bushes inthe hedge,Camille sat in themiddleoftheoldquiltononeof the tulips—the flower that
had a little tear she didn’tmind on one of its purplepetals. She dipped her daisybubble wand and waved itand thought about all thetimes in New York whenMommyhadtakenhertoplayin the park next to Parker’sbuilding. And Mommy hadkept telling Camille howgreatitwastolivewheretheylived, and all Camille hadever wanted was a house ofherown,withotherhousesall
aroundthemandkidsheragetoplaywith,liketheonesshesawonTV.She watched her bubbles
fly and sparkle and sink, thesunmakingrainbowsinthem,and wondered what living atthe Dixons’ house would belike. Therewere always tonsof kids there. She’d evensnuckover a coupleof timesto play, when Grammywasn’twatchingandMommywasout,eventhoughCamille
wasn’ts’posedto.The Dixon family was so
cool. All those kids. All ofthem looked different. Theyweren’t a real family,someone at school had said.ButtheywerebiggerthananyfamilyCamillehadeverseen,and they looked so happy,and she kinda sometimeswished...Shelookedbehindher.She wished her mommy
wasn’t upset so much still.
She wished Parker wouldstop calling. She wished shecould believe her mommyandgrammywhentheyactedlike nothing was wrong, nomatter how many timesCamille asked ’cause sheknew something still was. InNew York Mommy hadsmiled and said things wereokay, too, only they hadn’tbeen.Camille wished that
whatever the fresh start was
that Mommy kept sayingwould happen would goaheadandhappennow.“No, Parker,” her mommy
said.“CamilleandIcan’tlivethat way anymore. We’vemovedon.”Mommy said moved on a
lot,too.Moved, Camille
understood. They’d movedfrom their apartment withParker to a friend’s place inNewYork.Camillehadslept
onthecouchandMommyonthe floor, and they hadn’tbeen able to bring most oftheir things. Then they’dmoved from New York withMommy’s new, funny car,Fred. And that time, they’donly brought the stuff theycould pack inside him.They’d been at Grammy’slongerthanMommyhadsaidthey would, and Camilleloved all of her new thingshere—mostly Mommy’s old
things, because Camille wasstaying in her mommy’s oldroom,andtheothercoolstuffGrammydidn’tmindCamilleplaying with, like her quilts.But Mommy said they’d bemovingagainsoon.Once Parker did whatever
Mommysaidhe’dagreedto.Camilledraggedherfloppy
blue bunny, Bear, into herlap. She’d brought himoutside with her quilt. Sheliked to pretend he was the
pet she’d never been able tohave in Parker’s apartment.Sheblewfreshbubbleswhileshe starednextdoor.Shebetno one over there wanted tomove.Whywould they, in afamilylikethat?She noticed the man from
that morning standing at thekitchen window, the sameplace Mrs. Dixon stoodsometimes on the weekend,when Camille stayed homewith Grammy, and Mommy
diderrandsorjoggedthewayshe did every day she didn’twork. Camille stood, leavingBear on the quilt. Sheboundedupanddownonhernew pink tennis shoes andtwirled her bubble wand theway she sometimes did withMrs.Dixon,wantingthemanto see how many greatbubblesshecouldmake.Mrs.Dixonalwaysclapped.
She liked bubbles a lot. Theman didn’t clap, but he kept
staring.SoCamillewavedherhand, the way Mommy hadwaved at him that morning.Hewavedbackthistime,andit looked like maybe he wassmiling. Then Mrs. Dixonwasthere,waving,too.
Chapter
Eight
“She’s adorable,” MarshasaidtoOliver.“Hey,Mom.”Hepulledher
into a hug, both of themlooking out the window. Hehadn’trealizedshewashomeyet.Marsha rested her head on
his shoulder. “Selena wasabout that age when she andBelinda first moved nextdoor. That was, what, eightyears or so before you camealong?”Olivergrunted.He blinked the sleepless
gritoutofhiseyes.AfterTravisdroppedhimat
the house,Oliver had joggeda quick couple of miles toclear his head, nearly havinga heat stroke under the
midday sun. He’d showered.Hanging until Dru got homewith Teddy, he’d downedwhatmusthavebeenagallonof water and tried to nap.Epic fail. Then he’d heardSelena’s dilapidated Chevypull into the driveway nextdoor. He’d dragged his assoffthecouchsohecouldpeerthrough the blinds, and he’dbeen borderline or not-so-borderline spying on theRosenthal place ever since.
When he’d heard her outback, how was he supposedtohavelookedawayfromthesightofherandherdaughteron the other side of hisparents’hedge?“She seems happy.” He
glanced again at Selena’sadorable little girl, who’dgone back to playing. Hehadn’t had the heart not towavebackjustnow.“Theydoteonher.”Marsha
leaned against the kitchen
counterandcrossedherarms.An ominous sign. She hadsomethingtogetoffherchest—resistancewasfutile.“It’saside of Belinda most peopledon’t remember. The wayshe’d loved so freely andshowered so much attentionon Selena—back before Benleft them, and Belinda andSelenamovedoutoftheirbighouse across town and intothat tiny thing next door.Belinda never completely
recovered from it. ButCamille’s been good for hergrandmother. She’s a speciallittle girl. People fall in lovewithheronsight.”“What’snottolove?”HewatchedSelena talk on
the phone, her daughternearby on a colorful blanket.Sweet, domestic, apicturesque scene. Selenaseemed to finally have whatshe’d always wanted,whatever had happened with
hermarriage.Afamilyofherown tocare forandbe lovedby,includingreconcilingwithhermother.“There’s evidently some
kind of delay with herdivorce,” Marsha said.“Selena’s helping Belindamake ends meet while she’shere,workingapart-time jobattheelementaryschool.”Selena was divorced.
Olivercouldn’twraphisheadaroundit.Hetunedbackinto
the growing chaos that hadrocked the house once DrureturnedwithTeddy—thekidscreaming from beingawoken from his car-seat-induced snooze. She andOliver hadn’t exchangedmorethanafewwordsbeforeTravis turnedup again.Thenthe school busses pulled tothecurb,oneeveryhalfhour,spitting out the rest of thekids. The noise factor in thehouse had quickly escalated
to eardrum-bursting decibels,distracting Oliver fromimagining Selena withanother man, raising theirchild, living their life.Leaving their life to movebackhere.Two older kids, a teenage
boy and girl, raced throughthe kitchen. Ignoring OliverandBelinda,theytrampedupthebackstairs,bickering.“You played first
yesterday,” said the girl
who’d been introduced asShandra. She wore a jeansskirt and graphic T-shirt andhad turned a bright bluebandana into a headband.“It’smyturn.”“Noone’splayingnothin’.”
Gabe’s cargoes werewrinkled almost as badly ashis short-sleeved, plaidbutton-down. “Not if wedon’tfindthecontroller.”“In your pit of a room?”
Shandraracedpasthim.
“Stay out of my room! Ididn’t take it upstairs lastnight.”Marsha watched them go
andchuckled.“Video games.” She shook
her head. “They take turnsafter school. Sounds likeShandrahasfirstdibstoday.”“If she can make Gabe
produce the controller. Andshe’s infiltrating enemyterritorytohuntforit,sohe’llthink twice before he hides
something from her again.Smartgirl.”Oliver’s running grudge
match with his own siblingsover anythingandeverythinghad been legend back in theday. Marsha and Joe hadmostly let them work thingsout for themselves, the wayTravisandDruseemed tobethisafternoon.Andbeforethefull-tilt after-school mayhemcould torch the last ofOliver’s rapidly declining
sanity, he’d excused himselftothekitchentomakecoffee—forMarsha.He’dwantedtohave something comfortingwaiting forherwhen shegothome. Instead, he’d lethimselfgetsidetracked.He sneaked another glance
out the window. Selena andherdaughterweregone.“Honey,” Marsha said,
“haveyou—”“Can we get this started,
Mom?” Travis came in from
the living room, still inuniform.He’d been grousingsince he’d arrived about themound of paperwork stillwaitingforhimatthestation.“Sure,” Marsha said. “Let
megrabthatcupofcoffee.”She scanned the unused
stovetop. Her gaze trackedback to Oliver. So didTravis’s.“Take all the time you
need,bro,”TravissaidwithaWTF stare. “I think Dru’s
teachingtheolderkidshowtoplaycraps.Theyoungeronesare finger-painting the walls.And I’m showing Teddy thefiner points of Hatha yoga.We’vegotallday.”He left Oliver and Marsha
alone again, in the roomwhere she’d cooked forOliver,wherehe’dlearnedtoclean up after himself andothers. He’d helped her sortand fold laundry on thecounter. He’d tutored the
younger kids with mathhomework. He’d helpedbandage skinned knees andelbowswhenthere’dbeennoone else around to see tosomeonesmallerthanhewas.All the family he’d known
since he’d lost his birthmother had happened in thiskitchen, the living room,upstairs where he’d bunkedwith Travis in what waslikely Gabe and Fin’s roomnow. And being part of it
again as an adult felt . . . somuchbetterthanheshouldbeletting it.Hechugged fromabottle of water he’d snaggedfromtherefrigerator.Leaninghishipagainst the
counter,hefacedthemusic.“What’s on your mind,
Mom?”“You’re sure you’re ready
to be point for dealing withsix kids who’ve never metyou?” Marsha’s smile saidshe’d guessed he’d been
hiding out in the kitchen. “Ababy, three in elementaryschool, and another two inhigh school who come fullyequipped with the attitudethat anyone older thannineteen loses ten IQ pointsjust getting out of bed in themorning?”“If Dru and Travis can
handle them, I can. Mywork’s portable,” he assuredhis mother, when the realitywas thathewas indangerof
losing Canada to Xan, too.“I’m here for as long as youneedme.”A burst of angry shouting
in the other room—soundedlikeFin—setoffgalesofgirllaughter. From Lisa Burns,most likely. Shewas the oneclosesttoFininage,thebothof them in upper elementaryschool.“Andwhatabouttherest?”
Hismother smoothed a handdownOliver’sarm.
“Therest?”“You, Selena, and Brad.
And Dru. And Travis, nowthatIthinkaboutit.He’skeptupwiththelotofyou.HeandBrad are close still, the wayyou and your brother havestayedintouch.”“Yeah,” Oliver admitted.
“Wehave.”“There are other people
here besides Travis who’dlike the chance to know youagain.” Another whoop of
laughtersoundedofffromthelivingroom.Kidcurses,adultchastisement, more laughter.“Someofuswill continue toinflict ourselves on you aslong as you’re around.Others, you’re going to havetotaketheinitiativewith.”“I’ve already talked with
Brad.”“AndSelena?”“Mom...”Oliverstretched
his neck from side to sideuntilitfinallycracked.
“Now that you’re home,makethemostofit.Don’tletyour past deprive the rest ofus of the good things wecouldallstillhave.”Deprivetherestof themof
what?“What’s really going on?”
heasked.Marshadidn’t answer right
away.Oliver glanced toward the
living room, hoping forsomeone to misbehave and
require her intervention.When that didn’t happen, hebraced his hands on his hipsandbitthebullet.“I’m listening,” he said.
“Aslongasitdoesn’tinvolveconcocting another way tomaneuver Selena and metogether.I’ddoanythingelsefor you and Joe, I swear Iwould.I’lldealwithBradandDruandwhateverelseIhaveto around here. But Selenaand I are off-limits. You
didn’tseehowharditwasforher both times we weretogether today. I’m notputting either one of usthrough that again, not evenforyou.”“Bothtimes?”“Thismorningwhen I first
got here. She and her littlegirl—”“Camille”“—were out front of
Belinda’s.And itwas just so...”
“What?”Painful. “I don’t want to
hurtheragain.”“Ofcourseyoudon’t.”“After all these years, it’s
just...”“What?”“Over.” And over was a
whole lot easier to processfromadistance.Through thekitchen window. Or fromAtlanta or another state orevenanothercontinent.“Okay.” Marsha gave a
firmnod.“Ifover’swhatyouwant, what you need, that’sfine. Just hearme out beforeyou make up your mind.Then if that’s still yourdecision, I’ll consider thesubjectcloseduntilyoubringitupagain.”Oliver hung his head,
becausehismotherwasbeingreasonable. How was a mansupposed to outmaneuverreasonable?“Letmehaveit,”hesaid.
Marsha’ssmileshouldhavetakensomeofthestingoutofhis surrender. But there wassomething in her expressionthathadthehairrisingonthebackofhisneck.“Selena turned up a few
months ago,” she said. “SheandBelindahavesharedverylittle with anyone in townabout Selena’s life since sheleft. Except that she’sdivorced and starting over.And that she has a little girl
she keeps pretty close tabson. It’s almost like Selena’safraid to let anyone get tooclose.”“Travis said they weren’t
planningonstaying.”“Herdivorceisholdingher
up.But, no.Noone sees herputting down roots hereagain.”“So she doesn’t want her
daughter getting tooattached.”Reasonableenoughfor a kid that young who’d
beenuprootedfromonehomealready. Selena certainlyknew how that felt. “Theyseemhappytogether.”His mind replayed an
image from that morning:Selena holding her daughter,smilingather,sweet,perfect,content. It was like a livingcameo burned into his brain.And it was none of hisbusiness.“Did you talk with
Camille?”hismotherasked.
“Notreally.Look,I’mgladBelinda’shelpingthem.Ifsheand Selena have patchedthings up, good for them.Good for Selena’s daughter.Whatdoesanyofthishavetodowithme?”Marsha looked
uncomfortable. She’d neverbeenbigongossip.Thiswassooutofcharacter forher, itwasdownrightspooky.“Ithinkthere’smoregoing
on next door than meets the
eye,” she said. “Your fatherdoes,too.”“Likewhat?”His mother linked her
handsinfrontofher.“SelenaandBelindahavebeentellingeveryone thatCamille’s four,going on five years old. Myguessisshe’solder.Just tinyforherage.She’ssnuckoverto the house a few timeswhen she plays out back onthe weekends and hergrandmother’s watching her.
You know Belinda. She cangetsocaughtupinheryard,Iswear if a bomb went offshe’d never know thedifference.”“You’ve been spending
time with Selena’s daughter,whenSelenadoesn’twantheroverhere?”“Camille wanted to play
with the kids,” Marsha said.“At first, I didn’t have theheart to turnher away.She’salwaysscamperedbackhome
before they notice she’sgone.” Marsha was wringingher hands, for God’s sake.What the hell? “We’ve hadsome lovely chats.She’s just...wonderful.”“I’m sure she is, but you
needtostop.Doyouwantmeto talk to Selena for you? Isthatwhatthisisallabout?”“I’d already have told her
myselfifIdidn’tthinkI’dgetCamilleintrouble,and...”“Andwhat?”
“Camille’s already finishedkindergarten in New York.She talked to me about herteachers there, when I askedher about her class here.Hermother’sreenrolledherintheprogram at Chandler. Nowthat’snotall thatunusual forkidswho are in between agegroups, whose parents orteachers don’t think they’rereadytomoveupyet.Butmyguess is Camille’s closer tosix than five. Maybe a little
older.”“And...?”Oliverstaredat
hismotherwhile shewaited.Andwaited.He’dreachedhislimit.To keep from storming up
the kitchen stairs himself, heturned to dealwithMarsha’sbeaten-up kettle and thecoffee he’d promise tomakebut had no business drinkingonce he did. The shiny brasskettle had been dented all tohellandback,coveredintiny
pit marks it had collectedover years of dedicatedservice.Itsatwhereitalwayshad, on the stove’s left backburner, forever ready to feedtheendlesspotsofherbal teaMarshamadeforyoungsoulsin need of soothing. For theolder and more sleep-deprived, there was the bestdamn coffee on the planet,made by pouring boilingkettle water into his mom’sstovetopslow-drippot.
Walking to the fridge,needing some distance, hefound his mother’s favoriteblend of groundbeans in thedoor, same as always. Druhad said to make sure hemade decaf, since it wasalreadylateafternoon.Heheaded to the sinkwith
the right container and thekettle. Maybe he could bashhimself over the head withthe thing. That would stopeverything Marsha had said,
and not said, from rattlingaround in his already achingbrain. Then something frozeinsidehim.Bitsandpiecesofconversation, seeminglydisconnected details, finallyaligning.“Whatdidyousaythelittle
girl’snamewas?”He set thekettle on the stove, his earsringing.Hishandshookasheturnedtheburneronhigh.“Camille.Justlike—”“Selena’sfavoriteflowers.”
Oliver covered his heartwith his palm.His tattoo feltlike it was burning throughthematerialofhisT-shirt.He hadn’t smelled
camellias in years until thatmorning.Arowofthemgrewbetween his parents’backyard and Mrs.Rosenthal’s, and Selena hadloved their blooms. Oncethey’d started dating, Oliverhad given her a camelliaeverymorning therewasone
togive.She’dnamedherchildafter
the fragile blossom thatwould always remind him ofher. Of them. Of the perfectyearthey’dspentlovingeachother.“I’msosorry,Oliver . . .”
she’dsaidthatmorning.“Foreverything.”For running from him
again? For ending things sodestructively sevenyears ago—because shewas incapable
oflovingandtrustinganyone,even him? Or was she sorryfor something more?Something impossible forhimtobelieve.Except more pieces were
snapping intoplacewhilehismother stayed silent, lettinghim work things out forhimself.“Waitjustadamnminute.”
He redid the simple mathMarsha evidently alreadyhad.
Jesus.The kettlewhistled, slicing
through his shock andpunching his headache toDEFCON 1. How long hadhe been standing there,staring blind, his worldnarrowing to one crucialdetail?“How old do you think
Selena’sdaughteris?”Marsha stepped in front of
him and took care of thecoffee. “A lot closer to six,
maybealittleolder.”Sheputa hand on his shoulder.“WhichmeansCamillewouldhavebeenconceived—”“Seven years ago . . .”
Oliver glanced toward theliving room, where good-naturedbedlamcontinued.“Isanyone else wondering thesamething?”“Joe and me. Maybe
Travis,buthewouldn’tcausetrouble for anyone unless hewassure.”
Anyone...“YoumeanforBradand—”Dru burst through the
doorway.“What’s the holdup?” she
asked.Blondeandtall,shewasas
beautiful as ever, even withworry dragging at thegorgeous smile she flashedtheir mother. She had asniffling Teddy perched onherhip,hisredhairspikinginthebackfromhisnap.
“OhmyGod,” shegushed.“Is the coffee ready? Is itdecaf? Count me in. Butwe’ve got to get this partystarted. The kitchen crewneeds me at the Whip. AndTravis wants to check in onDad before he heads to thestationforhisnightshift.”“Let’s do it, then.”Marsha
poured a mug of coffee,black, and walked it over toDru,exchangingitforTeddy.“Hey there, big boy,” she
cooed.The toddler beamed at her,
besotted, and then over hershoulderatOliver,asMarshawalked him away from thebomb she’d just detonated inOliver’slife.
“Youokay?”Druasked.Oliver realized his mouth
washangingopen.
“Sure,”hemanaged.Ijustmightbeafather.Oranuncle.Which would make you a
stepmother, if your fiancéknocked up the girl of mydreams when we wereteenagers.Hepulledhissisterintohis
arms for the first time sincerollingintotown.“God.” The rightness of
home washed through himagain, crowding out the rest.
Itwas thefirstchance they’dhad to be alone. “You’re asightforsoreeyes.”Druhuggedhimback.She made a happy, watery
sound,halflaugh,halfcry.“Ican’t believe you’re back.We’ve missed you. I’vemissedyou.”“Metoo.”Hemadehimself
setheraway.“Yes.” She punched his
shoulder. “I could tell howoftenyouthoughtofus,with
all thelettersandphonecallsand attempts to stay intouch.”Oliver tousled her bangs
like he used to, when she’dbeen five inches shorter butjustassassy.Herewardedhernext punch with a satisfyinggrunt. He deserved it. Hedidn’t have a clue how toexplainthedistance,hisneedforit.“I just wanted . . .” He’d
wantedheretoberightforall
of them. He still did. Helooked out the kitchenwindow at the Rosenthals’empty backyard. “I’m reallysorry,Dru.”Druhuggedhimagain.“No
apologies. Not between us. Iunderstand. Really. Braddoes, too.He toldme a littleabout the hospital. Soundslike it was brutal. No oneblamesyouforwantingtobesomewhere else all theseyears.Whathappened,itwas
horrible.Ifeltresponsibleforitforyears.”Shocked, Oliver sputtered,
“Why the hell would youthink any of this was yourfault?”“I’mtheonewhogotBrad
to admit he’d slept withSelena. I was so mad. I hadsuchacrushonhim.Iwasn’tthinking aboutwhat itwoulddo toyou if the rumorsweretrue.IrefusedtobelieveBradwhenhesaiditjusthappened.
That it meant nothing. Ineeded company in my pityparty. So I found you andtattled.”“Itwasalongtimeago,and
youwerehurting,Dru.”“I was the reason you two
fought and you got yourselfin trouble again. If I’d juststayedoutofit...”“You couldn’t have.” And
he couldn’t take the tears inher eyes. “You cared toomuch about everyone to just
let it go. I’m the one whomadeSelenafeellikeshehadnooneonherside.Imightaswell have driven her intoBrad’sarms.”Druwincedattheimage.“Noneofthisisyourfault,”
he insisted. “You got hurtbecauseofme.”Anditmightnotbeoveryet.“I’msorry.”Drucockedherheadtothe
side. She’d always beensneakygoodatreadinghim.“You were in love with
Selena,”shesaid,“evenaftershebrokeupwithyou.”Henodded.“Andnow...?”Sheblew
onhercoffee,tookasip.“And now . . .” IfCamille
turned out to beBrad’s, howwould Dru and her fiancéweather the shock? “You’reengaged. I’m happy for you,kiddo.”Dru’ssmilewasjustshyof
believing him. “Brad saidTravis had to drag you into
the cafeteria this morning.Don’t be an asshat, Oliver.You’re going to have to dobetterthanthat.”“I shook your guy’s hand.
We cleared the air. It’s allgood.” Or so Oliver hadthought.Drutookanothersipof the
coffee he wanted to drownhimself in. But even decafhadenough stimulant in it toaffecthim.Thenshesmackedthebackofhisheadwithher
palm, like when they’dbickeredaskids.“Hey! Careful, brat.” He
lifted his half-empty waterbottle to douse her.“Payback’sabit—”“Knock itoff,you two.”A
scowlingTravisreappearedinthe kitchen doorway. “Killeachotheronyourowntime.Mom’stalkingwiththekids.”Thequietintheotherroom
registered. Blessed peacereignedforthefirsttimesince
the kids had commandeeredthe house. Oliver’s gutclenched.“Right,”hesaid.Joe. Angioplasty. Keeping
things at home on an evenkeel for his parents and forkids who’d already survivedmoreinsecurityandlossthananyoneshouldhaveto.He’d help his family
through this. He’d deal withSelena, if therewas anythingto deal with. He’d deal with
anyfalloutforDruandBrad.His take care of things athomeprojectlistwasgrowingby leapsandbounds.But thekidscamefirst.ItwasMarshaand Joe’smantra.And for aslong as Oliver was back, itwashisnow,too.Travis ducked into the
livingroom.Druheldback.“I can understand your
work being a priority,” shesaid. “But don’t let beingmessed up about Selena or
Brad or anything else takeyouawayfromusagain.Notuntil you absolutely have togo.Promise?”Oliver smiled down at her,
notusedtoityet.“YougrewupwhileIwasgone.”“I got my dream come
true.” She kissed his cheek.“Gives a girl clarity. I gotcuter,too.I’llgiveyouapassfor not noticing. But that’soneyouoweme. I’ll collect,ifI’meverinthemoodtobe
particularlybratty.”“If?”He hooked an arm around
her, the old and the new andthe somewhere in betweenfeeling right in thatmoment.TheyfollowedTravisintothecircleofMarsha’ssoft,steadyvoice.“Joe’s going to be laid up
for a while longer,” she wassaying, holdingTeddy in herlap and surrounded by theyounger kids, Lisa and Fin
andBoris,who’dpiledonthesofanext toher.“Heneedsaprocedure tonight thedoctorsare saying will take time forhim to recover from. Whichmeans I’ll need you olderkids”—shelookedatShandraand Gabe, who each hadtaken over one of the chairsbeside the couch—“to helppick up some of the slackaround here. And you’ve allmetOliverbynow,right?”Marsha smiled at him, like
he was the best part of herday.ThenshesmileddownatTeddy the same way andbounced him in her lap. Theblue slipcover on theoversized couch used to bered.She’dsewnthenewone,nodoubt,likealltheothers.“Oliver’s going to be
stayinghereatnight,inJoe’sand my room, while I’m atthe hospital with Dad.” Shesoundedexhausted,nomatterhow upbeat she kept things.
“I’llhavemyphonewithme.If you need somethingimportant leave a messageandI’lltrytocheckregularly.Ican’tkeepitonwhenI’minCICU. But for now, foreveryday stuff, Oliver’staking the lead. Travis andDru will be around as muchas possible. I know you’rejust meeting Oliver for thefirst time, but he’s family.He’s been where you are.AndJoeandIaresograteful
that he’s home.The family’slucky to have him, just likewe’re luckywehave the restofyoukids.”Like they’d be lucky to
have Camille, too, herlingering glance towardOliverseemedtosay.Or was it his conscience
working overtime? Becausethe part of him itching toescape back to the all-consuming job he’d built hislife around was already
looking for ways to justifynot forcing the issue ofCamille’s paternity. Excepthe wasn’t alone in thisdecision. This was BellevueLane, not his cutthroat,transientbusinessworld.Hetookinthesomberfaces
of the kids circled quietlyaround Marsha, almost likeshewasabout toreadthemastory. To someone else theymightlooklikeamismatchedlitterofcast-offlives.Instead,
Oliver sawa thriving family.BecauseofMarshaandJoe’sdetermination to love andhealasmanychildrenastheypossiblycould.Travis stepped to his other
side, completing a unitedfront for their youngerbrothersandsisterstosee.“You’re all worried,”
Marsha said. Love filled hervoice and fisted in Oliver’sthroat. “Iknow. I’mworried,too. Idon’t like thesoundof
things like surgery andmoretests and Dad having to stayawayfromthefamily.Idon’tlike my Joe being sick, andhowworriedheisaboutallofus.ButI’mgrateful.BecauseI’m not going through thisalone. Neither is your dad,eventhoughwecan’tgetyouyounger ones in to see himyet.We’reafamily.Noone’sgoingthroughthisalone.”Just like Oliver steering
clearofSelenatherestofthe
time hewas in townwas nolonger his choice alone tomake. He hugged his sistercloser.Hewoulddowhatwasbestforhisfamily.Marshasmiledathim,asif
she’dreadhismind.“Whatever we have to
face,” she promised,“everything’sgoingtobejustfine, as long as we face ittogether.”
ChapterNine
“Thanks for coming in againtoday,” Kristen HemmingsBeaumont said, bright andearly the next morning.“We’ve really put youthrough your paces the lastcouple of months. Can youbelieveit’salmostsummer?”
“It’s really heating upoutside.”Selenasmiledatthesix-foot-plus former collegebasketballstar.Chandler Elementary’s
much-loved principal wasnewly married, as of March,and still glowing from thewhirlwind romance that hadmatched her with ChandlerHigh’s soccer coach and in-demand local musician, LawBeaumont.Kristen dabbed at her
foreheadwithaKleenex.“It’ssteamyenoughinside.Idon’tknowwho’smorereadytobesprungfromschool—thekidsorthefaculty.”Same as any other school
day, Kristen was wearing asuit this morning—a jacketand skirt in a beautifulaquamarine color. Plus low-heeled pumps that screamedclassic sophisticationwithoutaddingtoherheight.“Thankyouforkeepingme
workingallthistime,”Selenasaid. “I know there are a lotofothermomsonthesublist.It’s made a world ofdifference for Camille andme.”Selena and her boss had
never talked about it, andKristen had never asked fordetails. No one in town hadhadthenervetocomeoutandpump Selena for informationaboutherdivorce.Howwhenshe’d come home at the end
ofMarch,ithadbeenforonlyafewweeks’visit.“Mathasflowers?”Kristen
motioned to the projectSelenahadbeenprepping.Selena smiled and kept
working. She neededeverything ready before herclass arrived. She andCamille had had another latestart—this morning becauseSelena had been up most ofthe night, obsessing aboutyesterday’sscenewithOliver
and Brad. And the newsabout Joe’s overnightangioplasty.And nowOliverwould be staying in townindefinitely, while his fatherrecovered—which explainedhim and Marsha waving atCamille yesterday afternoonfrom the kitchen window, asif Oliver had settled in for anicelongvisit.Selena surveyed the
colorful pile of cutconstruction paper on the
desk and thought of hermotheranddaughter’ssharedloveforgrowingthings.“Iseemtobeworkingona
running theme.” She pastedtogetherasecondexampleoftoday’s exercise in simplefractions—left by the third-grade teacher she wassubbingfor.Each child would create
three different types ofconstruction-paper flowers.Selenawasthentodividethe
kidsintoteamsoftwo,totaketurns making gardens withone or more of each other’sflowers, and then talk withthe class about how manyhalves, thirds, and fourths ofeachtypeofblossomwereintheir beds. The result wouldbe a magnificent gardenthey’d staple to the bulletinboard next to their storagecubbies.“You know . . .” Kristen
leaned a hip on the teacher’s
desk at the front of theclassroom. “If this ever turnsintosomewhereyou’dliketostay, Chandler Elementarywould be lucky to have youfor more than part-timehours.”“I...”Selenagapedather
boss.Part of her plan for the
funds she kept asking Parkerto release had been to takecollege classes at night—tofinally earn the degree she’d
never gotten. To beginbuilding toward a career thatwouldenablehertotakecareof her daughter on her own.Becoming a teacher haddefinitely been at the top ofher list of possibleoccupations to pursue. Buteven if Parker stoppeddragginghisfeet,andshehadenoughmoneytostartgettingseriousaboutschoolagain...“Working on staff at
Chandler Elementary?” she
askedKristen.“We just had a full-time
subpositionopenup.”“For next year? I . . . I
hadn’t really considered thatanoption.”Staying with Belinda.
Living next door to theDixons—withOliverpossiblypoppinginandoutnow,afterJoe came home from thehospital.CommittingtobeinginChandlerville foranentireyear,soSelenacouldbesure
she had a job lined up. Itshouldsoundlikealifeline.“You’re becoming our go-
to mom,” Kristen said. “Theteachers loveyourworkwiththeir kids. You keep thestudents happy and focusedand on task. The mostoveractive of our studentsdon’t seem to faze you, andneither do the shyer ones.Youcomeearlyandstaylate.I’veevencaughtyoututoringa time or two after everyone
else has gone home. Haveyou considered makingteachingacareer?”Selena nodded. “Wherever
we end up. But any kind ofdegree would be tooexpensive right now, andimpossible to schedulearoundCamille’sday.”“Notnecessarily.Notifyou
stayhere.”Selena began cutting and
pasting again, needing thesoothing rhythm of the work
to cover the panic. WhatKristen was suggestingsounded amazing. WhatSelena would have to facewith her daughter, hermother, theDixons . . .withOliver, if she were really tocontemplate staying in townforgood,wasterrifying.“I’m sorry,” she said. “I
appreciatetheoffer.But...”“There’s an excellent
communitycollegejustdowntheroad.Myhusband’s there
nights working on a jointmusicandeducationBA.”“There’d be no money for
classes,” Selena remindedherself,“evenifIsubbedfulltimenextyear.AndIneedtoget my daughter settled in ahomeofourown firstbeforeIcommitfundswedon’tevenhaveyettosomethingelse.”“That’s what scholarships
andgrantsarefor.”Kristen reached into her
skirt pocket and pulled out a
slip of paper covered in theloops and curves of herstylish handwriting. She laidthelistonthedesk.“Lookintothem.I’mhappy
tobeareference,andIknowhalf a dozen teachers you’vesubbed for who would, too.I’m sure you have yourreasons for moving on. Noone’s trying to pry or evenchangeyourmind.Butifyoudecide you’d like to giveChandlerville a chance, call
me and we’ll set things inmotion.”“I . . .” The scissors
clattered from Selena’sfingers.“My cell number’s at the
bottom.” Kristen took inMimiStone’sbright,colorfulclassroomand smiled. “I canseeyouinaroomlikethis.”“IhopeI’mnotinterrupting
anything.” Travis steppedinto the room, wearingcivilian clothes and looking
even more ragged thanyesterday. “The front officesaid Selena was workingtoday.”“Of course not,” Kristen
answered while Selenacomposed herself enough todeal with her secondinterruption that morning.“I’m sorry to hear Joe isn’tdoingwell.”“Thanks,” Travis said.
“Dad’s awake and out ofrecovery, back in CICU.
More tests are happeningtoday. More doctors. We’rehoping for better news thanyesterday. Mom’s prettymuchinsistingonit.”Kristen smiled fondly.
“You let your parents knowwe’rekeepinganeyeontheirkidshere.Wecansendworkhome if it’s easier to keepthem closer for a few days.Whateverthefamilyneeds.”“We appreciate it. So far
it’s business as usual at the
house.Mybrother’s back—”Travis glanced at Selena.“We’re getting him up tospeed on everyone’sschedules. I just stopped andsignedOliveruptobeabletodropoffandpickupthekidsifheneedsto.”“Great,” Kristen said. “I
betterget.Buscallinfifteen,”she said to Selena. “Couldyouhelp take care of the carriders getting dropped outbackatthecafeteria?”
“Um...sure.”Kristen stopped next to
Travisonherwayout,justastall as he was, delicatelyfeminine in comparison. Shepatted his shoulder. “I hopeyour dad’s home soon, goodas new. Thewhole school isrootingforhim.”The way she’d just said
people were rooting forSelenaandCamilletostayinChandlerville while Selenacompeted for scholarships,
worked full time, and tookclasses to become a teacher.While she made her ownmoneynomatterhowlong ittook Parker to finalize theirdivorce.AndallSelenawouldhave
to do was face down theworst of the mistakes she’dmadeinheryounglife,comeclean with the Dixons, andhope the fallout didn’t makethingsworseforherdaughter.“I’m sorry about Joe, too,”
she said once it was just herandTravis.“Yeah. It’s been a long
night. But so far the doctorsare saying encouragingthings,whatever thehell thatmeans. Until they tell us forsure theydon’thave tocrackJoe’s chest open, no one’sgoingtosleepeasy.”“I hope they clear him
soon.”Travis stared. Because of
coursehehadn’tsearchedher
outjusttotalkabouthisdad.“You’re wasting your
time,”shetoldhim,“ifyou’rehere on another mission forMarsha.” Selena movedaroundtheclassroom,puttingthings away, bustling, nottrustingherselftositstillandlet Oliver’s brother lookcloselyenoughtoseeherownsleeplessnight.“AndIhavealotofworktodo.”He dropped onto the edge
of Mimi’s desk. “Will you
just talk with me for asecond?”She circled back and sank
into the teacher’s chair,resigned.“Idon’thavemuchmore than that. Once I helpunloadacouplehundredkidsand herd them toward theirclassrooms, I’ll have twenty-five of my own, bright-eyedand expecting me to not toborethemsenseless.”“It’saboutOliver.”Ofcourseitwas.
Travis stopped her fromstacking the multicoloredflower pieces. “It’s aboutgivinghimanotherchance.”“I hope your family does.”
Selena really did. “I’m sorryit took Joe getting sick, butI’m glad Oliver’s found hisreasontocomehome.”“He’s staying for at least
therestoftheweek.”“That must mean a lot to
your mom.” And it couldn’tmeananythingtoSelena.
Excitement shot throughher, though, from thepossibility of seeing himagainonadailybasis,evenifitwas only fromacross theirparents’ yards. Followed bythe dread of knowing shewouldn’t be able to keep herdistance any better than shehad yesterday, the next timethey stumbled across eachother. And she had no ideahowshewasgoingtotellhimwhatsheneededto.
She stood and steppedaround the desk, needing tomoveagain,andtripped.Thestack of math projectinstructionsshe’d intended toplace on each desk flew outof her hands, sliding acrossthe floor. Travis caught herbeforeshe tookaheader intooneof the filled-to-brimmingbookcases.Hesetherbackonherfeetandbenttogatherupher materials, handing themover.
“Thanks,” Selena said.Getagrip,Selena!“Sorry.”When she tried to edge
away again, he caught herelbow. “Oliver’s a goodman.”“I know that.” She’d
always known it, even whenshe’dbrokenupwithhim.He’d been determined to
makeher lifebetter,hisway.On his timetable. A traitshe’d run from, and thenhomed in on all over again
withParker.“Then why not stay at the
hospital yesterday and workthingsoutwithmybrother?”“Idon’tknow,Travis.Why
doyouthink?”“Brad . . . and other
things.”“Yeah. And other things.
Oliver could barely look meintheeye.”“I don’t think he’s holding
agrudge.Bradeither.OrDru.We’d all like to put what’s
happened behind us. Maybethat’s possible now. Youtalking to Oliver, the two ofyougettingeverythingout inthe open. It might make iteasierformybrothertostayalittle longer. You know, formyparents’sake.”Selena pulled her arm
away. “That’s hitting belowthe belt, using Marsha andJoetomanipulateme.”“I said Oliver was a good
man.”Travisgrinned.“I’ma
totallydifferentstory.”“Has he really not spoken
to anyone in your family insevenyears?”The town gossip mill was
desperate for details. But theDixons never talked aboutfamily.“He’s kept up with me,
once he got himself situatedin business. The familydoesn’t know, except myparents, but he’s beenfinancing a lot of the extra
stuffMarshaandJoeneedforthe kids, pretty much fromthemomenthemadehisfirstdollar. Money for additionaltests and tutors for the kidsthat thestatecouldn’t justify.Extras for school and familyactivities. A whole lot more.Even Bethany’s tuition now.Joe makes good money, but—”“Afamilyaslargeasyours,
itmustbeaconstantfinancialdrain on a single income.”
And of course Oliver wouldhavedonewhateverhecouldfor his parents. His rattysneakers and worn clothesmade more sense, even ifthey didn’t jibe with theflashy truck he’d prowledintotowndriving.“My brother’s sent every
dimehe’smadehome,best Ican tell, as long as he didn’thavetobeinChandlervilletoputittogooduse.”Selena blinked. “And I’m
the reason he left in the firstplace.Ifyouwanthimnottodisappear again, doesn’tnudging me in his directionseem a tadcounterproductive?”Travisscratchedthesideof
hishead.“Ithinkhe’sdealingwith a lot of stuff. And if Idon’t miss my guess, youboth have secrets you thinkwon’t hurt anyone else aslongastheystaysecret.”The intensity of Travis’s
gaze had Selena lookingcloser,thenlookingaway.“Give talking to Oliver
anothertry,”hefinallysaid.“Sure.”Whyhadn’tSelena
thoughtofthat?“I’lljustpopoverlatertodayandchathimup.”Travis smiled at her
sarcasm, then grew serious.“Findawaytocleartheair.Ifmy brother cuts and runsbefore the rest of us get toknowhimagain,don’tletany
ofitbeaboutyouthistime.”Sheglanceddownatthelist
Kristen had given her. Whatan amazing gesture. Theopportunity of a lifetime. Afresh start that wouldn’t bepossible if she could nevercompletely let her guarddown with anyone in town,notevenhermother.“You don’t understand,”
shesaid.“Thingsaresomuchmore complicated than youcanpossiblyimag—”
“Mrs. Rosenthal?” asked afemale voice laced withstatic, piping into theclassroomovertheintercom.“Yes?”“Your daughter’s in the
infirmary. I think the nursehas already used Camille’sEpiPen.”Selena rushed past Travis
and out of the classroom,desperatetogettoherchild.“Is everything okay?” he
calledafterher.
“No.” Not since Camillewasababy.
“’Bout donewith that plan?”anotherdeputyaskedBradasOliver approached Brad’sdesk. “After you sell Willison it, I want first dibs onsomeoftheaction.”The working end of the
Chandlerville Sheriff’s
Department looked prettymuchlikeithadthelasttimeOliver had been there. Thenighthe’dbeenhauled in forDUI by an officer who’dknown Joe for years. Oliverhad been sober enough bythatpoint,afterthesingle-carwreck that had somehowmanaged to leave him withonly a busted lip, to nearlywethispantsinfearwhentheguy had dumped him into acell out back. Since no one
elsehadbeenhurt,theofficerhad sprung Oliver the nextmorning, into Joe’s custody,without filing formal charges—saying if he ever sawOliver in the precinct again,he’dthrowthebookathim.The deputies’ work area
was small. Utilitarian. Datedin an outgrowing-itself waythat begged for someone toput it out of itsmisery. Fivedesks dominated a spacebarelybigenoughforfour.A
couple of them were two-sided, with chairs andcomputermonitors facingoffacross the two halves. Bradwasworkingatakeyboardona half desk covered inprintoutsandbooksandwhatlooked like enough researchto feed a college-level termpaper. He had a spreadsheetopenonhismonitor.“Oliver?” He set aside the
notebookhe’dbeenbalancinginhis lapwhilehe typed.He
stood and reached out hishand, making Oliver theasshole if he didn’treciprocate. “It’s good to seeyouagain.Iwasn’tsure,afteryesterday. . .”Heglancedattheofficerbesidehim.“AfterJoe’s procedure last night, Iwasn’t sure when we’d getanotherchancetotalk.”Oliver shook Brad’s hand,
marginally less inclined todecktheguythismorning.“You remember Lee
Bennett?”Bradasked.The other officer offered
his hand next. “OliverBowman?”“Lee.” Oliver shook.
Football. Cornerback. Thatexplained the man’s size.“Sure. You were a yearbehindusatChandler.”The hulk of a man smiled
good-naturedly. “Closeenough to knowexactlywhoyou were when I saw astrange truck in the Dixons’
drive at the butt crack ofdawn yesterday and ran theplates.”Brad slanted Lee a
quizzical look. “You’recasingtheDixonhouse?”“Keeping an eye on the
place. Sheriff’s orders.” Leehooked his thumbs into thebelt loops of his uniformpants. “Now that we knowyou’ve got someone thereround the clock, we’ll leaveoff.Unless you two are still
plannin’ to slug it out likesomefolksthoughtyoumightat the hospital. The guys aretaking bets already. Youknow . . . who’ll be leftstandin’ when the dustsettles.” Lee laughed. “Mymoney’s on Travis andMarsha Dixon, after the twoofthemwadeintosettleyoudown.”“I think Oliver and I can
handlethingsonourown.”Leeglancedanot-so-subtle
warningtowardOliver.“We’ll keep the bloodshed
to a minimum.” Olivercheckedhiswatch.DruhadTeddyatherplace
—she’d begged off at theWhip for the entire day,leaving an assistant managerin charge after spending thenight at the hospital withTravis and Marsha, waitingfornewsonJoe’sangio.Thenwaiting for him to wake upfrom the anesthesia. She’d
shownupatthehouseseveralhours ago, dragging ass butready to show Oliver thebasics of getting the kids offto school, so tomorrow hecouldtakeoveronhisown.His sister needed a break
this afternoon, not moretrouble. And there Oliverwas, about to pretty muchmakethatimpossible.“I come in peace,” he
assuredLee.“Ineedtospeaktomyfuturebrother-in-law.”
AfteranodfromBrad,Leegestured toward the hallwayleading to the holding cells.“Gonna grab a soda. Wantanything?”OliverandBradshooktheir
heads.Oliver watched Lee’s
retreat, reconciling the guy,one of their high schooldrinking buddies, with theresponsible keeper of thepeace he’d become. FinallyalonewithBradintheempty
squad room, he grappled tomeld another night of nosleep with his determinationnottoFthisup.“Where’s everyone else?”
heasked.He’d seen only the female
officer at the front deskwho’dwaved him back. Thesquad room was too quiet.Creepy. It smelled the same.God, it felt the same. Like itwasstillsevenyearsago.Brad leaned back in his
chair. “Folks filter throughbefore or after patrol. Wehave a couple of warrantsbeing served today. There’san in-school field trip atChandler Middle School. Apolicemen are your friendscommunity outreach thing.The sheriff is there. I’mcovering Travis’s shift, sohe’s free to hang with yourparentsthismorningandbeattheir place later if you needhelpwith theafternoonstuff.
Dru’sprettywiped.”“She’s been a trouper. I’ll
leteveryonegetbacktotheirlives tomorrow. My brotherand sister seem to think thekids are going to scare meaway.”“Hell.” Brad laughed.
“They scare me every day Igooverthere.”“It’sa little . . .much.But
I’llrally.”Actually, Oliver hadn’t
madeadent in the inboxfull
of e-mails he needed to dealwith.He’dbeenupanddownwithTeddymostofthenight.The baby was teething, Druhad explained—whichevidently meant the kid wassuffering 24-7, so everyonearound him should be, too.And while Oliver had beentrying to console aninconsolable toddler, hismindhad refused to latch ontoanythingbutgettinghisassover here this morning—and
then to the Rosenthal house,once Selena was home fromwork.“Yougot a fewminutes to
talk?”heasked.“Ihaveaproposaltofinish
for Chris,” Brad said, “butit’llkeep.”“Chris?”“Chris Willis. The new
sheriff. Took over for BenHiggins fiveyears agoor so.He’s a good guy.You’d likehim.”
“Yeah.” Oliver had neverbeen a law-enforcement-liking kind of guy. “Listen,I’m really sorry to be doingthis,but...”He crossed his arms,more
pissed again than sorrysuddenly.Bradstoodandmirroredhis
stance. “Sorry about me andDru?”“Jury’sstillout.ButIgotto
talkwithhersomeyesterday.She seems happy. You must
bedoingsomethingright.”“Not everything yet, but
we’ll work the rest out. It’sonly been a few months. Itwasprettyroughatfirst.”“Still, you’re already
engaged.”“Extreme circumstances.
But you have to know,man.It’s what I’ve wanted foryears. Pretty much sincethingswent to hell and I leftand my grandmother tookDruin.”
“After you blew it withSelena, me, and Dru, all inonenight?”Brad inhaled. “Your sister
and family are over it. It’llmake things a hell of a loteasier for everyone if youcouldbe,too.Maybeitwouldbe gratifying to lose controland blow off steam like theolddays.Ifthat’swhatyou’rehere to do, I’m happy tooblige. Bymy recollection, Iowe you a beat down. But
poundingoneachother’lljusthurt people we both careabout. And it’s not the samething as dealing with theproblem.”“The problem being
Selena?”“We’re all in one place
again.It’sasmalltown.”“Andshe’slivingnextdoor
to the family you’re signingup to be a part of wheneveryouandDrumakeitlegal.”“This fall. We were
thinking later this fall, whentheleavesturn.Wemetagainjust before Thanksgiving lastyear. But we might movethings up now.Druwants tobesure...”“ThatJoe’sthere.”Brad stared at the toes of
hispolishedwork shoes.Theguy actually polished hisshoes. Which meant Travismust, too. And Oliver had apersonaltailorforthesuitsheworefortop-shelfclients.
The ThreeMusketeers hadgonelegit.Brad’s expression oozed
regret. “Damn, we were amessback then.The threeofus.”“Four. Don’t forget my
brother. And while we’re onthe subject, how exactly didyou and Travis end up ascops, working for theChandlerville sherifftogether?”Brad snorted. “Another
longstory.Buttosumup...I was on the force inSavannah.NowI’mtrying tore-createakillerjobIwalkedaway from in the LowCountry. Chandlerville coulduse a community safetyofficer.” He motioned to thepaper and notebooks strewnacross his desk. “And if ithappens, it’ll be because ofDru and your brother. Traviskeptupwithme,sameasDrusayshehasyou.Probablythe
rest of your siblings. He’slike your folks. He doesn’thave it in him to give up onpeople.”“NeitherdoesDru.”“She gave me a second
chance to love her,” Bradsaid. “We’ve both movedon.”“From this business with
Selena,too?”“There is nobusiness with
Selena.”“Yeah,aboutthat.”
Jesus, how did Oliver sayit?“My familyneeds to know
thetruth,”hesaid,“andsodoI. So do you,Brad.You andDru. And I need to knowyou’re on board before I goafterSelena,tryingtogetthisdone.”“Thetruthaboutwhat?”“Camille.”“Thekid?”“Marsha was already
pushing me toward Selena
yesterdaymorningwhen youwalkedofftheelevator.”“Like my grandmother did
withmeandDru.”“Notexactly.”“Thenwhat?”“She wants to know
whether or not she and Joehave been grandparents allthistime.”Panic did a slow, greasy
glide across Brad’s features.Heheldupahand.“AreyoutellingmeMarshathinks...”
Olivernodded.He still couldn’t get the
wordsouthimself.“Joe, too,” he added.
“Travis might have thebeginnings of a clue. Whoknows?He keeps everyone’ssecrets. Most of them,”Oliver qualified. “Momdoesn’t thinkDru’sthereyet,but...”“Dru...?”Bradsputtered.“IfIcantalkSelenaintoit,
I want to sit her down with
you andmy sister and get tothebottomofthings.”“Her daughter could be
yours?”“Or yours, buddy, if your
hookup was as unplanned asyou’vesaid.”“Selena and Camille could
have belonged in one of ourlivesallthistime?”“And if she knew shewas
pregnant and ran anyway,stayedawayallthistime,thatmeans she doesn’t want
Camille to be part of ourlives. Which would explainthe way Marsha’s said she’sbeenavoidingeveryonesinceshecameback.”“God . . .” Brad slumped
intohischair.“Shemusthavereallyhatedus,orthoughtwehated her, if she figured shehadtohaveababyallonherown.”“Idon’tknowanything for
sure.And the hell of it is, ifwehandlethiswrongwemay
never know, unless we forcethe issue legally. The personwe need answers from ranfrombothofusyesterday.”“Damn it, man, it never
occurredtome...Itwasjustonce. But yeah, we werestupiddrunkandnotthinkingabout protection. Of courseshe could have gottenpregnant.AndthenIwastoobusy dealing with the falloutof you leaving and thenSelena, and my grandmother
telling me to get out on myown and learn how to stopbeing such a selfish ass.Mylifewasamessafterthat.”“Mine,too.”But Oliver wasn’t a mess
now. He was a responsible,respected businessman. Hecouldfixanything.Eventhis.Somehow he’d get Selena tosee thatnotdealingwithhimwasn’tanoption.They’doncepromisedeach
other forever. She shouldn’t
have had to face raising herdaughteronherown.Ifthat’swhathadhappened.OliverandBradsizedeach
otherup.“We both dropped her,”
Brad said. “But shit, man.Shehadfamilyhere.Belinda,your parents, Vivian. She’dhave been taken care of ifshe’djusttoldsomeone.”“Shefoundsomeoneelseto
take care of her.” Maybemarryinganothermantogive
Oliver’sbabyahome.“We’ve got to talk with
her.” Brad sounded ready tohuntSelenadownnowtotalkit out. “We’ve got to knowforsure,beforewe...Jesus,howamIgoing tobreak thistoDru?”“Don’t.Notyet.”Itwasthe
mainreasonOliverhadcomehere. “She’s holding ittogether for Mom, but she’sas wrecked as the rest of usaboutDad’s surgery.My gut
says not to drop this on heruntilweknowmore.Butyou. . . You know my sisterbetterthanIdonow.Iwantedyour take before I didanythingelse.”Brad winced. “She can’t
sleep. She’s running herselfinto the ground. Visiting thehospital,takingcareofthingsattheWhip,spellingyouandTraviswhenevershe’sneededatthehouse.”“Then let me try talking
withSelenafirst.YesterdayatthehospitalIwasn’t...”Ready?Towhat—forgiveher?He’d hurt her so much
morethanhe’dknown,ifshecouldhavekeptCamillefromhim. Or from Brad. Olivershould be pissed, but all hecould think about was goingback to that horrible nighteverything had begun tounravel and holding Selenauntil she’d let herself truly
trusthim.He’d finally worked it
through in rehab. How he’dpushed Selena too hard toclean herself up, to be likehim, to move on from howlost they’d both felt. Shehadn’t been ready. She’dneeded someone she trustedtostaylostlikeher.Hehadn’tbeenabletoanymore,notandstay with his family. So atleast to her mind, he’dabandoned her. While she’d
still been hurting and self-medicating, and convincingherself that he no longercared.Now you’re going to leave
me,justlikemyfather!“I’ll try to get her to open
up about Camille.” And notto push her even fartheraway.“I’llletyouknowwhatshesays.”“Then we’ll all do what’s
best,” Brad agreed, “forSelena and her little girl and
Dru and the rest of yourfamily.”“Our family.” Oliver
reached out his hand to hissoon-to-be brother-in-law.His friend. And possibly thefather of his first niece.“Instead of taking care ofourselves this time, we’llprotect the people we careabout.”Bradshook.“Oneforall?”“Andallforone.”
ChapterTen
Selenawould have given herlast dollar for a cab and thedisposable income to paysomeoneelsetodriveherandCamillehomefromtheirverylong day—capped off by alengthy visit to Camille’spediatrician.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” saidthe bedraggled moppethuddledinFred’sbackseat.“You couldn’t help
throwing up, Cricket.Mommy’s not mad at you.”What Mommy was, wascertifiably freaked. It wasterrifying each time herdaughter’s allergies attacked—even when an episodeturned out to be relativelyminorlikethisone.Camille’s doctor had said
she’dbefine, just tokeepaneye on her for the nexttwenty-four hours to makesurehersymptomsimproved.“You told me not to eat
other people’s snacks,”Camille said, “and I did.Karen called me a babybecause I wouldn’t. I did itjusttoshowher.I’msorry.”“It’sokay,honey.Youhad
your EpiPen, and NurseMallorytookcareofyouuntilI could get there. But you
neverknowwhatfoodsmighthave peanuts in them.” Nutshadbeentheculpritthistime,the pediatrician suspected.“Thedoctor saidwecan’tbetoocareful,okay?Next time,talk toMrs. Preston ifKarenwon’t leave you alone.Promiseme?”“Ipromise.”Even Camille’s ponytails
were drooping when Selenachecked her daughter’sreflection in the rearview
mirror. Her cheeks wereflushed and sweaty, and herpretty pink dresswas stainedfromherstomach’sattempttoexpel the candy she’d letherselfbebullied intoeating.Selena pushed Fred’s airconditioner to Max, pattinghis dashboard when, withoutthe slightest hesitation, heblasted colder air toward herdaughter.Chill bumps scatter-
bombedSelena’s body at the
thought of how much worsethings could have been. Sheshivered and pressed thebrake too hard at the cornerof Maple and Branch. Fredjerkedtoastop.Hebackfired,agentleman’swarningnot topush her luck. Selena took amore leisurely turn ontoBellevue.Shewaslosingit.Evenher
car could sense it. AndKristen’s and Travis’s visitsthat morning hadn’t helped.
Even while she’d beendealingwithCamille and therush to her pediatrician,Selenahadn’tbeenabletogether future in Chandlerville,andOliverandhisfamily,outofhermind.At least it was the middle
of the day and Belindawouldn’tbehomefromworkuntil later. Selena hadn’t lether mom know aboutCamille’s emergency.Everything was fine. Selena
was holding herself together.Adding Belinda to theequation might tip her overthe edge to completelycoming undone. SherefocusedontheangelslidingloweronFred’scrackedvinylseat.“We’re almost home,
honey.”Her daughter’s miserable
gaze met hers in the mirror.Then she caught sight of theredpickuponcemoreparked
intheDixons’driveway.“Noneofmyconcern,”she
reminded herself—eventhough she’d spent a largechunk of last night on hermother’s front porch swing,staring through the shadowsattheyardandthehousenextdoor.“What’s wrong?” Camille
wanted to know, looking outthewindow,too.“Nothing.”Except someone was
walking through the hedgebetween the two yards. Avery tall, determined-lookingsomeone heading towardBelinda’s porch, thenstanding there, watchingSelena drive closer, lookingready towaitallday if that’show long it took her to facehim. She slowed at the curb,drowninginthedéjàvusensethat Oliver belonged there,hadbeentherealltheseyearsno matter how long she’d
stayed away,waiting for thismomentofreckoning.She pulled into the drive,
almosttakingoutthemailboxwhenshecouldn’t lookawayfrom him. He waited, handsclasped behind him. Angry?Calm? Lethally patient? Shecouldn’ttell.LeavingCamille in the car
onadaythishotwhileSelenatalkedwithOliverwasoutofthequestion.Sowas runningthe engine and air
conditioning forherdaughterwhile Selena took care ofthings alone. Their weeklygas budget barely coveredtheir drive back and forth toschool. Selena turned off theengine.Fredrumbaedintohisshutdown routine, variouspartsofthecarshimmyinginconflicting tempos until theracket settled to a randomseriesofpings.Oliverloomedontheporch
steps, like a storm cloud
rolling in on itself—morethreatening the longer it heldback its fury. It could havebeenSelena’s imagination. Itcould have beenmore of theguilt riding her for monthsthat had become intolerableas she’d tried to sleep lastnight. But somehow shewascertain...hersecretwasout.“Mommy?”Camilleasked.“Let’s get you inside.”
Selena opened her door witha grinding screech that
resembled the mating call ofthe bobwhite quails nestingeach fall in the countrysidenearChandlerville.Camille’sdoordidn’tmake
quite as much racket. Shekept insisting hers soundedlike a parakeet. Selena liftedherdaughterfromthecarandheld her close.Oliverwaitedfor them to come up thewalkway,more thananger inhis shifting expression.Selenasawlonging.Andfear.
As if something he’dwantedbadly his entire life waswithin his grasp, and he hadnoideahowtohangontoit.Selena bit her lip. She’d
promised herself never todream about what thismomentcouldmean.Butshefelt her heart stumbling allover itself in excitement asshe walked toward Oliver.She couldn’t stop herselffromhoping.Her child in her arms,
Camille’s head nestledagainst her neck, Selenastopped at the bottom of thestepsandwaited.“I could hear your car
coming down the street froma block away,” he finallysaid.The man who’d wanted to
be anywhere else yesterdaybut near Selena had beenlisteningforher.AndnowhehadeyesonlyforCamille.“Please,”Selenaasked,“let
meputmydaughterdownforanap.”Let me catch my breath
beforewedothis.Not once in the nearly
seven years she’d lived withParker—a lot of them trulybad years—had Selena beentempted to have anotherdrink. But in less thantwenty-fourhoursoflivinginthesametownagainasOliver...This should be the most
precious moment of her life,havingCamillemeetthemanwho could very well be herfather. Instead, Oliver’s jawwas clenched, terrifyingSelenathathe’dsaytoomuchand scare her child. Heinhaled.His attention slippedto Selena’s ringless left handwhereshewasgentlyrubbingCamille’sback.Then her daughter
straightened and turnedenoughtoseewhowasthere.
“Hello,” Camille said.“You’re the man who threwtheFrisbee.”Oliver’sbreathcameoutin
a rush. The two of themstudied each other,connecting silently with anease made sweeter by thelookofwonderOliverflickedtowardSelena.“Who’sthefather?”hesaid
cryptically.Hedidn’tsoundangry.But
Selena sensed something
surging through him, silentthunder rolling closer. Thenthe rebel of her misspentyouth smoothed a palmacross Camille’s cheek.Selena’s little girl smiledback, thankfully not catchingon to the tension escalatingbetweentheadults.“I don’t know for sure,”
Selena said,givingherawfultruth its voice, even thoughshe’d always thought of herdaughterasOliver’s.
She thought of Brad andDru and Marsha and Joe,herself and Oliver, and evenBelinda, and the confusionand chaos thatwere about todescend, ratcheting up whatthe Dixons were alreadydealing with. And, God helpher, she thought of Parker, apart of herwishing shewereweaker. More practical andable to go back to him andnot care how many otherwomenhesleptwith,aslong
as he came home, made thepretense of their marriagebelievable, and provided thefinancialsecuritythattosomeother woman—to a youngerSelena—might have beenenough.“I didn’t want to know at
first,” she explained, needingOliver to understand herlong-ago decision. “I wasalone, which meant I wasgoingtohandleitalone.AndI did.” Except the happy,
secure family she’d wantedfor her baby had nevermaterialized. “Please, let mesettle Camille in her room.Then give me a chance toexplaintherest.”
Chapter
Eleven
Afatherwasagoodthing,sowhoever’s father the manfrom next door was lookingfor, Camille hoped he foundhim.As much as Camille had
always wanted a big familywith tons of kids like the
Dixons,she’dsettleforjustadaddytogowiththemommyshealreadyhad.Arealdaddywas one of the best thingsshe’d never had. She figuredadaddywouldbeevenmorefunthanlivingwithGrammythe last few months, and allGrammy’s flowers and quiltsand bubbles, and Mommy’sold toys from when she waslittle.A daddy would be better
than anything Camille could
thinkof.One who’d be there when
the other kids’ daddieswere.Andhewouldn’tdothingstomake Mommy decide toleave. He’d love Camillemorethanhisjob.He’dmakeMommylaughandsmile,andhe’d want to go to theplayground and play games.And he would never makeMommy cry, not like Parkerhad, or the way Mommylooked like she might cry
now, while Camille lookedbetween her and the manfrom next door. The onewho’d smiled and waved atCamille from the Dixons’kitchenwindow.“Just tellme the truth.”He
soundedlikesomeonewasintroubleorsomething,thewayParkerdidalotofthetimes.“I . . .” Mommy was
shaking, the trouble kind ofshaking Camille felt whenshe’ddonesomethingwrong,
like eating Karen’s M&M’swhen Camille had knowntheywerebadforher.“Iam,Oliver. I don’t know. Icouldn’t . . .”Mommymadethat sound with her throat,likewhensheandParkerhadfoughtandshe’dbeencrying—only she didn’t wantCamille to know. “I don’tknowhowthingsgotthisfar,but I promise. I nevermeantforanyonetogethurt.”ThemanlookedatCamille
again,smilingnow,atleastather. Camille rememberedGrammy saying he was partof the Dixon family, too.Even though Camille hadnever seen him beforeyesterday.Camille’s stomach
rumbled, like itwanted tobesick again. She swallowed,notwantingtomakeMommyworry again. Her mommylookedsosad.“Don’tcry.”Camillepatted
her mommy’s cheek andsmiled at the man. “You’renot mad anymore, are you,Oliver?” Mommy had saidhis name was Oliver. “Saysorry, and Mommy will getyou lemonade like she’sgoing to getme because I’msick.Grammymakesthebest,Mrs. Dixon says. And Mrs.Dixon makes the bestchocolate chip cookies, andshebroughtsomeoverawhileago,andwesavedtheminthe
’frigeratorsotheywouldlast.So, say sorry, and we canhavecookiesandlemonade.”Oliver smiled at her again.
Hehadgreeneyes,almostasdarkashers.“She’s been sick?” he
askedMommy.Camille’s mommy headed
up the steps, hugging heragain.“Comeon,Cricket.Letmegetyououtofthisheat.”“I’d like to come in.” The
man stopped Mommy from
opening Grammy’s screendoor so she could get to thewood one behind it, the oneCamillecouldn’tgetopenonherown.“Please, Oliver,” Mommy
whispered.“It’sokay,”Camillesaid.“I
don’tfeelsobadnow.Hecancomein.He’llbenice.Won’tyou?”Oliveragreed,andMommy
sighed thewayshedidwhenshe agreed to do something
for Grammy that Camilleknew her mommy reallydidn’twanttodo.Shenoddedherhead,andOliverheldthescreen door open whileMommy unlocked thewoodenone.Grammy’sshadyporchfelt
sogoodafterbeinginthehotsun. Camille wished shecouldjusttakehernapontheoldmetalswinginthecorner.It had Grammy’s prettypillows all over it. It was
where Camille’s mommysnuck off to late at nightwhenshecouldn’tsleep.“I’llbenice,”Oliversaidto
her mommy. He smiled atCamilleagain. “And I’d lovesome lemonade and one ofmymother’scookies.”“Mrs. Dixon’s your
mommy?”“SinceIwasthirteen.”“That’ssocool.”MommyputCamilleonher
feetandgotdowninfrontof
her.“It’s rest time, honey.You
can barely keep your eyesopen since Nurse Malloryused your EpiPen. And yourdoctor said it was importantthat you take things slow ifyou don’t want to end upright back in his office. Solet’sgetyoucleanedup.Youcanliedownforawhile.Andthenwe’lltryasnack.”“Cookies?” Camille
wrappedherarmsaroundher
mommy’s neck, really tired,andnotreallysureifsheeverwanted another snack everagain.“Toast.” Mommy held
Camille’s hand as she stoodand opened the door to thehouse.“And lemonade?” Camille
checked behind them whileshe and Mommy walkedinside. Oliver didn’t followthem.Buthekeptholdingthescreen door, and Mommy
didn’t close thewooden one.“I’mreally,reallythirsty.”“Onceyou’re tucked in for
your nap,” Mommy said,“we’llgivelemonadeatry.“I’lltakesome,too,”Oliver
said.MommyhuggedCamilleto
her side. She looked at him,notsayinganythingforalongtime.“One glass.” Mommy
stepped back a little. WhenOliver followed, she looked
atCamille.“Tobedwithyou,mylittlefriend.”But then Oliver was down
in front of her the wayMommy had been on theporch. And he seemed toreally like her. And Mrs.Dixon was his mother. AndCamille wished more thanevershehadn’tsnuckapieceof Karen’s candy at school,soshecouldstayandlistentohim and Mommy talk aboutwhoever’s daddy Oliver had
cometotalkabout.“It was nice to meet you,
Camille,” he said. “And Ipromise not to eat all thecookies the way I used towhen Iwasyourage, soyouhave some left when you’refeelingbetter.Deal?”Parker used to promise
things, too. He’d promised alot of things that neverhappened.Camillewasprettysure that’s why they’d left,her and Mommy. Because
Parker mostly never meantanything he promised. ButCamille would bet Mrs.Dixon’s son never did that.There’dbelotsofcookiesleftwhenshewokeup.“Deal,” she said. “How do
youknowmymommy?”“This is an old friend of
mine,”Mommysaid.“HeandI...”“Kneweachotherwhenwe
were kids.” Oliver stood.“WhenIlivednextdoorfora
fewyears.”“If Mrs. Dixon is your
mommy,thenyouandTravisare brothers, right?” CamillelikedDeputyBryant.Oliver didn’t answer right
away.“Travis visited Camille’s
school,”Mommysaid.“She’sseen him and Dru going inand out next door, and shelovestheDreamWhip.Dru’salways there. Travis, too,sometimes.”
“Yes,”Oliver said, “Travisand Dru are my brother andsister.”“That’s so cool. And the
otherkids,too?”Like Teddy, who Camille
wasn’t supposed to haveplayedwith,buthe’dbeensomuchfunthecoupleoftimesshe’d snuck over to seeMrs.Dixon.“They’renewer,butI’llget
to know them now that I’mbackforawhile.”
“That’sso—”“That’syourlastsocoolfor
awhile,”Mommysaid.“Bed.Lemonade. Nap. No moreeating other kids’ snacks.And I don’t care how muchtheirslookbetterthanyours.”Camille let her mommy
lead her away, even thoughshewantedtostayandtalktoOliver.Shedidn’tunderstandwhy her mommy andgrammy didn’t want her toplay next door. Mrs. Dixon
wasnice.AndOliverseemednice, too, just likeTravisandDru.“See you later,” she said,
thinking that Oliver didn’tlook anything like DeputyBryant. Or anyone else nextdoor. Because they were afoster family, Grammy hadtried to explained. They’dcome from different homesthat hadn’t been so good,beforetheymovedinwiththeDixons.
Lucky, Camille thought toherself as she and hermommy finally got to herroom, and Camille crawledinto her bed and closed hereyes.The Dixon kids were so
lucky now, she thoughtsleepily. No matter how badthe other families had beenbefore they’d come toChandlerville.
Chapter
Twelve
“Snack?” Oliver asked whenSelena returned from settlingCamilledownforanap.Selenagrabbedtwoglasses
from the cabinet beside thesink and the pitcher oflemonade from the fridge.She hadn’t taken any to
Camilleyet.Herdaughterhadfallen asleep as soon as herheadhitthepillow.“She’s allergic,” Selena
explained.Oliverwaitedpatiently.He
was giving her plenty ofspace, hanging across thekitchen while she pouredtheir drinks and refused tolook at him. But she couldfeel his mind working,analyzing. The emotions thathad been riding so high
outside, when she wasterrifiedofwhathemightsay. . . he had them firmly inchecknow.Anditwasbuggingher.She crossed the kitchen,
handed over his drink, andsipped hers. He stoodunmoving in the doorway tohermother’stinylivingroom,evidentlycontenttowaituntilshe said something more.She’d bet every penny she’dsocked away in her savings
account—in her name alonesoParkercouldn’t touch it—thatOlivercouldwaitheroutallafternoon.“Camille’s allergic to
peanuts.” Selena’s throat feltraw, like she’d beenshrieking.Her whole body was
silentlyscreamingfrombeingtooclosetoamanshehadn’tbeenalonewithsinceshewaseighteen. She took anotherdrink,floodinghertastebuds
withsummerytartness.“A lot of things can make
her ill,” she explained.“Luckily, today it waspeanuts. Camille ate anotherchild’s candy. She wants tobe like other kids so badly,between episodes she forgetshow quickly her body wantsto get rid of what it can’tprocess.”“Luckily?” Oliver sipped
from his glass, his eyeswidening.
Belinda didn’t believe inindulging in too much ofanything, especiallysweeteners. Fresh-squeezedlemonade was supposed totastelikelemons,notsugar.Selena swallowed her
smile. “Peanuts aren’t theworst potential offenders onCamille’slist.”“What’stheworst?”“Milk, so far. But nuts are
badenough.Anda lotof theprepackaged convenience
foodskidslikehavethem,orthey’remadeinfacilitiesthatprocess them. Other parentssend things to school forlunchesandsnacksthatcouldmake Camille react. Evenfreshly baked things likedoughnuts. Except for Dan’sonMain.”Selena heard herself
babbling. She tried to knockit off. But it was so surreal,Oliver being in this houseagain.And from themoment
he’dsteppedinside,Belinda’shad felt right to Selena—forthe first time since she’dcomeback.So she rambled onward.
“DJ has nut allergies in hisfamily.Threeofhiskids.Hehas five now. Can youbelieveit?Fivekidsinsevenyears?Whenhetookoverthebusinessfromhisfather,DanJunior made Dan’sDoughnuts and Bakerycompletely nut-free. And he
hasa shelf just fordairy-freeitems.Wegothereeverynowand thenasa reward, tohelpCamille not feel so bad thatshehas to be careful the restof the time. DJ’s chocolatedoughnuts are her favoritetreat,justlike...”Selenablinked.Just like Dan Senior’s
pastries had been Selena’s.And Oliver had spoiled herrotten, buying them with hissummerjobmoney.
They’dbeenmerelyfriendsstill when he’d caught on tothe insatiable craving thatwas her sweet tooth, whileBelinda was adamant aboutkeepingunhealthyfoodoutofthehouse.He’dteasedSelenaunmercifully about it foryears, but never in front ofanyone else. And once theystarted dating, he’d surprisedher with her favorite treatswhen she least expected it.Just because. He’d said he
loved the way her smiletasted after she’d eaten one.She’d let herself forget thatwhenDJtookituponhimselftopamperCamille.She motioned to the drink
Oliver had hardly touched.“It’sgettingwarm.”Hedrainedtheglass.Good.“Now, if you don’t mind
. . .” She tried and failed tosoundnonchalant.“I’mgoingtoaskyoutogo,soIcanget
onwithourafternoonhere.”She couldn’t do this yet—
have the potentially life-changing conversation theyneeded to have. Not withOliveroncemoreactingas ifthey’d barely known eachother.“And if I do mind?” he
asked“I’ve had enough. You
asked the question you camehere to ask. I’ve answered itas best I can. And I have to
get back to my daughter. Imight need to run her to herpediatricianagainifshestartstofeelworse.Leavetheglasson the counter when you’redone.”Hegrabbedherarmbefore
shecouldbrushby.“Your daughter?” he bit
out, anything but in controlnow.Thenhis head lowered, his
breath catching Selena’s ashiskisserasedeverythingbut
her memories of wanting tolovehimforever.
She’dhadenough?How could anyone get
enoughofsomethingthatfeltasgoodasholdingSelena?Her lips trembled beneath
his for a second, as if shewere afraid. Then she waskissinghimback,rippingfree
of his hold. But only so shecould throw her arms aroundhis neck as if she’d beendyingtofromthestart.God,Selena.No other woman had ever
felt like her, tasted like her,tempted him to crawl insideher and never find his wayout. Since yesterday, he’dbeen dreaming of having herbody plastered against hisagain.Andshe’dclearlybeenwanting him with the same
desperation, while he’dagonized all this time overnot letting his need for hershow.Hernailsbitintohisbiceps,
causinghishandstoclenchatherwaist.Hehauledherontoher toes and fisted a hand inherhair.Theirmouthsopenedwith identical groans. Theirkissdeepened,rocketingfromexploring to carnal. Theirtongues mated, their teethnipped, their lips crushed,
both of them rememberingand needing and demandingwhere this was taking them.Sprinting toward it, agreeingwithoutspeakingthat—“No.” Selena shook her
head, her hair hopelesslytangled around his fingers.Shewaspanting,thesameashim, but she was pullingback. “Please, Oliver. Nomore...”Scraping together his
sanity,helickedherlowerlip
afinal time.Atenderraspofhis tongue, while the rest ofhim throbbed in tempo withhis thundering heartbeat.ThenheletSelenaslipaway.She stumbled backward,
catching herself against thekitchencounter,bracingbothhandsbehindheronitsedge.Shewasbreathingsoheavilyshe could have been runningwindsprints.Andhecouldn’twatchanymore.Hepickeduphis empty glass from where
he’dsetitonthetinyFormicadinette table—he neededsomething to do with hishands besides grabbing heragain. He headed intoBelinda’s cramped livingroom,thinking,Notsmart.Nothing about what had
justhappenedhadbeensmart.It was the least smart thinghe’ddoneyet.ButSelenahadbeen brushing him off, andbeforehewalkedawayagain. . . He’d needed her there,
rightthere,nexttohisheart.Damnit,focus.Focusonsomethingbesides
yourselfthistime.Helookedaroundtheliving
room. To him, theRosenthalplacehadalwaysseemedlikea dollhouse, with its grandtotal of five rooms and asingle bath down Belinda’sshort hallway. He’d alwaysworried about bumping intosomething or accidentallyknocking things over. He’d
neverknownwhattodowithhimselfhere.Hestilldidn’t.Heflexedhisshoulders.He
went to take another sip oflemonade and curled his fistaround the empty glass.Staycool,man. Like Selena, whowas ice-cold now, staring athim from the kitchen as iftheir meltdown hadn’thappened. But he’d felt hershock,felthershaking.She’dgasped.Andthesoftsoundofher wanting him had pulled
himdeeperintothekissshe’dbeenreturningwithabandon.He’d envisioned several
potential outcomes to himshowing up on Belinda’sdoorstep. He’d consideredeach one while he’d waitedforSelenatocomehome.Buthis grabbing her like he stillhad a right to, and hergrabbing back, had beennowhereonhislist.Insteadofgettingher to see reason,herbarriers were even more
firmlyinplace.And damn if he wasn’t
spoilingforanotherchancetorattlehercage.But he needed to make
some kind of amends. Therehadtobeaspeckofcommonground left for him andSelena to build on, so theycould discuss Camillesensibly.“ItstillfeelslikeI’mgoing
to catch hell,” he said, “ifyour mom comes home and
findsmealonewithyou.”“We’re not alone.” Selena
glanced down the hallway,finally joining him in thelivingroom.She paced back and forth.
Then back again. She sat onthe loveseatBelindausedasa couch. The thing sportedthesameplaidtweedfabricasyearsago.Thesamedroopingcushions.The recliner besideit lookeddifferent,but itwasjustasfaded.Bothfacedwhat
looked like the same TV,rabbit earsperchedon top. Itwas an almost self-righteously primitive setupcompared with the state-of-the-art entertainment centerOliverhadcoveredthecostofnextdoor.“If my mother could see
us,” Selena muttered,“Belinda would definitelyhave something to say aboutthisone.”“Thisone?”
Selena looked like a queenamid the midcentury ranch’sfraying décor, with her silkylength ofmink hair and paleskin. She was wearing asundress like yesterday. Thisone was made of a filmylemon-yellow material thathadhimthinkingofsherbet—and sipping every inch ofSelena’s smooth skin whileshemeltedalloverhim.“You know my mother,”
shesaid,yankinghisattention
back to their conversation.“She means well these days,but she can’t helpbutobsessovermy running list of poorlife choices. No degree. Nohusbandformuchlonger.Nosavings. No baby daddy. Nosuccess keeping any of itfrom dumping back intoBelinda’s lap, nomatter howwelcoming she’sbeen.She’dsayIdeservebetterthantobehitting rock bottomwith youagain.”
“Camille deserves better,too.” At least they could allagreeonthat.Selenawinced.“Betterthan
me?”“Better than not knowing
my family, even if yourmom’s not going to be wildabout you associating withme again. I’m assuming youhaven’t toldheraboutanyofthis.”“Ihaven’ttoldanyone.Not
even Parker—not the details,
at least. That was the dealbreaker for me when we gotmarried. Hewanted to knowmoreaboutmypastandwhoCamille’s father was. Iwanted everything that hadhappened before New Yorktobeoveranddonewith.Heeither tookusaswewere,ornot. My child deserved afresh start. A clean slatewhere my mistakes couldn’thurthertheway. . . thewaytheywillnow.”
Oliver sat in Belinda’srecliner. “You’re a goodmom, Selena. And I canunderstand why you felt youhadtodowhatyoudidsevenyears ago. But a part of youmust realize the positiveinfluence my parents couldhaveonCamille’slife.”“You don’t know anything
aboutme.” Selena smiled, asifthatsadfactcomfortedher.“AndIknowyourparentsaregood people, Oliver. I just
don’tknowhowmydaughterwould react to finding outabout them, only to have usmove away again. And notupsetting her life any morethanIalreadyhaveisallIcanletmattertomenow.”This Selena was stronger,
he realized, than the girlwho’d been so terrified oflosing him. Stronger andpotentially even more self-destructivethanshe’dbeenasa teenager, when she’d been
trying to protect only herselffromhim.“What’shappenedtoyou?”
heletslipout.Selena shrugged,when she
shouldbetellinghimtogotohell for judging her. “I’vegrownup,thehardway.”“You’re giving up on my
family without letting usprove we could be good forCamille.”“I’ve learned a lot about
second chances. The number
one thing? That this is mylife,mychance,mymistakestomakeandmakeupfor.It’smy responsibility to do thebest I can for my daughter.She deserves that from me.Andshe’llhaveit.”“Idon’tdoubtshewill.But
why the hell does it have tobejustyou?”“BecauseI’mallshe’sever
had,” Selena continued,reasonableandcalmwhilehecould feel his bloodbegin to
simmeragain.“Becauseshe’snotyoursoryour family’s toworry about. Not yet. Notuntil I’m sure it’s the righttime. Iwish Ihadadifferentanswer that would makethings easier. But I don’t.Anddon’tthinkIhaven’tlainawake nights since comingback, wanting to talk it allthroughwithsomeone.Get itout in the open. Make thisright.”“Thenmakeitright.”
Selena shook her head.“Once we open thatPandora’s box, there’s nobacking things up, regardlessof what we discover. Andspringing a father Camille’snevermetonheratthispointin her life, when we’re notstayingintownforanylongerthan it takes me to come upwith the money to moveagain,wouldonlyconfusehermore.”Confuse Camille, Oliver
wondered,orSelena?Itwas a believable speech,
fiercely delivered. Selenahadn’t so much as blinkedwhile she’d spoken. She’dbarely taken in air. But he’djust had her in his arms, felther needing him the samebottomless way as whenthey’d been lovers. And shewaswoundsotightlynowsheseemed to be holding herselftogetherbysheergrit.“I’m not asking you to do
anything you and Camillearen’treadyfor.”“Sureyouare.”“I want to do what’s best
foreveryoneinvolved.”“By forcing your way into
mydaughter’slife?”“Bytalkingwithyouabout
ourmutualproblem.”“Camille’s no one’s
problem.”“Someone’s her father,
Selena.Assumingyou’resureshe’snotyourex’s.”
“Parker came along after Ialready knew I waspregnant.”Oliverstaredintohisempty
glass. “Does Camille knowthat?”Selena nodded. “She’s
always called him Parker.I’ve been honest from thestart that he wasn’t her birthfather. That her only bloodfamily was a grandmothershe’d never met before wemovedinhere.”
Oliverswallowedthereflexto argue the point on hisparents’behalf.“I...”Hetriedtothinkof
a gentler way to say it andcouldn’t, when he’d smooth-talked countless skepticalCIOs into giving him theirbusiness. “I take myresponsibilities seriouslythesedays,Selena.”“Metoo.AndCamille’smy
responsibility.”Which in her mind meant
that the both of them werecompletelybeyondhis reach.“Your daughter’smy family,too.”“Youdon’tknowthat.”“If she’s not your ex’s,
she’s eithermine orBrad’s.”Another possibility struckhim. “Could she be someoneelse’s?”Selena choked as she
sipped her lemonade. “Couldyoubemoreofajackass?”He let out the breath he’d
been holding, relieved,grateful. “Then she’s eithermy daughter or my niece.”Heslipped to theedgeof therecliner. “Is it so hard tobelieve that thatcouldmattertome?”She went to put down her
glass andmissed the edge ofBelinda’s scarred coffeetable. She cursed and caughtitbefore itcouldcrash to thehardwood. But liquiddrenched her arm, her dress,
andthefloor.Oliver leaped forward and
took the glass from her. Hehanded her the freshhandkerchief he’d slippedinto his pocket thatmorning.She looked at the pressedwhite square, at hiswrinkledjeans. Then she was gazingstraight into his eyes,connecting again, crushinghimwiththemixtureofhomeand loneliness he saw there.Andherdeterminationnot to
feel this . . . whatever thiswasbetweenthem.She mopped up the table
andthenherself.“You carry a
handkerchief?”shesputtered,like shewasaccusinghimofsomething. “Of course youdo.”He lethercleanup, lether
settle.Hetookinallofher,asif it were the last time.Smooth features, solemneyes,andaguardedsoul that
he still felt tangled up in,whether either of them likeditornot.“You really were hoping,”
he said, “that no one wouldcatchon.”Shehandedhimthesoaked
handkerchief. “I toldBelindawe’d be in town for only afew weeks. There have beensomecomplications.”“Likewhat?”When she clammed up
again, she finally succeeded
in pissing him off. He gavehimself credit for notexploding and scaring her orthe sick little girl sleeping ina bedroom down the hall.But,complications?“We’re going to deal with
this,” he said. “If you’d justlisten—”“I have listened. I listened
when your brother came byschool thismorning, totrytogetmetoseereason.But—”“Travis?”Damnit.
“Don’t tell me you didn’tknow. And don’t think ithelps your cause for yourfamily to be coming at me,too. Travis. Your mother.What’s next—Joe beggingme from his hospital bed? Idon’twantanyonetogethurtbythis.But—”“This is no one else’s
business rightnowbutours.”And Oliver would makecertain Travis and the entireDixon crew understood that.
“Oncewebreakthenews,I’llgetmyfamilyundercontrol.”She shook her head, a sad
kind of envy overtaking herfeatures. “They love you,Oliver.There’snocontrollingthat. And I wouldn’t wantyoutotry.Youneedthemtoobadlystill.”He stared at her, his heart
feeling like it was teeteringon the edge of a cliff,destined to fall and take himwithit,nomatterwhathedid
next.Hisfamilydidlovehim.Theycouldn’thavemadethatmore clear, or the fact thattheywanted him in town foras long as he could stay. Sowhy did it feel as if none ofthat couldmake things right,notwithoutSelenainhislife,figuring this mess out withhim?“I’m not sure what Travis
thinks he knows,” Selenasaid. “But he seems prettycertain I’m a threat to you
settling in Chandlerville.Reassure him that I’m not,and he’ll back off. The bestway you can keep everyoneelse out ofmybusiness is todrop your questions aboutCamille.”“Dropthem?”Dropthefact
that he could be a father—toa little girl who thought hewas cool. To Selena’s littlegirl.“Give me some time. I
can’t make a split-second
decision about verifying herpaternity.Don’taskmetodothat. We have to do thiscarefully,ifwedoitatall.Bereasonable,and—”“I’ve been reasonable. But
I’vealreadytalkedwithBrad.Do you understandwhat I’msaying?Youneedtotellyourmother as soon as possible,because mine’s the one whostarted this. And I don’t seeMarsha letting this drop. I’mstickingintownforaslongas
I have to—to deal withwhatevermyparentsneedmeto. And my mother’s askedmetodealwiththis.”“So now you’re dealing
withmydaughter...”Selenaspatthewordsathim.“Isthatwhat that display wasoutside? You cupping hercheekand smiling at her andcrouching down in front ofher to talkaboutcookiesandlemonade? Maybe evenkissing me just now. It was
all for your parents’ sake,right?But nowyouwantmeto believe that Camille’spaternitymeanssomething toyoupersonally.”Oliver gritted his teeth.He
felt just as incapable ofhelping Selena see reasonnow as when they’d beenkids.“Camillematterstome,”he
insisted. “Even if the lastthingyouwantisforanythingabouthertobeaboutme.Let
me help you see a differentway through this. You’reignoring the reality thatthere’s nothing I take moreseriously than myresponsibilitytomyfamily.”“I see reality just fine.”
Selena collected both theirglasses. “And the reality isthat I get to decide what’sbestforCamille.Andyougettoleave.Don’tthinkyoucanbully me into agreeing towhatyouwant. I’lldealwith
telling Belinda. Theneveryone’sjustgoingtohaveto accept that I’m doing thebestIcan,thesameasIhavesince Camille was born. I’mhandling my responsibilities.I’m going to make sure mydaughter has a happy life,whatever it takes. And thelastthingsheneedsisanotherman wanting to call himselfher father, while he’s onlythinking about himself andwhathewants.Nowgetout.”
“Funny,” an older, morelived-in version of Selena’svoicesaid, fromthedoorwayto the porch. Neither OlivernorSelenahadhearditopen.Belinda stepped all the wayinside. “That’s pretty muchwhatIsaidthedayItoldyourdaddy to leave and nevercomeback.”
Selena watched Oliver leavewithout responding toBelinda’sbombshell.“Mom...”She had no idea what had
just happened or what hermother had meant. Not forcertain. And she didn’t dareask.Notrightnow.Notwhenshe’djustbeenkissingOliverand wanting to keep kissinghim—amanwhowassmilingat her daughter one minute,grabbing forSelena thenext,
then making not so thinlyveiled threats about doingwhatever he had to on hisfamily’s behalf about gettingto the bottom of Camille’spaternity.Now,evidentlyhermother might have bootedSelena’sdadouttwentyyearsago, instead of the manabandoning them the waySelenahadalwaysbelieved.“IgotacallfromGladysin
the school office,” Belindasaid.“ThatCamillehadgone
home after having an allergyattack. I had to call thepediatrician myself to findoutthatyoutwowereonyourwayhome.Itookoffearlytomake sure everything wasokay. I tried calling yourcell.”“I turned the ringer off in
the doctor’s office.” Selenaran her hands through herhair. “Sorry. It’s been a longday. Iwas rushing to get setup formyclass thismorning
when Kristen stopped by totalk...”She took her glass and
Oliver’s through to thekitchen.Kristen’sofferwasatopicforanotherday.“Then Travis interrupted
us,” she added, arriving ateven more details to skipover. “Before we could talklong I got a page aboutCamille.Wejustgothome. Iknow I should have called.But—”
“Yes.” Her mother pulleddown the hem of the post-office blue shirt she wore toworkeveryday.“Iobviouslyinterrupted somethingimportantwithOliver.And Ishouldhavekeptmyopinionsto myself. I’m sorry aboutthat,honey,really.”Selena returned to the
doorway between the livingroom and kitchen. Sherealized she was smiling—completely inappropriately.
Andsowashermother.“You should have kept
your opinions to yourself?”Selenarepeated.Belindasetherpurseonthe
entrywaytable.“Youthoughtyou’d never hear that fromme,didn’tyou?”“With or without checking
theskyforflyingswine?”Belinda actually chuckled.
She passed Selena, headingfor the automatic coffeemaker.Itcouldbe110in the
shade, high summer, aSouthern heat wave with noend in sight, and she wouldput on a pot of coffee thesecond she walked in thedoor. An entire pot, even ifshewaspreparing it only forherself.No single-cup fancymaker
for Belinda. Selena hadwantedtobuyhermotheronea fewMother’sDays back—the swankiest must-havemodelavailableinNewYork.
It had had a feature forpractically everything exceptgivingyouamani-pediwhileyou waited. But coffee wascoffee to Belinda. Groundbeans.Boilingwater.Therestwas just trappings togetyouhookedonbuying thingsyoudidn’tknowyouneededuntilsomemarketingteamsaidso.Selena leaned against the
arched doorway, watchingher mother go through thesoothing ritual of setting
thingsup.“I’ve been all over you
since you came home.”Belinda measured outgrounds.“AndIknowIcouldhave handled things betterwhenyouweregrowingup.”“You don’t have to
apologize,Mom.”More thananything, Selena couldn’ttakethatrightnow.“ForhowIraisedyou?I’m
not.IdidwhatI thoughtwasbest, the best I could. The
same as you are withCamille.”Belindafinishedupand faced Selena, thekitchen’s small table andthree chairs between them.“But you’ve got enoughpeople forcing their opinionsonyou.Youdon’tneedmorepressure from me about thechoicesyou’refacing.”“About?”“About Oliver, dear. I
should have butted out justnow. I shouldn’t have called
you about him yesterdaymorning.IhadnobusinessatNeat Feet trying to talk youout of doing whatever youneedtodo.I’mnotverygoodat keeping my worries andthoughtstomyself.ButthisisonetimeI’mgoingtodojustthat. It’s your decision tomake, not mine. Just knowthat I’m here to talk if youever want to. That’s all I’mgoing to say. About Parkerand Oliver . . . about your
father.Whenyou’re ready, ifyou’re ever ready, I want tobehereforyou.”Selena sat in one of the
chairs, her legs aswobbly asthe unsteady flutter of herheart. “Like you waited formetotellyouaboutParker?”Belinda frowned. “That
mannever lovedyouoryourdaughter. Not enough. Hewasn’tgoingtogiveyouandCamille the family youdeserved. I could hear it in
your voice, the way youdescribedyourlivestogether.I knew you hoped he’dchange.Iknewfrompersonalexperience thatmen likehimneverdo.But...”“You let me come to my
senses on my own and askyouforhelp.”Belinda joined her at the
kitchentable.Thelegsofherchaircreakedasshesat.“Metellingyou thatyoudeservedbetterthanamanyouthought
wasyoursaviorwasn’tgoingto get either of us what wewanted. You’d never havetrustedmeifI’dbeentheonetosayitfirst.”Selena inhaled the
comforting aroma of hermother’s coffee. Shecherished the care andpatience Belinda had shownherallthistime,nomatterthebumps in their relationshipthey were still workingthrough.Butshecouldn’ttalk
aboutOliveryet.Orwhateverhadreallyhappenedwhenherdadleft.Shejustwantedtosit there
withhermother,sherealized,and enjoy the simplicity ofthe birds chirping in thebackyard—the way they hadwhenSelenawasa littlegirl,doing her homework at thissame table and dreaming ofgrowingupandmovingawayand making a bigger, betterlife for herself. She didn’t
want bigger and better thesedays.Shewantedsimple.Shewantedhonestyandhopeanda belief in tomorrow shehadn’tfeltinalongtime.“Thank you, Mom.” She
didn’tknowwhatelsetosay.“For waiting, and for notasking too many questionsyet.”Belinda smiled and left,
onlyaslongasittooktopourcoffee and stir sugar intohercupbeforeshesatbackdown.
“There’s time to work up tothe rest, as long as you keepletting me be part of yourlife.” Her steady gaze saidsheknewhowmucheventhatwasasking.“IrealizeI’msetinmyways. I’m not easy tolivewith.”“That’snotit.”Even if the last thing you
want is for anything abouther to be about me, Oliverhad said.And Selena had noidea if that was it. She
couldn’t see anything clearlynow.Shehadnoideawhattodonext.“I know how hard you’re
trying,” she said to hermother, grateful that shewasn’tdoingthisalone.“We both are.” Belinda
smiled. “You’re tryingnot torun again before you’re ableto make ends meet on yourown. And I’m trying to talkless.Listenmore.IknowI’mnot good enough at it. But
I’m getting better. We’regetting better. We can getthrough this together thistime.Iknowwecan.”Selenablinked.If you decide you’d like to
give Chandlerville a chance,callme...Let me help you see a
differentwaythroughthis...You both have secrets you
think won’t hurt anyone else...We can get through this
togetherthistime...Selena had leftNewYork,
determined tomake itonherown.Onlytosurroundherselfwith people determined tohelpherfindherway.“You have a meeting
tonight?”Belindaasked.Selena shook her head.
“Tomorrow. I’ll probablytakethedayofftostayhomewithCamille.Ifshe’sstillnotfeeling well by tomorrowevening,Idon’tneedtomake
ameeting.”“Ohyesyoudo.Isawyour
facewhenIwalkedinonyouandOliver.You’vehadquitea day—Travis, Camille’sallergic reaction, thenwhatever was happening justnow. On top of yesterday.Youdon’t have to talk aboutanyofitwithme.Butyou’regoing to be where you needto be tomorrow night to feelsupported.”Selena’s sobriety and how
hardshe’dworkedat it sincebeforeCamillewas born hadso far been one of the fewconversations Selena andBelinda had muscled all theway through—two adultstalking, instead of fallingback on the dysfunctionalparent-child dynamic thatwouldn’t have gotten themanywhere. Since then,Belindahadmadeitapointtobe home anytime Selena hadan AA meeting. In fact,
Belindahadregularlyinsistedon it, just as she was now.Supporting. Pushing. LovingSelenainherownway.“I’ll be there,” Selena
promised.Belinda sipped her coffee,
hereyesfullofquestionsthatshe didn’t ask. Selena roseand headed for Camille’sroom. But her daughter wassound asleep still—curled upwith the stuffed blue bunnyshe’d always called Bear, in
herwindowseatnow.Selenacovered her little girl withBelinda’s tulip quilt andslipped quietly away,lingeringinthedoorway.She hadn’t realized until
she’d returned home that thedécor she’d chosen for herdaughter’s room inManhattan had mirrored herown childhood haven. Pinkand white, fussy and little-girly, cluttered enough to becozy without feeling messy.
Only here, Belinda hadmeticulously sewn everystitch of it herself, slavingaway for entire weekendsafter they’d first moved in,wantingSelenatohaveatastestill of the bigger, granderhome they’d been forced tosell across town. NowCamille had that samefanciful world to dream in.And maybe it was helpingSelena’s baby believe, just alittle, that everything really
wasgoingtobeokay.Selena stepped across the
hall to her mother’s sewingroom. Belinda’s old Singersatatopitscabinetinfrontofthe window, where it hadalways been. Selena hadtaken over the tiny couch inthe corner and crammed herdiminishedwardrobe into thecloset where Belinda storedold coats and outerwear thatwere rarely needed inGeorgia.
Looking back, lookingaround her mother’s tidysewingretreat,thinkingabouthow much time Belinda hadspentcreatingthingsovertheyears they couldn’t afford tobuy outright—clothes forSelena, gifts for her friends,even band uniforms for herandherclassmates...Selenano longer saw want or thelack of things they hadn’thad, or the coldness that hadonce grown between her and
Belinda. She saw hermother’s need—Belinda’sbone-deep desire to makethings better for her childunderextraordinarilydifficultcircumstances. Selena sawthe love she’d always hadwithin her grasp, even whenshe’d believed there wassomething better for hersomewhere else. All whileBelindahadgivenherenoughspace to make her way backhome.
Hermotherseemedcontenttowaitagain.Andtosupportwhatever Selena decided todonext.OnlyforonceSelenawishedBelindawould weighin. Selena had put a lot ofpeople she cared about in animpossible situation—Camillemost of all. And forthe life of her, she couldn’tdecidewhattodoaboutit.
Oliver had stomped throughthe front door to find hisbrother insteadofDru sittingon thecouch,supervising thekids as they did theirhomework.Whichwas code,evidently, for driving eachother and any grown-upwithin hearing range bat-shitcrazy. Oliver had ignoredeveryone and hauled himselfintothekitchentorootinthefridge for beer. Of coursethere hadn’t been any. He’d
beencountingonit.He’d chugged a glass of
milk instead, rinsed it out,and dumped the glass in thedishwasher. He’d justfinisheddoing the rest of theplatesandbowlsandthingsinthe sink, left over from thetribe’safter-schoolsnack.Teddy sounded off in the
other room,waking from hisafternoon snooze, promptingOliver to wade back in. Hesnatched the toddler fromhis
playpen.OnelookatOliver’sface had Travis closingwhatever book he’d beenquietlyreading.“Homework upstairs,” he
said. “Oliver will make sureit’sdone,sodon’teventhinkaboutditching.”Kids grumbled and pried
themselvesoff thecouch, thefloor, the surrounding chairs,dragging their feet andmarching up to theirrespective rooms the way
convicts would to thegallows.“Where’s Dru?” Oliver
bounced a sniffling andnuzzling and soon-to-be-starving eighteen-month-oldin his arms. He took a warysniff, gratified to discoverthat the inevitable post-nappoopydiaperwassofarano-show.“I cut her loose,” his
brother said. “She’sexhaustedafterlastnight.I’m
notonshift foranotherhour,and she’s got to be at theWhip early tomorrow. Shedoesn’t need to be hangingaroundhere—”“Because Ikeepbailingon
you guys. I get it. I’ll bewhere I’m supposed to befromnowon.”“Do you get it? Do you
evenknowwhereyouneedtobe?”“I know I’m here now.
Which means you’re sprung.
Don’tletmekeepyou,bro.”“So we’ve got nothing to
talk about,” Travis saidmildly, his expression hotterthan the hell they used toraise together. “Is that it? Ihaven’tseenyousincebeforeDad’s surgery. I hear fromBrad andDru you’ve had aneventful twenty-four hours.And that was before yourlittle jaunt next door. But Ishouldjustgetthehelloutofyour way, with you looking
like you want to wrecksomething,becausewe’vegotnothing to say toeachother?Whatthehell,man?”“Okay...”Atthemoment,
hell sounded like a cakewalkto Oliver. “Let’s talk aboutyoubackingoff.”His brother set his book
aside. The Count of MonteCristo. The jerk who’d triedto pay Oliver to do his litpapers in high school hadbeen sitting there calmly
reading the classics whileOliver’s heart rate hadn’tsettled since Selena andCamille walked up to himnextdoor.Andnowthekidinhis arms was crying loudenoughfortenbabies.“How about first,” his
brother said, tossing Oliverthe pacifier that had beensitting on the coffee table,“you tell me what’s got youso cranked up. Dru said youwere on edge when she got
here with Teddy, but youwouldn’t tell her what’sgoing on before you headednext door. Neither wouldBrad, when he let her knowyoutwotalkedthismorning.”Oliver plugged Teddy’s
mouth with the pacifier andglaredsilentlyathisbrother.“So things went well with
Selena?”Travisasked.“Didyouknow?” IfTravis
had, and he hadn’t saidanything,Oliverwasgoingto
do bodily harm. “Is thatwhere all of this is comingfrom? You knew aboutCamille, and instead ofcallingmemonths agowhensheandSelenashowedup inChandlerville or at the veryleast telling me once I hittown, you’ve been playinggames like helping MomthrowSelenaandmetogetheryesterday. And stopping bythe school to have a friendlychat with Selena this
morning.You’remy brother,damn it. This is about ourfamily.”Travis’s expression evened
outintothekindofcalmthatonly a dimwit would believemeant he was about toreasonable.“I don’t knowwhat you’re
talking about,” he said, “butI’ve gotmy own reasons forthinking that you and Selenadealingwithyourissuesisthebest thing for everyone.And
as far as me not calling youthe last few years aboutanythinggoingonhere,whileyou’ve been gallivanting allover thecountryandhalf theglobe. . .you’vegotalotofnerve throwing us beingbrothers in my face aftereverythingI’veputupwith.”“Fromme?”“You callme, remember? I
don’t get to call you up andchat about current events.Emergencies only, right?
Becausebeingclosetoanyofus again isn’t what youwanted. At least that’s whatyou’ve been telling yourself.So us being brothers orfamily or whatever elseyou’re feeling indignantaboutrightnowseemstobeaconveniencethatonlyyougetto indulge in, and onlywhenitsuitsyou.”Thebitternesscurlingatthe
edges of Travis’s Southerndrawl doused Oliver temper
like a bucket of ice water.“That’snottrue.I—”“Calledmeout of the blue
five years ago. I get a callfrom you from God knowswheresayingyoujustwanttobe sure things are okay withthe family. Did Mom andDad need any help?Becauseyouwerefinallyinapositionto start paying them back.Was there anything anyoneneededmoneyfor?So,sure,Icame up with something—I
can’t even remember whatnow—and the folks werehappy enough when thedough started pouring in likeclockwork.Andthey’vebeenreal sports, haven’t they?Aboutkeeping theirdistance,just like you wanted. Ofcourse youdon’t have to seehowworriedtheyare,orhowmuch it hurts when nothingever comes their way exceptyour next deposit. No note.Nopictures.Nowayforthem
toknowthatyougiveadamnwhether you ever make apersonal appearance hereagain. All anyone inChandlervilleneedsfromyouis money, evidently,satisfying whateverresponsibility you feelminusthe hassle of you actuallyletting yourself care aboutwhatit’sbeingspenton.”“YouthinkIdidn’twantto
come home? You think itwasn’t driving me crazy,
needing to be here andknowingthat—”“If you came back, it
wouldn’tbesoeasytoignorehowpeopleherehavealwayswanted more of you thanyou’ve been comfortablegivingthem?”Oliver swallowed, feeling
like slime. Except for lovingSelena, he’d never knownhowtobeclose, todig in, tobelong—not since losing hisbirthmother.Noteven tohis
foster family. Especially nottothem.Hedropped intooneof the
chairs beside the couch, hisanger fizzling. Teddy’s headand soft, fuzzy baby hairnuzzledin.Itwaslikehavinga sweet-smelling, livingblanket soothing away theconfusionand frustrationandexcuses.“I’ve been doing what I
thought everyone needed,”Oliversaid.
“How’s that working outfor you?”Travis propped hisankleonhisknee.“Lousy.” Oliver checked
Teddy. He couldn’t containhis grin at how cute thetoddler looked, back asleepand drooling on one ofOliver’slastcleanshirts.“I’mmaking amess of everythingexcept being a human babycushion. But you’re nothelping, stirring things upwithSelena.”
“I talked to Selena thismorning,” his brother said,“for the same reason I’vealways taken your calls, andMom and Dad would havetaken your money even ifthey hadn’t needed it. ThesamereasonMomtriedtogetyou to deal with Brad andSelena yesterday. We’retrying to keep you close theonlywayweknowhow,youjerk.Andnotbecauseitfeelsso spectacular to be an
afterthought you’ve beenplotting to get away fromagain, from the moment yourocked into town. Iwantmybrotherback—painintheassthatyouare.Iwantyouhomefor good. So do Mom andDad, even if they’d neverpressureyouaboutit.Nottheway I’m going to. Because,damn it,when are you goingtogetit?”“What?”“Havingfamilyinyourlife
is a good thing, even whenbad things happen. Evenwhen we screw up.We careabout each other and takecare of each other through itall, thewaynooneelsewill.That’s what Mom and Dadtaughtus.That’swhyIcalledyou when Dad got sick,becauseIknewyou’dwanttobe here. And now eventhough it’s driving you nuts,and you’re driving me nuts,you’re staying. And what
about you askingme to helpyou find a place to rehabwhen you needed it? Or yousquatting in Atlanta sincethen? Or going next doortodaytofaceSelena?”“Whataboutit?”“Are you telling me you
haven’thada seriouscaseofwanting to be inChandlerville, and back withher,foragoodlongwhile?”Before Oliver could
formulate an answer that
consisted of more than astring of four-letter words,TravisstoodandliftedTeddyaway, laying the baby in hisplaypen with practiced ease.He turned back. Oliver hadgottentohisfeet,too.A large thud overhead
madetheceilingshaketotheaccompaniment of gales ofmutedlaughter.Therhythmicsound of Teddy sucking onhis pacifier paused for asecondortwobeforethebaby
got back to soothing himselfand dreaming in slobberybliss.Whateverhadhappenedupstairssettleddown,leavingOliver and his brothersquared off across the livingroom, their hands jammed inthepocketsoftheirrespectivejeans.Oliver didn’t want to get
into how much sense Traviswas making. Or how Oliverwouldbelyingawaketonightstewing over every word,
oncetherestofthehousewasasleep and he couldn’t closehis eyes or drive to thehospital to check on Joe orslip next door to beg Selenaforanotherchancetocometosomekindofcompromise.Orevenwork. He hadn’t gottena damn bit of work donesincehe’dcomehome.What the hell did Oliver
really know about family?Andnowhewassupposedtobeahands-onson,abrother,
maybe even a father himself.Maybemore—ifSelenacouldlet herself want more withhimagain.He stared at Travis, who
had been there every step ofthe way, since Oliver’s firstphone call five years ago,sincehe’dwalkedinthedoorat thirteen.He had to talk tosomeone. Someone neutralwho could help him chart acourse through the minefieldof options facing him.All of
them threatening to blow upinhisfamily’sface.“Do you need to get to
work?”hefinallyasked.Travis checked his watch.
“I’vegotafewmoreminutes.Why?”Oliver sank back into his
chair. “There’s something Ineedtotellyou.”
Chapter
Thirteen
Oliver dragged himself intothe DreamWhip at nine thenext morning. He pulled upshort.“Bethany?” Shocked,
thrilled to find her there—hehadn’t had a chance yet tohuntherdown—hepulledher
close,feelingclumsy.Feelinghersurpriseandconfusion.He’dcometoseeDru.Brad
hadcalled thehouse late lastnight,sayinghe’dbroken thenews to his fiancée aboutSelena and Camille, afterOliver flubbed things sobadly at Belinda’s place.Traviswas pitching in at thehouse again this morning.He’d been one hundredpercentbehindOlivermakingsuretheirsisterwasokay.
Oliver hadpromised to cuthis brother loose within thehour. But he couldn’t justbrush past Bethany. Not likethis. Only a year youngerthan Dru, she’d alwaysseemedsomuchmorefragile.“Ididn’tknow...”hesaid.“That I still existed?”
Bethanyfinished.Shehadnocluehowmuch
he’d kept up with her sinceshe’dagedoutofMarshaandJoe’s house. Because, as
Travishadpointedout, that’sexactly the way Oliver hadwantedthings.Heclearedhisthroat,hatinghowmuchhe’dhurt her. Refusing to makelameexcuses.“Ididn’tknowyouworked
forDruandBrad,”hesaid.Petite, bordering on sprite-
like, she’d streaked hershoulder-length auburn hairwithwavesofdeeppurple.Adiamond chip winked on theleft side of her nose. She’d
thrownoncowboybootswithherdenimshortsandaWhipItGoodT-shirt that from thelooksof itshe’dcroppedandshredded herself. Possiblywith a pair of gardeningshears.“The Whip’s something to
do.” She finished wipingdowntheredleatherboothbythe door. “Somewhere to be,whenever Dru needs me.When I’m not doing mything. And since Dru and
Bradaregivingmeaplacetostay at Old Lady Douglas’shouse, it works. For now.You know about for now,right. The way you told Druand me you’d be back thatnight Mom and Dad movedyou out. You said leavingwasjustfornow.Noworries.You wouldn’t forget aboutus.”He nodded, promising
himselfhe’dmakeituptohersomehow. Then he noticed
the stains under the nails ofone of her hands, a smudgeonthebackoftheother.“You’re painting?” He
smiled, surprised after thechoice she’dmade about herscholarship.She shrugged. “When I’m
notworkingortakingclassesatthecommunitycollege.”She’d enrolled in general
business courses mostly. Itwas nowhere near what sheshould be doing with her
talents. But at least she’dstayed close to home whileshetriedtofigureoutwhatallfoster kids had to at tooyounganage—whattheirlifewould become after thesystemsaidtheyweregrown.Last he’d heard, Bethany
hadn’t painted in years. Itlooked like her passion tocreatehadfinallytrumpedherfear of never being goodenough. She glanced to theframed painting on the wall
beside them.Heneededonlyasecondtounderstandwhy.“It’sbeautiful,”hepraised.The landscape was of a
fieldjustoutsideoftown.Heremembered the placevividly. The scenery and thetree at the center of thepainting—hewas guessing itwas a watercolor, but whatdid he know?—was an oldoak with sprawling, ancientlimbsthatheandSelenausedtosneakawayto.Theirsenior
year,they’dhungoutunderitfor hours at a time afterditchingBradandTravisandDru. Selena would bring anancient quilt to lie on, andthey’dstareupatpuffywhitecloudsandbrightsunlight,orat stars and a soft, winkingmoon.They’d talk andmakelove and drink . . . and thenmake love some more,keeping the rest of theworldoutforaslongastheycould.Heturnedbacktohissister.
“You’vegottenreallygood.”Shestaredatthefloor.“Bethie?”“Don’t call me that.” She
slung the rag she’d beenusingoverhershoulder.“Mybig brother called me that.The guy who would have e-mailed or written or sent upsmokesignals,sowe’dknowhewasstillalive.“I’msorry.”He’dlethisworkkeephim
from his family. He’d told
himself that was okay. Likehe’d believed letting Selenago free and clear was theright thing to do. He hadn’tneededTravistotellhimhe’dblown it on both accounts.Buttalkingitthroughwithhisbrother last night hadsolidified a few things inOliver’smind.“I really am sorry for how
long it’s been,” he said. “Iwish I’d gotten to see youfinish growing up. You’re
even more beautiful thanbefore.”Bethanywrinkledhernose,
doubtinghimandherself.“I wish . . .” She studied
him through choppy bangsthecolorofgrape soda, as ifhewereadetailforoneofherpaintings. “I wish it hadn’tbeensolong,too.”“Yeah. . .”Andhehadno
idea how long he could staythistime.Orhowmanymorechances he’d have to make
thingsright.“I’vescrewedupalot,Bethie.ButIwantedtobecomesomethingmore thananother statistic—another kidwhowashedoutoffostercareand then trashed his life. Iowed Marsha and Joe betterthanthat.”“Youwerenevertroubleto
me, even after you stayedgone for so long. I . . . Ialways hoped you’d comeback.”“Ineverforgotyou.Anyof
the family. I was just . . .”HowdidOliversayitwithoutsaying too much? Hisbeautiful, talented sisterdeserved her own secondchance, as many chances ashe could give her, withoutthinking she owed himanythingbecauseofwhateverpart of it he’d bankrolled. “Iwasneeded...elsewhere.”He stalled out at the
sadnessonherface.Bethany glanced down at
her paint-splattered boots.“Dru seemed a little freakedthis morning. It isn’t justaboutDad,isit?”“No.”“She won’t tell me what’s
wasgoingon.”“I can’t either yet.” He’d
give anything to not bekeeping even more secretsfromher.Bethany eased away,
freshlywounded. “I’mprettymuch finished out there. I
guessIbetterget.”And before he could stop
her, she racedout theDreamWhip’sfrontdoor.“Damn it.” He headed
behind the front counter,pushingthroughtheswingingdoorstotheindustrialkitchenbeyond.Dru was prepping what
looked like a batch of thechickensaladthathadbeenaWhip crowd-pleaser as farbackaswhen she andOliver
werekids.Hestoppedseveralfeet away from her stainlesssteel work station, expectingher to be pissed afterBethany’swarning.Dru smiled instead,
pointing her chopping knifeat him. She pinned Oliverwith one of her tell meeverythingstares.“Spill,”shedemanded.
“You just left Selena therewith her mom?” Dru askedafter Oliver had recappedyesterday’s misadventure attheRosenthalhouse.“WhatwasIsupposedtodo
onceBelindashowedup?”“What happened to all that
fancy talking you do withyour clients, to get them tothrow money at you whenthey need something fixed?Youneedtofixthis,Oliver.”“Itried.”
“Whocares ifBelindawasthere?”He’d cared. He’d damn
near trampled the womanracingoutofherhouse.“She’sscary,”hefessedup.“She’s a pushover these
days where Selena andCamille are concerned,everyonecanseethat.”Hissisterlookedexhausted.
But she was calm. She wasdefinitely a little freaked—itwasthere inhereyesandthe
rapid-fire chop-chop-chop ofher knife. But she wasstudying Oliver with a coolconfidence that he could nolongerfeelaboutanyofthis.“Mom’s been obsessed
with Selena and Camille,too,” she said. “Does thatmean you’re going to runfrom Marsha, too, the nexttimeshewalksintoaroom?”“Of course not. I just
thoughteveryonecouldusealittle space yesterday
afternoon.”“Everyone?”“Okay, I needed space.”
Selena didn’t know who herdaughter’s father was. Andworse, she didn’t want toknow.“A man who needs space
doesn’t march into awoman’s house and demandshe tell him whether or nothe’sherspermdonor.”“I didn’t want to . . .”
What? Startmaking outwith
Selenaagain,rightinfrontofher mother? “I wasn’t goingto make more troublebetween Selena and BelindathanI’msureIalreadyhave.”“Trouble?”His sister lifted her hand,
chopping blade pointed up.She wiped her bangs out ofher facewith thebackofherwrist.“Let me get this straight,”
she said. “You stared atSelenaacrossthehedgelikea
ghost the other morning andintimidated her until shecouldn’t speak to you. Thenyou botched things at thehospital when she came tovisit Dad. But you thoughtcorneringherinhermother’shome yesterday aboutCamille’spaternity,whilethepoorkid’ssickdownthehall,mightavoid trouble?Haven’tyou learned anything aboutwomen?”“Apparentlynot.”
“Then when Belindashowedup,youbounced,likeyou and Selena are stillteenagers, and you’d beencaught canoodling orsomething.”He spun an onion on the
counter instead ofresponding.“Oliver?”Damnit.Heneededtotalk
tosomeoneaboutit.Someonenot his mother. Or Travis,who’d gotten an earful about
everything else. But he’dnever have let Oliver live itdown, how Oliver hadpractically had his hands upSelena’sskirtthefirstchancehe’dgottenheralone.“I left,” he said, “mostly
because just before Belindashowedup,SelenaandIwerekissing. And even after hermothergot there,Iwantedto...”“Get you some more of
that?”
Olivershookhisheadathissister.“Itwasn’tlikethat.”But if Selena had been
there in the kitchen—Dru ornoDru—he’dhavewantedtotouch and taste and feel hermelt all over him again.She’d been liquid fire in hisarms.His sister set her knife
down.“Youkissedher?”“It just happened.” He
soundedridiculous.“While you grilled her
aboutCamille?”“Iwasn’tgrillingher.”“Soshewaswilling to talk
about her daughter’spaternity?”“No.But—”“Then you were grilling
her.”“I was asking her to work
with me on this, with ourfamily,withyouandBrad.”“And she was angry about
it.”“Youdon’tknowthat.”
“I know women. She wasangry and probably scaredand feeling off balance anddefensive. And instead ofgivinghersomespacebeforeher mother showed up, you—”“Kissedher and scaredher
even more.” Except for thefew moments when she’dbeen open and giving andloving and wanting. She’dbeen his Selena again. “Idon’t know what the hell I
wasthinking.”“Of course you do.” Dru
roundedthecounterandgavehim a hug. And it felt good.Solid.Likeold times.Exceptthat now his sister waslooking a little too closely athimforcomfort.She let the silence stretch
betweenthemandgotbacktoworking on the celery thatwouldjointhebakedchickenshe’ddiced.Shewaswaitinghimout,liketheirmotherdid.
“You warned me sevenyears ago,” he finally said,“to be careful with Selena.Even thenyou thought Iwasscaring her—or somethingwas. I wish I’d had younattering that in my earyesterday.”“I don’t natter. I talk
reasonablyabout things.AndIdon’t carehowmany timesmy fiancé accuses me ofgoingonandon.I’manadultnow,andadultsdon’tnatter.”
“You’re a downrightgorgeous adult,” Olivercorrected.Shegrinnedherapprovalat
his remembering herreprimandwhenthey’dtalkedat home. “You’re notimaginingit.”She scooped chopped
celery into the metal mixingbowl that held the chicken.Scraps were discarded intothewastebinattheendofthestainless steel counter, into a
different container from theone that had received theunwantedpoultryparts.Whenhe’dwalked into the
kitchen,thebowlhadalreadycontainedmayonnaise,boiledeggs, and red onion. Hewatched her add spices nextand stir everything togetherwith an enormous metalspoon, its handle half thelengthofherarm.Thencamethe plastic wrap, rolled fromwhat looked likea ten-pound
box.Shecoveredthemixturewith brisk, controlledmovements, storing it on ashelf in the industrial cooler.Thenshecollectedeverythingthat needed cleaning anddumped it in one sink. Shewashed and dried her handsin another, untied her apronand draped it over the sink’sedge.When he still hadn’t said
anything, she gave him herfull, frustrated attention.
“Look, let’s just cut to thechase.Iloveyou.IloveBrad.I’ll love Camille, just likeMarsha and Joewill, if she’sours.Allthatleavesforustodiscuss iswhether in the lastseven years you’ve learnedhowtoreallyletyourselflovesomeone,thewaySelenaandCamillewillneedyouto.”“Wow.” Brad must not
have known what hit him.“Did you know before I toldyou?AboutCamille?”
“No. I still don’t, andneither do you. And nowyou’vemadeusgettingtothebottom of that harder thanever.”Drupressedherpalmstothecounter.“Mom’sprettyworriedaboutDad.”Oliver blinked. The zigzag
shift in topics made itimpossibleforhimnottopullhissisterintohisarmsagain.“We’re all worried,” he
said.“Are you talking to Selena
just because of Mom andDad?”. . . whether in the last
seven years you’ve learnedhowtoreallyletyourselflovesomeone...“MarshaandJoewerealot
ofitatfirst.”“Butnotallofit?”Notevenclose.Not after holding—kissing
—Selena again. Not afterspeakingtoCamille.Notafterseeing Bethany and talking
with Travis and Dru andBrad. After accepting thatcomingbackhomehadneverbeensimply justcheckingonhisdad.Oliverhadneededallof this, all of them, formonths. For years, whetherhe’d seen it or not. Somuchthat at the moment what heseriouslyneededwasadrink,something cold and bitingand mind-numbing, to helphimforgettherestofwhathewas feeling: panic and the
absolutecertaintythathewasgoing to let everyone downagain.“I need to know . . .” he
admitted. “I need to knowthatyou’regoing tobeokay.YouandBrad,andMomandDad.ButifCamille’smine,Ineed her in my life . . .somehow.” No matter howhard her mother fought topushhimaway.“Ifshe’snot,I don’t want Brad to losehavingherinhis.Oryours.If
she’sfamily,then—”“She’s ours.” Dru stepped
back. “My advice? Don’tmakewhatyoudonextaboutanyone but you and Selena.Dad’s rallying. He’ll getthrough this. Mom’ll holdherself and everyone elsetogetherlikeshealwaysdoes.Brad and I are going to befine. There’s a part of methat’s still a little pissed atSelenaandwhatshedid.ButwhatIthinkaboutherorany
of the rest isn’t important.You need to do what’s rightforyouthistime,Oliver.”“I don’t want anyone
gettinghurtagain.”“That’s a pretty unrealistic
goal,wouldn’tyousay?”“I’ll get things under
control.”Dru snorted. “Good luck
withthat.”Oliver ran a hand through
his hair. “I’ll figuresomethingout.”
Shecheckedherwatchandwinced. “I have a staffmeetinginahalfhour.”“You have a staff? I’ve
been running my ownbusiness for five years, andI’veneverhadastaff.”“Stickwithme,kid.I’llget
youtothebigs.”Sheplacedapalm over his heart, herengagement ring flickeringlike living fire. “WantingSelena and Camille foryourself is a good thing,
Oliver. Don’t worry aboutme.”“I’m sorry about all of
this,”hesaid.“I’m sorry you’ve missed
somuchtimewitheveryone.”His sister’s gaze was steady.Her forgiveness, solid. “Andfromwhat I hear, youmightnot have much time to setthings right with Selenabeforeyoumissevenmore.”“Andyou’veheard...?”Drubacktrackedtothesink
to deal with the dishes.“Gossipmostly.TheWhip isanepicenterforthestuff.I’mnever sure what to believe.TalktoSelenaagain.Get therealstoryfromher.”“Selena’s not speaking to
me.”“You had her talking
yesterday. Get back on thathorse,Oliver,andstayonthistime.”“You stretching the
musketeermetaphorabit.”
Dru ignored his sarcasm.“NoBelinda.”“Icanworkwiththat.”“Nokissing.”Heavoidedhergaze.“Youknow I’m right,” she
pressed.He did. He also knew his
chanceswereslimtononeofnot being all overSelena thenexttimehesawher.“You’ve got to smooth
thingsover,”Drusaid.“Smoothing things over is
mydayjob.”“Thensaddleupandget to
work.”His cell phone rang before
Oliver could respond. Hepulled it fromhispocketandsaw Marsha’s name on thedisplay.“ThishastobeaboutDad.”
He hugged his sister to hisside and answered the call.“Hey,Mom.I’mattheWhip.What’sup?”
“My name is Oliver,” heannounced to the room thatevening. “And I’m analcoholicandanaddict.”Aftertalkingwithhismom
overthephone,takingcareofTeddy all day, then visitinghis dad at the hospital whilehissisterspelledOliveragainathomeinsteadofgettingherafternoon off, he’d officially
hitthewall.Joe’sspiritswerestillhigh,
though the angio had sappedevenmoreofhisenergy.Andnow he was due back insurgery—later that night ifKaskcouldlineupasurgicalteam and an OR. Therehadn’t been enoughimprovement in Joe’s latesttests. Bypass was his bestshot at recovery now. AndTravis had taken one look atOliver leaving their dad’s
CICUroomandagreed tobeatthehousetonight—becauseOliverhadneededtobehere.“Hello,Oliver,” replied the
AAgroupgathered in a stripmall just outside theChandlervillecitylimits.Everyone met his gaze,
patiently waiting for him tocontinue. Everyone, exceptforSelena.She’d zipped through the
doorsatthelastminute,afterhe’d caught sight of her
barreling into the parking lotpractically on two wheels.She’dparkedherexcuseforacar as far away from themeeting space as possible.He’d considered slipping outthebackdoorandsparingherknowing he’d been there atall.Excepthe’dbeenwaitingto
speak first, once the openingbusiness of the meetingconcluded. He was there toworkhisprogram.Toclingto
hiscommitmenttostayclean.Selena, presumably, wasdealingwithherownsobrietyin an equally responsibleway.Andshedidn’tneedhimto look out for her anymore.She’d made that clearenough. Now she had hercoffee and was sitting at thebackoftheroom,makingeyecontact with no one. Notsince she’d heard his voiceandrealizedhewasthere.“I’m only in town for a
visit,” he continued. “Myfather’s having healthproblemsthatgota lotworsetoday. My family needs myhelp more than ever. Plusthere’s a lot more going onthan my dad possibly . . .dying.” Oliver clenched hisfists. “I’m not coping withthings nearly as well as Ishouldbe.AndthelasttimeIfelt this way and didn’t takecare of it by working myprogram, I found myself at
thebottomofabottleofpills,wondering if I’d screwed upeverythingthatwasimportanttome for the second time inmylife.”Selena looked up, the
honesty hemight never havebeenabletogiveherone-on-oneconnectingthemacrossaroomfulofstrangers.“Alcohol,” Oliver
continued, “was how Idestroyed my best shot at anormal childhood. I haven’t
had a drink since I wasnineteen. I’ve madesomething of myself. I hadeverything inmy life exactlythewayIwantedit.Thentwoyears ago I chose takingprescription drugs overdealingwith things thatmostdaysIstilldon’twanttodealwith. I relapsed. Hard. Ithought I’d fully recoveredfrom that. The last few days...it’sclearIhaven’t.”He took a breath, felt the
light-headedness of too littlesleep and escalating stress.He saw again the downrightfrightened look on Travis’sface a few hours ago, whenOliverhadnearlylostitintheCICUhallway.“The meds were legally
prescribed. I saw them asnecessary, to keep meworking harder and faster atan impossible job I do betterthanmostanyone.MycareeriswhoI’vebecome.It’show
I take care of people.Modifyingmyworkloadwasoutof thequestion.Timeoffmeant letting people down.Stimulantskeptmegoing,onmy feet and functioning.They very nearly trashedmylife. I almost blew a contractfor a client who could haveshot my reputation in theindustry. I nearly destroyedmychancetomakeupformyhell-raising youth to myfamily.But...”
He thought about whatTravis had said. And Dru.And Selena. Oliver lookedherwayagain.Made surehestillhadherattention.“I’m starting to wonder if
that’snotwhatIwantedfromthe start. If my relapse wassomehowmyexcusetocomehome. At least close enoughto home to feel a littlemoreof it, towant a littlemoreofit, until I got my chance todiveall thewayback in.My
dad’shealthcrisismeansI’mneededhere,notjustatwork.I get this town back. Peoplecare about me here. Andmaybe I’m letting myselfreallytakethatinforthefirsttime.”He saw tears in Selena’s
eyes.That’swhenherealizedhisgazewaswet,too.“At least,” he said to her,
“that’s what I’ve beenfiguringoutthelastfewdays.I’ve made amends with
people Ididn’t thinkI’deversee again. My rehabcounselors tried to talk meintodoingthatfromthestart.Myfamily’swantedmebackfor years. But I knew . . .somehowIknewhowharditwouldbe tocomehome,andthen return to thework I do.And my family will beneeding the money mybusinessgeneratesevenmorenow. Especially when it’slookinglike...”
He kept his attentionfocused on Selena, whichkepthimgoing.“Idon’tknowwhenmydad
willbeabletoworkagain.Ifhe’ll be able to. So I’llworkmy ass off instead. Noproblem. That’s who I am.Exceptthatwillmeanleavinghim again.All of them . . .”Oliverclearedhis throat.“Soanhourorsoago,whileIwastalking with my dad, and Iwasscaredoutofmymindby
how old and fragile helooked, I found myselfthinkinghoweasyitwouldbeto stop by the pharmacy onthe way out of the hospitaland have a backupprescription for stimulantsrefilled. So I’d have a pill,maybetwoorthree—nomorethan a half dozen or so—toget me through this. Justwhile I’m home. Just whileI’mstartingbacktowork.”Selenawipedhereyeswith
the back of her hand. So didhe.Andthenshedidthemostremarkablething.Shesmiled,and she nodded, supportinghim the way he’d once triedtobethereforher.He smiled back, to let her
know how grateful he was.He took a deep breath, theknot lodged in the center ofhischestlooseningalittle.“And that’swhen I knew I
had to be here. Because Ican’t help the people I care
about if I don’t take care ofmysobrietyfirst.I’mnogoodto my dad or anyone if I’mhigh.”Heads all over the room
nodded, strangers, brothersand sisters he’d never met.AndSelena, even thoughshestill looked as if she mightsprintbackouttohercar.“I have things in my life
that are more important,” hesaid directly to her, “than afew hours of escape, or
convincing myself thatfeeling nothing is the onlyway for me to get throughthis. So I’ll stay clean today.Tonight,whenmydad’sbackin surgery. Tomorrow.Whateverhappens, I’ll figureoutwhereIneedtobeformyfamily and the people I careabout—and I’ll make sureI’m there for them.”Remembering what hisbrother and sister and hisrehabcounselorshadsaid,he
added, “I’ll make sure I’mthereformyself.”Withtheaudienceclapping
their support, he steppedaway from the folding tablethat the meeting coordinator,a local businessman namedWalterDavis,hadsetupwithfliersandotherpaperwork. Italso served as a makeshiftlectern. He shook Walter’shand and took a seat on thefront row of olive-greenplastic chairs that looked to
be seventies-era castoffs. AmanWalterhadintroducedasLaw Beaumont occupied theseatbesidehim.A decade or so younger
thanWalter,afewyearsolderthanOliver,Law’shandshakeearlier had been firm, hisenergy intense but steady.He’d said he was recentlymarried to the ChandlerElementary principal, whichmeant he likely knewOliver’s family the same as
almost everyone else in theroom. The anonymity ofAAonly went so far in a smalltown.Law glanced over his
shoulder toward the back.“Friend of yours?” he askedsoftly.“Not exactly, no.” Oliver
fixedhisattentiononthenextperson from the crowd oftwentyorsowho’dwalkedtothefrontoftheroom.Law leaned in. “She’shere
pretty regular, but no morethan once a week. If that’sgoingtobeaproblem,checkwithWalter.He’llhavealineon other meetings forhowever long you’re intown.”Oliver nodded his thanks
and crossed his arms, tuningin to the new speaker’ssobriety story. Except a partof him knew that Selenanever got up, never moved.And that he couldn’t let her
slip away again, not withouttrying to fix at least part ofwhathe’dbungledyesterday.Themeeting wound down.
Walterinvitedpeopletostickaround as long as theywanted, tograb something todrink or eat from anotherfoldingtablesportingacoffeemaker, bottled water, and acouple of bakery boxes fromDan’s filled with assortedpastries. If anyone needed asponsor, there was a
designated place across theroom to deal with that, too.The smoking area was thealleyoutback.A blur at the edge of
Oliver’s vision told him thatSelenawas on themove.Hepushed his way through thecrowd—ignoring severalpeople offering a handshakeor a welcome—and out thefront door into the balmynight.HecaughtuptoSelenaasshereachedhercar.
“I didn’t know you’d behere,” he said, winded fromsprinting across the parkinglot.“I believe you.” But she
keptherbacktohim.Inserting her key, she
unlocked the sedan thatappeared to be someone’sFrankenstein approach tomelding three, maybe four,differentmakesintoone.Thefadedgreenpaintonthetrunkscreamedatthedifferenttints
of blue that covered the rest.The two tires he could seedidn’tmatch.Neither did thechrome on the front bumperand the faded metal on thefenders. From theway it sat,tilted slightly on its axles,someone had wrecked thepoorthingmorethanonce.“Talk to me.” Oliver
stoppedherfromopeningthedriver’s door, his handcatchingitnearthetopofthewindow.“Damnit.Juststand
here with me for a minute.Help me figure some of thisout.”She dropped her head and
rolled her shoulders, supplemuscles flexing beneath thedeepredT-shirtshe’dthrownon over tight jeans. Travishad said she was a runner,too. Every morning on theweekends. Damn, Oliverwould give anything to seethat.A sophisticated city girlturnedandstaredstraightinto
him, wearing black, square-heeledboots.Sheplantedherpalminthecenterofhischestand shoved him out of herpersonalspace.“Figure what out?” she
asked.“Hell if I know.” He kept
his hands to himself byburying them in the backpocketsofhisjeans.“I don’twant to do this in
public,Oliver.”“Youdon’twanttodoitat
all. You’re never going towant to, and this is themostprivacywe’relikelytogetfora while. I don’t know whenI’llhaveanotherbreakat thehouse,nowthatDad...”“What’s happened with
Joe?” She brushed his arm,her touch loving, herexpressionconcerned.Oliverclosedhiseyes.“He
needs a bypass, as soon aspossible. Icameherestraightfromthehospital.”
“I’m so sorry.Your family...”“We’llbefine.”That Oliver had no doubt
about, with or without hishelp. Look at how they’d allbeen pulling together tosupporthimthelastfewdays.Nothing kept the Dixonsdown, or stopped them fromtakingcareoftheirown.“But it’s going to be a
roughgoofitforawhile,”headmitted. “And I don’t know
what I’m going to do if Joedoesn’t...”Hesimplycouldn’tsayit.“I’m glad you had a
meetingtocometo.”Selena’stouchdroppedaway.“Travis’sfriendWalterwas
pretty stand-up about it,meeting me at the door andsmoothing theway. I had noidea that you . . . How longhaveyoubeeninAA?”“Pretty much since I left
town.”She scanned thequiet
parking lotand then the star-shot sky overhead. “So far,mysobrietyisoneofthefewthings I don’t think thegeneralpublicaroundhere iskeeping tabs on. I’m bettingthat’sgoing to change if youdon’tletmegetinmycaranddriveoutofhere.”Oliver’s fingers closed
around her toned forearminstead. “It wasn’t myintention to ambush youtonight. Or at Belinda’s
yesterday. I only wanted togetthingsoutintheopenandtalk.ButwhenIsawCamilleup close, and she . . .” Heforcedhimselftofocus.“Canwe give this another shot?I’m usually a lot better atdealingwithpeople’sdifficultissues.”“That’s what your website
says.Nocomputerproblem’stoobigortoobrokenforyoutofix.Youfindawaytodealwith one client’s difficulties,
thenyoumoveontosomeoneelse’s.”Hiswebsite?“You’vebeen
googlingme.”“No.” Embarrassment
pinkened her cheeks. “Alittle.Notmuch.Marshasaidsomething tomymom abouthow proud she and Joewereofyou.Imayhave...”“Internetstalkedme?“Once or twice.” Selena
shovedsoft,sleekhairbehindher ear. “Besides, you
positivelyreekofitnow.”“What?”“Success. Control.
Business. Everything aboutyou—except your deplorablewardrobe—saysyou’reat thetopofyourgame.Aplayertobe reckoned with, runningyour own company.Not thatI’m surprised as much assome people will be whenword spreads. When I sawyou the other morning Iwould have guessed you’d
landedonyour feet even if Ihadn’t alreadyknownpartofyour story. I’ve been aroundenoughofyou.”“Enoughofwho?”“Corporate types. Movers
and shakers. I can recognizeone from a hundred paces,longbeforehethrowsaHelloKitty Frisbee over my head.You’reeatenupwithit,evenif you look like you’ve sleptinyourclothesforthreedays.I bet you dominate whatever
business environment aproblemdrawsyouinto.Andnowyourdifficultissueismydaughter and dealing withher.”“Formyfamily’ssake.”“I was inside just now. I
heard how hard all of this isfor you. Being home andleaving again soon. I’massuming learning aboutCamille—maybe being a dadand not knowing what to doabout it—is part of what’s
thrown you for enough of aloop to need a meetingtonight.”“Okay.It’spersonalforme.
ButIhavemyfamilytothinkabout, too. And I knowyou’reworriedaboutthem,oryou wouldn’t have avoidedmy folks for twomonths, orhave looked so guilty at thehospital when you finallyvisitedthem.”Selena gazed over his
shoulder to where the
meeting was still going on.“The fact that Camille existsdoesn’tmeanourworldshaveto be karmically linkedforever.Inevermeanttohideher from your family. Itwasn’taconsciousdecision.IneverthoughtI’dcomeback.Everyone was living theirlives...”“Butyoudidcomeback.”“Shit happens, Oliver. We
were supposed to have beenlonggonebynow.”
“Yetyoustayed.”Andthatreality seemed to bemessingwith her asmuch as him. “Itscaresme, too, Selena. I stilldon’t know how towrapmyhead around what familymeans. Or what it doesn’t.But . . . I don’t want to justrun again, not until I’vefiguredsomeofthisout.”Selena squinted up at him.
“I’mhappyyouwant togiveChandlervilleandyourfamilyasecondchancetobeinyour
life. But you don’t know ifyou can actually go throughwith that, do you? And I’mterrified of what that mightmeanformydaughter.”“I’m just asking for a
chance,” he pressed. “Hearme and my family out—theway you listened to meinside. You’ve always beenable to see me, understandme, like no one else could.Dothatagain,Selena.I’mnotabadguy.I’mnotouttohurt
youorCamille,andneitherismyfamily.”She seared him with her
disbelief.“Areyoutellingmeyou could rock your worldand be a hands-on father ifCamille is yours? Becauseunless you can, I’m trying—I’ve been trying sinceTuesday—to understand howthere’sanythingbutheartacheahead formy daughter if wetakeherdownthispath.”“HavingMarshaandJoeas
grandparentswouldbeagoodthing for Camille,” hehedged. “Look how happysheiswithBelinda.”“Sheneedsconsistency.”“Then give her that in
Chandlerville.”“Because surrounding
ourselves with this town andour families worked out sowell for the both of uswhenwe were kids? My motherjust announced that shekicked my father out twenty
years ago, instead of himleaving on his own. Clearlymychildhoodwasgoingtobemessedupfromtheget-go.”“That doesn’t mean
Camille will have the sameexperience.”“No. But being a part of
eitherofour familiesdoesn’tnecessarily mean she’ll behappy.”“She deserves as much
family as we can give her,evenif—”
“We?You andme?Ormeandyour family,onceyou’reoutofthepictureagain?Oncewe tell Camille she has afather and let her know youthat way, and then youdisappearfromherlife.She’salready known onemanwhocouldn’t be bothered to be arealparenttoher.Shedoesn’tneedanother.”“What if Brad’s her
father?” Oliver felt thepossibilitytwistinhisgut.
“Doyouwanthimtobe?”Selena’s heart was in her
eyes, every lost thing abouther that Oliver had oncethoughthecouldsave.“See what I mean?” she
saidwhenhecouldn’tfindhisvoice. “See how complicatedthis gets? You don’t knowwhat you’re feeling yet.Youdon’tknowifyoureallywantmy daughter in your life. Orif you just want to not hurtanybody.Andall I can think
about is that you should befurious.Allofyoushouldbe.And then I worry what thatkind of messed-up dynamiccoulddotomydaughter.”“Apartofmewaspissedat
first,”headmitted. “Stunned.Andthenangryagain,forlikeasecond,whenImetyoutwoout front of your mother’s.And then I saw Camille’seyes...”Selenacollapsedagainstthe
side of the car. “A lot of
peoplehavegreeneyes.”He conceded her point,
trying not to let the panicshow—how thinking ofCamillebeingBrad’sfeltlikelosing something infinitelyprecious, before it had evenbeenhistobeginwith.“I’msorryaboutyourdad,”
he said, wishing he couldhold her and make her seethat the last thing he’d everwantwas forherdaughter tofeel anything but happy and
secure. Things Selena haddeserved to feel her entirelife.“Yeah,”shesaid.“Metoo.”
She fumbled with her totebag’s strap. “I’m sorry Ididn’t findaway to tellyourfamily about Camille on myown.”“Weneedtotalk.Bradand
Druandyouandme,weneed—”She turned away and got
herdriver’sdooropenwitha
screech. She tossed her baginside.And then she slappedher palms on the roof of thecar. Collecting herself, shefaced Oliver again, a tough,confidentwoman.“Wewhat?”sheasked.“My fathermight bedying
. . .” It wanted to explodeinsideOliver—how close hisfamily was to theincomprehensible. “Hemighthave alreadymissedmeetinghis first grandchild. If he
recovers, we have to makesurehe’llhavethatchance.”Oliver watched Selena
swallow.Hard.“Brad and Dru are getting
marriedinafewmonths,”hepressed. “Mymother’s got ahousefulofkidsandme—me—asherbestfallbackplantokeep Family Servicessatisfied until we know howthingsaregoing to shakeoutforthetoddlermyparentsjustsignedontofoster.Ihaveno
experience with kids, a full-time job demanding myattention all over the globe—if I don’t lose everypotential client I have linedupbecauseIcan’tscheduleadamnthingwitheveryminuteof my day up in the air theway it is right now. And ontopofitall,I’mdealingwithmaybe having a child of myown to be responsible for. Ican’t let any of it drop. Iwon’t.I’llfindawaytowork
through it all. And we canfind a way to deal withCamille responsibly, ifyou’llletustry.”“My daughter is the best
thing that ever happened tomy life. She’s not somethingtobedealtwith.She’snooneelse’s responsibility. I’m notgoing down that road again,Oliver,tofeeling...”“Tofeelingwhat?”There was some big ugly
still playing out between
Selena and her estrangedhusband. Oliver was certainofit.“Trapped.”Shechokedout
theword.“That’swhatyou’retellingme.Wheremychildisconcerned, I’m trapped intodoingwhat youwant.Or I’llbe depriving your parents oftheirgrandchild.”“I’m telling you that you
and your daughter alreadybelong with my family, ifyou’ll just find some way to
trust that we have your bestinterest at heart. Are theresomehurtfeelingsstill?Sure.But we all made mistakeswhenwewerekids.”He thought about Travis
and Dru, his siblings’forgiveness, and how hisparents had welcomed himback with open arms. Nowtherewasoneotherpersonheneededtomakeamendsto.“Whenwewere eighteen,”
he continued, “I pushed too
hard for you to get better—for me—before you wereready to deal with yourdrinking for yourself. Imadeyou feel abandoned. And Iknewhowmessedupyoustillwereaboutyourdad leaving.Imade you think that if youdidn’t do what I wanted,you’dhavenoone.AndthenI left you behindwhen it allimploded, just the way youwereafraidIwould.I’msorryfor that, Selena. I hope you
canforgiveme.”“I slept with your best
friend,whomay have gottenme pregnant.” Self-loathingdripped from each word. “Ididn’t stick around longenough to even know I wasexpecting.Andby the time Ifound out, the last thing I’dhaveconsideredwasbegginganyone in Chandlerville forhelp.”“Youwouldn’thavehadto
beg. You’re among friends
here. Family. A part of youmust have believed that, oryou wouldn’t have comehomeagain.”“Ididn’thaveachoice.”“You wouldn’t still be in
town,youwouldn’tbetalkingtomenow,ifyouwerereally...”“Scared? I’m terrified. Of
allofyou.”“Includingyourex?”Oliver wanted a few
minutes alone with this
Parker character, to exploreexactlywhathadhappenedinNewYork.Andnomatterhisintentions to just talk andnothing else, he wantedSelena in his arms again—tocomfort and reassure both ofthem.To kiss and excite. Toneedandfeelhercravinghimagain.But her gaze had grown
haunted.“The way I see it, you’re
fighting to get things right
withBelinda soCamillewillhaveagrandmother.Soshe’llfeel safe and secure. Let herhavemy family to help withthat, too.Let thembeagoodthingforher.”“Just them?”Selena asked,
nailing him, demanding anhonest response when hedidn’thaveone.“Whataboutyou?”Whatabouthim?Was he a father or an
uncle? It shouldn’t matter
which. But it did. It scaredthe spit out of Oliver, howmuchitdid.“I’ll make this work” was
all he could promise.“Whatever’s best foreveryone.”Selena looked . . .
disappointed, and like shewantedtopresstheissue.Butpeople were spilling into theparking lot.His andSelena’stalk was about to becomefresh fodder for the local
gossips.“I won’t bother you at
another meeting,” hepromised.“But what about your
programwhileyou’rehome?”“I’llfindanotherplace.”“You relapsed two years
ago.It’sbeensevenforme.Idon’tcomeallthatoften.”“You felt like you needed
tobeheretonight.”Selena laughed. “And
whosefaultwasthat?”
“This is your meeting.Don’tworryaboutme.”“After what I just heard, I
doworryaboutyou.”Oliver stilled at her
admission. The noise andbustle around them faded. Awarmbreezeblewatendrilofbrownhair forward, over hershoulder.He longed to brushitaway.“I can skip for now,” he
insisted,“if—”“No. You can’t.” Genuine
concern. Soft eyes. With noeffortatall,sheblewthroughallhisbestintentions.Oliver allowed himself to
touch.Her hair. The skin on her
long, smooth neck above thescoopedcollarofherT-shirt.Just the tips of his fingers,sliding down to the pulsebeating madly at Selena’sthroat,while he absorbed thewonder of her caring enoughto berate him about his
sobriety.“Don’t risk your own
recovery for me,” shepleaded, their mouths inchesapart.“Iwon’tbe responsible for
you risking yours. You haveno idea how proud I am ofwhat you’ve accomplished.”He hadn’t meant to let thisget personal. But the wordskept coming. “You’rehealthy. You need to stayhealthy for Camille. That’s
what’simportant.”“Thatwillneverchange.”Tears glistened at his
praise, making her eyessparkle. She stood a littletaller. Her attention droppedtohismouth, slidbackup tohiseyes.“From the moment I
realized Iwaspregnant,” shesaid, “I stopped drinking. Ifound my first meeting. Nomatterwhat happens . . . I’llnevergoback.”
“No, you won’t. Neitherwill I. This is hard, I know.But we’re both going to getthroughitsober.”She bit her bottom lip.
Then,tentatively,shenodded,trusting him at least thatmuch.
OliverwasproudofSelena’ssobriety...
And he was touching her.Untilhisfingertipsslidaway,so gently she could haveimagined thembeing thereatall. Her body betrayed her,wanting to be closer, nomatter the people tricklingoutofthemeetingorthecarspullingoutoftheparkinglot.Shewas flat-out desperate tolose herself in Oliver’scommitment to make surethey kept each other healthyandontrack.
She forced herself to stepback, pressing against Fred’ssolidpresence.“Beproudofyourself,”she
insisted. “You’re doing thisfor your family, remember?And we both know whathappened the last time wetriedtohelpeachother.”He put evenmore distance
betweenthem.“Ididn’tmeanthat my family is all I careabout. It’s just . . . you’reimportant tome, too,Selena.
You always will be. AndCamille. I’m trying to dowhat’srightforeveryone.”His halting admission
melted away the last of heranger.She should leave, before
she said or did somethingmoreshe’dregret.The world had felt like it
wasclosinginonherallday,while she stayed home withher daughter. The situationwith the Dixons. Belinda’s
revelation. Camille’s latestattack. The memory, everytime she’d walked past theliving room, of how right ithadfelttobeinOliver’sarmsagain. His oh-so-logicalarguments about getting tothe bottom of Camille’spaternity. Parker’s daily call,pressuring her again to come“home” to him. Her motherhad been right. Selena hadneededhermeeting.And still, she’d circled the
shopping center twice beforegoing inside. After she’dtalked herself out of drivingFred until she had to fill uphis tank. At a station milesaway. Run by people shedidn’tknowandwouldneversee again. Strangerssomewhere beyondChandlerville who wouldn’tthink twice about a womanbuying a six-pack andloitering in their parking lotwhile she drank it. Instead,
she’d gotten herself togetherandmade it here.Only tobestanding with Oliver again,baskinginhowgooditfelt.Itwasa slippery slope . . .
One with razor-sharp edgesthat would slice her heart toribbons if she keptremembering his kiss. Keptseeing him every time herdaughter smiled. Keptfantasizing about making theDixons and their perfectfamily a part of Camille’s
life.“I’m afraid,” she said.
“Pleasedon’taskmetomakewhat my daughter’s goingthroughanyharderthanitis.”Hesteppedcloser,himand
all that tempting heat. “Noonewantseitherofyoutobeafraid.Trustmenottoletthathappen.Meet with Brad andDruandme.We’llfigureouta next step that works foreveryone.” At Selena’sdisbelieving snort,hedug in.
“Justthinkaboutit.”He sounded so reasonable,
so grounded and responsibleandgenuinelyconcerned.“I’m sorry for all of this,”
she heard herself say. Shethought of what he’d sharedinside.“You’vebeenthroughsomuchalready,andI—”“I’mnotsorry.”Hegrinned
at her disbelieving stare.“Okay, once or twice a dayI’m desperate to fall off theface of the earth again,
because all of this is sosurreal.”“Oh, thank God!” She
slapped her hand over hermouth to keep herself fromgiggling.“ThankGodI’mnotthe only one who just wantsthis all to go away. Joe’sheart attack, too. I hope he’sgoing to be okay now thathe’shavingabypass.Ireallydo.”“Yeah. I think worrying
about him is part of why I
handledyesterdaysobadly.”She eased a little closer,
knowingsheshouldn’t.“Andtheotherpart?”“I wasn’t expecting it,” he
said. “How much I mightwantCamille tobemine . . .A daughter? That’s a lot toprocess.”“You might want her?”
Selena’s heart sank. “Youhave to be sure, Oliver. Forthe right reasons. I know it’sa lot to thinkabout,beingan
instant dad. But you’ll hurther if you’re not sure. Nomatterhowmuchyourfamilymight love her, she’ll wantherdad,too.”“AndParkerwasn’tsure?”“My marriage was a train
wreck for a lot of reasons.”Not the least of which wasthatfromthestartSelenahadstill been in love withsomeone else. “It didn’t helpthatParkersawbeingafatherand a husband as a business
asset more than a blessing.Camille was never really afactor in his life, neither oneofuswas,exceptforwindowdressing.”“Soyougotout?”“Damn straight. And I’m
not setting my child up formoredisappointment.”Oliver’s touch slid down
her arm until they wereholdinghands.“Give me a chance,” he
said, “to prove to you that I
canhandlethis.”“You’re good at it now,
youknow?”Heseemedsurprised.“Handling people.” She
remembered anew the boyhe’d been and the messthey’d made of loving eachother. Because her problemshad been unfixable then, andhe’d refused to accept it.“Negotiating. Maneuveringpeople, until you figure outhow to solve their problems.
You’ve gotten really good atit.”Oliver dug his hands into
thebackpocketsofhisjeans,cockinghishipinabad-boy-done-good stance. “All I’mtryingtomaneuveryouintoistalkingwithmysisterandherfiancé and me. Nothingmore.”“Good. Because it’s more
that got us into trouble thelasttime.”She stretchedontoher toes
and kissed him softly.Because more of him wasexactly what she neededbefore she headed home.He’d grabbed her yesterdaywhile he was angry andfrustrated. She couldn’t bearthatbeingherlastmemoryofthem together. And then shecouldn’t bear the thought ofstopping...He kept his hands in his
pocketswhileshekissedhim.Buthislipsfollowedherlead.
Then his tongue featheredacrosshersinatentativewaythat had her shivering,seduced.She eased back,
remembering where theywere and how many peoplemight be witnessing herappalling lapse in judgment.And . . . she suddenlydidn’tcareaboutanyofit,notwhileshe watched the wonder, theneed, spreading acrossOliver’sface.
“We have to take one dayatatime,right?”shewarned.“That’s what we come tomeetingstoremember.”“Focus on what we can
control,” he agreed. “Let goofwhatwecan’t.”Hecuppedhercheekthewayhehadherdaughter’s.“Tellmeyoutrustme,Selena.”Except she didn’t. Or
maybeshedidn’ttrustherselfwith him. But she didabsolutely believe he cared
aboutwhat happened next toCamille. And her daughterdeserved toknowtheDixonswereherfamily,somehow.Herhandsshaking,wishing
shewasalreadyhomereadingher daughter a bedtime storyand shutting out everythingbut Camille’s love of fairytales, Selena pulled her cellfromhertote.“I’ll meet,” she agreed.
“Just to talk. Just the four ofus. What day do you think
wouldwork?”“Whydon’tyoushootmea
text”—Oliver snatched herphone away—“once youcheckyourschedule?I’llgiveyoumynumber.”He typed in his contact
information and handed backhercell.“Textmeyournumberand
some dates,” he prompted asshe gaped at him. “I’ll seewhenBradandDrucanmeetand let you know. Beyond
that, I’d only use yournumber for emergencies.Scout’shonor.”He’dneverbeenaScout.But she remembered him
sayinghismotherhadwantedhim tobeoneasa littleboy.Always prepared, alwaysconsiderate, and puttingothers first, never backingaway from a challenge.Someone anyone coulddependon.Exactlywhathe’dgone off and made himself
into—atleastforhisclients.ShecaughtOliversmirking
at her sparkly Hello Kittysmartphone cover—the oneCamille had picked out at adiscount store. Selena textedhim a vulgar suggestion,tellinghimwhathe coulddowith his opinion of heraccessories. He read it outloud and laughed. Then hesavedherinhiscontactlist.Anditwasdone.Justlikethat.
They were officially backineachother’slives.“It’s going to be okay this
time,”hepromised.She triedwith all herheart
to believe that she wasn’tmaking an even biggermistakewithhimthanbefore.Behind the wheel, she
securedherseatbeltasOliverheaded for his truck, tall andstrong and in no hurry. Fredtook his own sweet timegettingwiththeprogram.She
could feel Oliver waiting,watchingwhilesheturnedtheignition three times before itcaught. Oliver’s headlightswere already on, his truck’senginenodoubtpurringlikeachamp.She pulled out of the lot,
knowing he’d be behind herthe whole way to Belinda’s.He’dalwaysgottenherhomesafelywhenthey’dbeenkids,even that last year on thenights they’d been so
reckless. Especially on thosenights, Oliver had alwaysmadesureshewasokay.I’ll love you forever,
Selena, no matter what. I’mnot like your dad. I’ll neverleaveyou...
Chapter
Fourteen
Marsha stood apart from herfamily at just past ten thatnight.DruandTraviswereonthe
othersideofthewaitingroomthat was designated forimmediate families ofsurgicalpatients.Marshahad
asked for a few minutes toherself. She couldn’tremember the last timebeingin the company of herchildren didn’t bring hercomfort. But tonight, feelingthem close while their fatherwas being wheeled intosurgery made it impossiblefor her to focus on anythingbut what could be lost to allof them if Joe’s heart tookanotherturnfortheworse.Somewhere in the bowels
of Chandler Memorial, insome sterile operating room,asurgicalteamwaspreparingto crack her husband’s chestopen. They’d stop his heart.A machine would circulatebloodandoxygenthroughhisbody, circumventing hislungs. The damagethreatening Joe’s life wouldberepaired—aprocedurethatwould last forhours,perhapsuntil morning. And then hewould be taken off bypass,
andthey’dwait,Dr.Kaskhadexplained,toseeifJoe’sheartwould start beating again onitsown.There was every reason to
believe all would go well.Patients successfullyrecovered from open-heartsurgery all the time. Exceptthat there had been a lot ofblockage. And Joe’s systemwasweak already.And therewere no guarantees with anyprocedure, Kask had been
careful to explain again inpre-op.And that’s when Joe had
takenMarsha’shand,whenanursehadbeenadministeringthe early anesthesia into hisIV,tohelphimrelax.“It’sgoingtobefine,”he’d
said.“You’ll see. Make sureyouhelpthekidssee.”Shewould,she’dpromised.
And she’d been so glad tohugonDruandTraviswhenshe’dwalkedintothewaiting
room and seen them there.She’d been grateful Joe hadseenOliverearliertoday,too.Butwhat if . . .Thewhat ifswere driving her out of hermind.Shecouldn’tgetwarm.She
couldn’tthinkaboutanythingbut the feel of her husband’sfingers curled around hers,hisbravesmileashe’ddriftedto sleep, and then herabsolute terror when he’dbeenwheeled away, that she
might never have him in herlife again. She wouldn’t, sheabsolutely couldn’t, let herkidsseeherthisway.Despite the late hour,
people from the communitywere downstairs in the mainlobby, or sitting with theircoffee or tea in the cafeteria.Folks had been calling sincewordspreadaboutthebypass.Friends and neighbors sheand Joe had known fordecades. And it should have
beenablessing.But Marsha couldn’t face
them either, wondering if bymorning she might begreetingeveryoneforthefirsttimewithoutherhusband,herlifeforeverchanged.She stared out the waiting
room windows, three storiesup from the streetlights andtrees below. She rubbed herhandsupanddownherarms,trying to ward off the chill.Movement out of the corner
ofhereyestartledher,beforea reflection in the windowsshowedherwhohadcometostandbesideher.“Oh.”Marsha wiped at her eyes.
She turned to BelindaRosenthal.“How . . .” she stuttered.
“Howdidyougetuphere?”Belinda smiled. “I told the
nursesIwasfamily,andthatIwasn’t leaving until they letmeseeyou.”
“Oh.”Marsha tried to findtheenergytobeshocked.But nothing was
penetrating the images anddescriptions of open-heartsurgery she’d searched foronline, on the tabletDru hadbrought over days ago soMarsha had digital books toreadwhileJoeslept.Belinda inched closer. “I
made sure no one else couldhear when I talked with thenurses. Plenty of rumors are
already flying around aboutour kids. People have seenthem together enough towonder what’s going on. Iwouldn’twant toadd to that.ButIknowalittlemorethanmy daughter’s thought abouther and Oliver . . . andCamille.AndIwantedyoutoknow,especially tonight, thatI’d be proud to have Oliverbe Camille’s father, if that’swherewefindourselves.I’vehadmymisgivings.Iguessa
partofmestilldoes.Selenaisin such an unsettled placerightnow.AndIworryaboutCamille . . . but your sonseems tohavebecomea fineman.”“Yes, he has.” Gratitude
floodedMarshafor theeffortBelinda was making. Theirfamilies had lived next toeach other for decades.Belinda was as active in thecommunity as her joballowed. Well respected.
Considerate.Butreachingoutone-on-one had never beenherstrength.“What’s it like?” Marsha
asked.“What?”“Beingagrandmother.This
willbemyfirsttime.”Belinda smiled again. “It’s
the most wonderful thing inthe world. And the hardest.Thinking about Selena andCamille leaving as soon asmy daughter can manage it,
them being somewhere elsewhere Ican’thelp themwiththeir troubles anymore . . .that’s hard. My daughter’sjust starting to getcomfortablewith us being ineach other’s lives again.We’re getting past all themisunderstandings andmistakes—mostly mistakes Imade. I’ll never be able tothank her enough for givingme this chance to knowCamille. To love my
granddaughter all the waysSelena never thought I couldloveherwhenshewaslittle.”“You’vealwayslovedyour
daughter with your wholeheart.Thebestwayyouknewhow.”Marsha turnedback tothe windows, both of themlooking out now. “Healthykidswanttheirindependence,even when their troubles arepiling up. Some leave. Somestay. You’ll always missthem, and you can’t let them
know howmuch. But if youlove them unconditionally,they’ll find their way homeagain.”“Imissedhereverydayshe
was gone. When she finallycalled, I couldn’t let her seehow much. Maybe I shouldhave, but I didn’t want herfeelingguiltyforgoingoffonherown.”“It’s hard not to think
you’ve done somethingwrong. All the time Oliver
wasoutofourlives...”“You and your husband
give your kids the chance tobe themselves, findthemselves. And because ofyou, look at what Oliver’sbecome.”“He’s done that with his
ownhardwork.”“Because you encouraged
him,” Belinda insisted. “Andyou’ve never given up onhim.He’sstillfiguringthingsout. I guess we all are. But
yougaveOlivera solid start,even if it took some toughlove.”“Andyou’vedonethesame
forSelena.”Belinda stared out at the
night, as if she didn’t knowwhattobelieve.“Weloveourkids,”Marsha
said. “Evenwhen theymakeit hard to. Even when theydon’tknowhowto—”“Trust us?” Belinda was
rubbing her own arms. “I’ve
givenSelenasomanyreasonsnotto.”“Andaworldofproof that
she can.Especially these lastfew months. She’s stayed,Belinda.SheandCamillearestillhere.”“I’ve wondered for a long
time aboutCamille’s father,”Belinda finally said. “Ipromised myself not to pushSelena to take me into herconfidence. I’ve learned atleast thatmuchwithher.But
I wanted you to know . . .especially now. I’d be proudifitturnsoutthatourfamiliesare connected in such awonderfulway.AndIwantedto say how sorry I am.You’vemissed precious timewithCamille.Maybe I couldhave helped with that, ifthings between my daughterandmeweren’tsostrained.”“Joe and I understood.
When we began to suspectourselves, we understood
whyyouneededtokeepyourdistance. Selena has tobelieveshecancountonyoufirst. That Chandlerville andyourhouseareasafeplace.Ithink she’s starting to. Myhusband and I will have ourtimewithCamille.”Marsha could feel it
growingagain.Thecertainty.Theconfidencethatshe’dgetthe chance to share thiswonderfulbeginningmomentwith Joe—like they’d shared
somanyothernewstarts.Belindawasfinallyopening
the lines of communicationabout Selena and Oliver andCamille.Thiswashope.Thiswasgood.Thiswasthesweetpromise that came fromfriends and family caring foroneanother.“You have nothing to be
sorry for,” Marsha told herneighbor. “Joe and I haveadmired you from themoment you moved in next
doorandstartedtransformingthat yard of yours into abotanicalparadise thatwouldput to shame any of thosefancy gardens in Atlanta.You’ve put everything youhave into everything you do,including loving yourdaughter and now yourgranddaughter. We’d beproudtohaveyouasapartofourfamily.Notthatwedon’talready know how lucky weare to have you living next
door.”Belinda looked positively
stricken for a second. AndthenMarshawas engulfed ina tight, determined, very un-Belinda-likehug.“Your husband’s going to
get to know hisgranddaughter one day verysoon,” Belinda insisted asMarsha slipped an arm’slength away. They claspedeachother’shands. “Andmygardenclubisgoingtothrow
Joe a fantastic Father of theYear party just as soon ashe’s up to it. You wait andsee.”
“How are you feeling?”Selenaaskedthesleepyangelshe’d come home to afterAA.“Better.” Camille yawned,
stretchinginherbed,aflower
opening to the sun. Sheturnedhercheekforakiss.Selenaobliged.“I’msorryI
waslategettinghome.”“That’s okay. I don’t
mind.” Camille scooted overas Selena snuggled in besideher. “’Cept I’m hungry, andGrammy said I had to waitand ask you if I can have asnack.”Selena propped herself
against the wall behind thesingle bed she’d slept in her
entirechildhoodinthishouse.Her daughter was alreadydroopingbackintoherpileofpillows.“You don’t exactly sound
hungry,”Selenasaid.“HowdoIexactlysound?”Selena smiled. “Like you
want an excuse to stay upnowthatI’mhere.”“Butdinnerwasalongtime
ago.” Camille yawned again.“AndGrammyonlygavemesoupandcrackers.”
“Your stomach’s stillgrumpy from yesterday.AndGrammy’shomemadesoupisyummy.”“But I want one of Mrs.
Dixon’s cookies. You said Icould.”“When you were feeling
better. Maybe tomorrow forbreakfast.”“Grammy won’t mind me
having cookies forbreakfast?”“We’ll sucker her in,”
Selenaconspiredwithawink.“We’ll bribe her with acookieofherown.”“Grammy never eats
cookies. I don’t like beingsick,” Camille groused. “Ihateit.”Selena watched her
daughterrubsleepyeyeswithtinyfists.“Me too, Cricket.” Yet
saying Camille’s nicknamemade Selena smile, same asalways.
Her daughter had lovedbeing outdoors practicallyfrom birth, playing in everypark Selena took her to inManhattan. She’d beenmesmerized by the grass andthe trees and the birds andbreeze from the moment shecould crawl out of Selena’slap and explore. BeforeCamillecouldwalkor runordance as she did everywhereshe went now, she’d hop upand down, in her baby
carriage, in Selena’s arms,clapping her handswheneverthey’d left behind the high-rise apartment Parker keptatop one of the oldestresidential buildings nearCentralPark.It had alwaysmadeSelena
wish that her daughter hadmoreroomtorunandplay,ina place where nature didn’thavetobattleforitsexistencebetween towering buildingsand avenues of endless
concrete and traffic jams.Somewhere likeChandlerville.“One cookie?” Camille
begged.“Please,Mommy?”Selena held on a little
tighter,relievedthatherchildfelt well enough to wheedle.Camille’sdoctorshadwarnedthat each minor reaction tosomething increased thepossibility of a more severeoutcome.“One cookie,” Selena
caved. A special treat. For averyspeciallittlegirl.“Ifyoucankeepyoureyesopenlongenoughtoeatit.”Camille beamed. Then her
forehead crinkled inconfusion. “Did Oliver haveone before he went homeyesterday?”Selena shook her head,
slowlyfindinghervoice.“Heleft before he could.But I’msure Mrs. Dixon has lots ofcookiesatherhouse.”
Oliver’s truck had pulledinto the Dixon driveway asSelena let herself inside toface Belinda—who as itturned out had been dressedto go out. She’d left a fewminutesago.“Whose father is Oliver
lookingfor?”“What?”Selena stared into
herdaughter’s innocent eyes.Camille had felt toomiserable to talkmuch sinceOliver’svisit.
“He wanted to know whosomeone’s father was.”Camille played with Bear’slong bunny ears. “He wasasking if you knew. If he’strying to help someone findtheirdaddy,youshouldhelp,too. Everyone wants adaddy.” She looked up atSelena. “Even if they havethebestmommyandgrammyin the world, and not everydaddy is a good daddy,everybodywantsone.”
Selena hurt for thelonelinessCamillehidsowellmostofthetime.The last year or two,
Camillehadzeroedinonanyandeveryconversationaboutfathersshewasaround.She’dbegun to pull away fromParker, on the rare nightshe’d made time for her andSelena. She’d sensed on herown, no matter how muchSelena had tried to cover forher husband, that being a
fatherwas a convenience forParker,oftenachore.“I’m glad Parker’s not my
daddy.”CamillecuddledwithBear and frowned, herattention zipping away fromOliver.“I am, too, Cricket.”
Parker’s chronic neglect ofhis personal life unless thetiming suited his businessinterests would havecontinued to hurt Selena’slittle girl—regardless of
whether Camille one daycaughtontothehostofotherproblems in Selena’smarriage. “You deserve thebestdaddythereis.”Camille nodded
enthusiastically. “I’m gladwe’re here, instead of NewYorkstill.EvenFredlovesithere.Hehasn’t brokendownonce,thewayyouthoughthewould whenwe bought him.And Grammy’s here. And Ilikemynewschool,andIlike
Mr.andMrs.Dixonandtheirkids being next door, andnow Oliver. New Yorkwasn’tnearlyasmuchfun.”“I like being home, too,”
Selenaadmitted,eventhoughshe was terrified that herdecisionmightenduphurtingher daughter as much asmarryingParkerhad.“Butwetalked about Grammy’s notbeing where we’ll stayforever,right?”The whole world was
waiting for them, she’d toldCamille when they’d headedto the Deep South. Life wastheirstoconquer.Theywouldfind a home neither of themwould ever want to leaveagain. Selena had just nevercontemplated Chandlervillebeingthatplace.You’re important to me,
too, Selena. You always willbe.She looked around at the
pink walls and pink shelves
and pink little-girl desk thathadbeenhersbackintheday.At the Hello Kittydecorationsallovertheplace—Selena’s obsession whenshe’d been younger. Now itwas her daughter’s, too.Several of Belinda’s hand-sewnquiltsweredrapedovera chair and the foot of thebed. Camille had becomefascinated with them. She’dfalleninlovewithallofit.“We’ll make you an even
better room,” Selenapromised, “wherever we endupnext.”“I want one like this one,
pink everywhere, in a house,not an apartment, wherethere’slotsofflowersoutsidemywindowandabackyardIcan play in anytime and lotsof nice people living nextdoor and maybe even apuppy.Canwehaveapuppy,Mommy?”Camille’s ability to
rebound, to zoom from thebad on to the next happymoment had become alifeline for Selena. Shepecked the tip of herdaughter’s nose with a kissand smiled into pleadinggreeneyes.Every other time the topic
ofapethadcomeup,Selenahad wormed out ofcommitting, not wanting toget Camille’s hopes up. Notknowing if a pet would be
possible wherever theymoved next. But Camillebeinghappywas thepointofeverychange, every struggle,every week and then monthSelena had worked herselfinto exhaustion since leavingParker. So why was sheholdingbackonsomethingassimple as agreeing to a pet?She couldmake itwork, justlikeshehadwhateverelseherchildhadneeded.“OnceyouandmeandFred
are settled, once we knowwe’re not going to have tomove ever again”—Selenabrushed her fingers downBear’s bunny ears—“thenwe’ll go out and find thecutest, floppiest-eared puppywecan.”“Really?”At Selena’s nod,
Camillepumpedboth fists intheair.“That’ssocool.Yay!”“Yay!” Selena cheered.
“Whatwillyoucallhim?”Camille’s eyes rounded. “I
gettodecide?”“He’llbeyours.”“Allmine?”“You’re a big girl now.
You’llbeagreatmommy.”“Just like you.” Camille
threw herself into the happy,easyhugSelenahadneeded.“Being a good mom’s a
cinch, when you’re workingwiththerightkidmaterial.”“We’llfindtherightpuppy,
too.AndI’lltrainherand”—just that quickly, their future
pet was a girl—“she’ll sleepwithmeonyouroldbed,andshe’ll play in Grammy’sbackyard.And...”Selena felt her daughter
catchherself.Camilleslippedoutofherarms.“Or whatever backyard we
have when we move,”Camillesaid.Selena wanted her happy
hugback.She longed for theluxuryofknowingforcertainthat the job next year at
Chandler, andKristen’sofferto help Selena make nightschool work, would be theright decision for herdaughter—for them. ShewantedtotrustOliver’slogicthat they could all be onehappy family once Camille’sfatherhadbeenidentified.Andsheactuallywantedto
talk through it all withBelinda. About whetherSelena and Camille shouldstayintownforgood.Howto
approach the rest of theDixons after talking withBradandDru.Howtoendthesecretsandlimitthecollateraldamage and make thingssimple and calm and settledforeveryone.“We’llbringyourpuppyto
meetGrammyasoftenaswecan,” she heard herselfpromise, the words slippingout and feeling right. “We’llmake sure you get to sleepwith your new puppy in my
oldbed,andplaywithher inGrammy’sgarden,”Givemeachance toprove
toyou that Icanhandle this,Oliverhadasked.How on earth were they
goingtohandleanyofit?Joe’sbypasswashappening
tonight. Belinda had said asshe headed to the hospital itwas time she supported herneighbors in person. OliverwasnextdoorwiththeDixonkids,alone.Selenahadheard
Travis’s cruiser pull away,presumablysohecouldbeatthe hospital with Marsha.While Selena found herselfgrappling with the absurdimpulse to pop across thehedge once Camille wasasleep.“We’ll do more puppy
planningtomorrow,”shesaidinstead of indulging in thefantasy of kissing Oliveragain.“Once—”“Blossom!” her daughter
exclaimed with anotherenthusiastic fist pump.“That’s what I’ll name mypuppy.”Selena couldn’t help
laughing. “And what if therightpuppyforusturnsouttobeaboy?”Camille’s forehead
wrinkled.Another kid might have
shrugged the question off.But ever since Selena hadexplained her reasons for
calling their heap of a carFred and talked about themagic of names—includinghow Camille’s had comefrom Selena’s very favoriteflowers in the world—herdaughter had been fascinatedwith what each name sheheard meant. Her expressionsuddenly brightened intriumph.“And the winner is?”
Selenaknewshewasinforatreat.
“Bud?”Selena scooped her
daughter close. “You’re toogoodtobetrue,kiddo.‘Bud’it is. Now, let’s get you thatcookieandtuckyouinforthenight.”Selena stroked her
daughter’s soft hair andcarried her to the kitchen,Camille’sheadrestingonhershoulder.It was a perfect moment.
Since leaving New York,
Selena had been determinedtogiveherdaughterasmanyof them as she could. NowCamille loved living withBelinda. And she wasdreaming of a house and apuppy and a big backyard toplayin.Except every little girl
wanted a daddy, she’d said.Onewho’dplaywithherandcomehometohereverynightand make her feel like shewas the center of his world.
How did Selena explain toher daughter that there’dneverbeafamilylikethatforher with her biologicalfather? The way it neverwould have worked out forCamillewithParker.Brad was marrying Dru
soon. God willing, they’dhavekidsoftheirown.Olivertraveled the globe andworked 24-7 for his job.What about any of thatwouldn’t mean even more
disappointmentandheartacheforSelena’slittlegirl?She settled Camille into a
kitchen chair and kissed thetopofherhead.“Cookiesandthen bed. Iwantmy favoriteflower in fighting spiritstomorrow.”“Because no one waters
Grammy’s begonias betterthanIdo?”“You’re the very best,
Cricket.” And Selena wasmaking that house and yard
and puppy and happy familyof her daughter’s dreamscome true. “I don’t knowwhatI’ddowithoutyou.”
Chapter
Fifteen
Late Friday night, Oliverpaced his mother’s dimly litkitchen with a snifflingTeddyinhisarms.He’d diapered the kid—he
wasaproatitnow,sincethetoddler seemed to take adump every two hours.He’d
given Teddy a late-nightbottle, even thoughcaving toit sat squarely in theDoNotDo column of Dru’s twopages of instructions, pinnedto the kitchen bulletin board.He’dreadtheboyabookandplayed a favorite nurserysong on the battered kid-proof tape player that Teddywas supposedly addicted to.Nothinghadworked.Night four of Oliver’s
returntoChandlervillewasn’t
goingtoyieldanymoresleepthan the other three. Hesuspected Teddy wasn’tsettling down completelyuntil Marsha walked backthrough the front door forgood.“I know.” He jostled a
cranky Teddy up and down,thinking about whimperinghimself. “You’re getting abumdeal,man.I’dbekickingupafuss,too.”It’llbeanotherdayatleast
before they’ll move Dad tostep-down, Dru said whenshe’d called earlier. OliverhadseenJoeonlyoncesincethebypass,andhisfatherhadbeen asleep the whole time.They’retryingtoregulatehisheartbeat and pressure.He’shavingtroublebreathingstill.They’re watching him forpneumonia.MomsaidKask’steamistalkingaboutpossiblymovinghimtoarehabfacilityfirst, before he comes home
...Oliver stroked Teddy’s
back. The boy’s cries weresofter. He rubbed his headagainst Oliver’s shoulder.Teethingwasabitchonlittleguys, from what Oliver hadread online.Dru’s advice forhow to handle it? Olivershould make a night’s worthofstrongcoffee.Theyhadn’tspent enough time togetheryet for her to realize he’dsworn off the stuff. Itwasn’t
as if he were sleeping,regardless.Afewhoursago,he’dsent
the e-mail to kill Monday’sclientpitchwithCanada.“It’s going to be okay,
buddy,” he said to therestless, drooling,inconsolable child in hisarms. “We’ll makeeverythingokay.”“And here I figured you’d
be long gone by now,” avoiceresponded.
Oliver stared. Teddy liftedhis head from Oliver’ssoaking wet shoulder andlookedbehindthemboth.“Overhere,dumbass,” the
voicesaidagain.“What are you doing up?”
Oliver asked Fin, a fourth-grader who according toMarsha had come to thefamily street-smart andworld-weary and with someofthesameattachmentissuesOliverstillstruggledwith.
She’dalsosaidFinwastheonewho’d first found Joe inthe front yard having chestpains.Theboygrabbedmilkfrom
the fridge and a glass fromthe cabinet beside the sink.He poured, dropped into oneof the high-backed stools atthe kitchen’s center island.When Oliver put downanother glass, the kid filledhis, too. Oliver downed halfthemilk before spillingmost
of the rest, when Teddyreachedfortherimandtippeditalmostcompletelyover.“Damn it!” Oliver thunked
the glass to the counter andfumbled for a kitchen towel.HedabbedatTeddyfirstand,jugglingthetoddler,crouchedtosopupthefloor.“Give him tome.” Fin got
off his stool. “It’s not like Iwassleepinganyway.”He grabbed a pacifier off
thecounternexttothetoaster
and plugged the baby’smouth.Teddyrewardedthemwithsilence.Hesnuggledhishead against Fin’s neck,snufflingandsuckling.Oliver snapped his fingers.
“Forgotaboutthepacifier.”“Don’t you know anything
aboutkids?”Oliver tossed the soiled
towel toward the laundryroom, ignoringhowit landedshort, in the middle of thedoorway. He leaned against
theislandanddrainedtherestof his milk in a single longgulp, thewayheoncewouldhaveabeer.“Didyouknowhowtotake
care of babies before Teddycamealong?”heasked.Fin sneered. When Teddy
raisedhishead,Fingavehima goofy grin. Teddy giggled,drooloozingoutfromaroundthepacifier.Oliver patted the toddler’s
back.“Youseemtobepretty
good at it now. How longhaveyoubeenhere,anyway?“Likeayearorsomething.”“I’ve had four days.” Not
even that, if you counted thedistraction with Selena andCamille, andhimvisiting thehospital whenever someonecould spell him at the house.“Wannacutmesomeslack?”“Why? It’s not like you’re
staying. What do you knowaboutanythingaroundhere?”“I know that not sleeping
sucks. And it usually helpsme feel better to havesomeoneelsetochewonuntilthesuncomesup.Me, I findsubcontractors to arguewith,because their coding’s notworking or they’re notworkingfastenoughorIwantthem working on somethingelse.There’salwayssomeonetorantatwhenIneedtosleepbut can’t. You”—he pointedat Fin with his empty glass—“evidentlydecidedtocome
downstairstogripeatmeandholdthebaby.”“Because you couldn’t get
Teddytoshutup.”“Orholdinghimcalmsyou
down.” Oliver had beenwatching Fin’s eyes growdrowsier the longer he hadthetoddlerinhisarms.Fin promptly handed the
babyback.“I used to hang out with
Dru sometimes,” Oliver saidbefore the kid could make it
to the kitchen stairs. “Wewere both up a lot in themiddle of the night. OrmaybeIwasupfirst,andshesomehow knew it and didn’twantmetofeelalone.”“So?”Finglaredathim,his
handonthestair’srailing.“So, I haven’t talked to
Marsha about it, but ifhanging with Teddy at nighthelps you sleep, it’s okay byme.Nooneelsehas toknowif that’swhat you’reworried
about.”The boy had come
searching for his nighttimepal. Oliver was sure of it.While Oliver had done bedcheck the last two evenings,he kept finding toddler toyson the floor beside the bunkbedsFinsharedwithGabe.“Idon’tcareifI’maloneat
night,” Fin scoffed. “I wasaloneforalongtimebeforeIcamehere.Inalotofplacesawhole lot worse than this
dump. I don’t need anyoneelsetobeokay.”“But you’re not alone
now.” Oliver deposited theirglasses in the sink and filledthem with water. “AndneitherisTeddy.”Fin eyed him with the
instincts of a survivor whowasn’t sureyet ifhe’dmet afriendoranadversary.“Does Teddy sleep better
with you at night,” Oliverasked,“whenhe’snotfeeling
well?”“Maybe.So?”Oliverheadedforthestairs.
Walking the floors withTeddy for another nightwouldn’t be a hardship. Hehad toomuchonhismind todo more than think. But ifhe’d learned anything fromthelastfourdaysofchaos, itwas to follow his instinctswith these kids the way hedidwithhiscomputers.“So.” He handed over the
toddler again. “Marsha andDru both said to tuck Teddyin withme if he got cranky.But as you’ve so wiselypointed out, I don’t knowjack about kids. And you’reanoldpro,right?Youandtherest of the house could usesome peace and quiet.Tomorrowyoucangivemeacrashcourseon—”“Not being a total loser at
babysitting?” Fin saidsnidely. He cuddled Teddy
against him. The babyactuallysighed.“You bet.” Oliver headed
up the stairs, Fin following.“I’lllearnfromthemaster.”And after that, maybe
someonecould teachhimthesecret to getting through toSelena.No one in his family was
thinking about anything rightnow but Joe’s recovery fromsurgery. But Dru and Bradhad said they were ready to
meetwithSelenaoncethingssettled down. Oliver hadcalled Selena’s cell thatmorning.He’dtextedherthatafternoon and again a coupleof hours ago. She’d ignoredevery attempt he’d made toget in touch. So much fortaking one day at a time andmaking this as easy aspossibleforeveryone.After Fin and Teddy were
settled,Oliver headed for hisparents’bedroomandwalked
to the window thatoverlooked the Rosenthalproperty. As the shadowsdeepened each night, Selena,not work, consumed histhoughts. Her new strengthand confidence. The wonderof her kiss, her touch, hercompassion for him evenwhenshe’dbeenspittingmad—and more than a littlescaredofhimstill.He’d left the ball in her
court.He’ddoneallhecould
this time, calmly explaininghis family’s side of things.Where he and Selena wentfrom here was up to her,unless he wanted to makethingsugly.Buthehadtoseeher again, talk to her, holdher. Because of Camille andhisparentsandBradandDru,yes. And because he neededSelenaclose.She’dkissedhimlastnight,
afterhe’dpromisedDruhe’dkeep his hands to himself.
WhythehellhadSelenagoneand done that if she wasgoing to ignore him all daytoday?Meanwhile he’d beenoutofhismindrememberingthe fire that had streakedthroughhimashersweetlipsinnocently brushed his. Hestared out the window atBelinda’shedgeofcamellias.Don’t make what you do
next about anyone but youandSelena...Druhadsaid.Do what’s right for you this
time...Problemwas,Oliverhadno
ideawhatwasrightanymore.Seattle was gone. Torontowas gone. Work had been ablackholeofnothingforhimsince he’d come home toChandlerville.Andhe . . .hecouldn’t get his head aroundcaring, not enough to focuson landing his next client.Not until his dadwas better.And Joe was going to getstronger.Beforelonghe’dbe
backatthehouse,andheandMarsha could take over thefamilyagain.ThenOliverwould be free
to refocus on the high-pressure job and fast-pacedlifethatsuitedhim.Hewouldfind a way to get back towork, exactly as he’dplanned. Only when Selenahad flat-out asked him whathe’ddoifheturnedouttobeCamille’s father—whetherhe’dbeleavingChandlerville
—he’dhadnoanswertogiveher.Hestilldidn’t.It’snot likeyou’re staying,
Finhadsaid.It had never been as if
Oliverwasstaying.Thenhe’dseen Camille and talked toher, he’d seen Selena again,kissed her, and let himselfwant everything they’d oncehad back so desperately he’dbarely stopped himself fromwalking next door about a
dozen times today—hecouldn’tthinkaboutanythingelse.Ihavethingsinmylifethat
aremore important . . .he’dtold theAAgroup last night,looking straight at Selenawhenhe’dsaidit.Allofitwasimportant.His
responsibility to his careerand his family. Hisrelationshipswith his parentsand brother and sister andeven the younger kids. His
responsibilitytohisdaughter,ifCamillereallywashis.Hisfeelings for her mother thathadnevergoneaway.Oliver stared out at the
nightandtheRosenthalhouse—a cutthroat problem solverwho didn’t have a clue whathis next move was. Or howthe hell to make it, withouthurting any of the people hecaredabout.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Belindastepped onto the shadowyporch and took a seat on theswing cushion besideSelena’s.Then her mother seemed
satisfied not to say anythingat all, while they both staredintothenight.Selena remembered it
vividly, Belinda finding her
on this same swing, crying,their first night on BellevueLane. Because they’d finallymoved away from theirbigger house way acrosstown,wherethey’dlivedwithSelena’sdad.AndSelenahadaccepted that her father wasnevercomingback.She’donlyheardfromhim
a few times since. On herbirthday when she wasyounger, a cardwould arriveinthemailwithhissignature
alone beneath some sappysaying. He’d have tucked afive-dollar bill inside, as ifthat were all she’d neededfrom him anymore. The lastbirthday card before Selenalost contact with him hadcomewhenshewaseighteen.A few months before she’dbrokenthingsoffwithOliver.“Couldn’t sleep,” she
finallyanswered.“Seems to be an epidemic
tonight.” Belinda motioned
toward the lights still ondownstairs in the Dixonhouse.“Why are you still up?”
Selenaasked.She’d stayedhomeanother
day with Camille. Her momhadgottenupearlyandgonetowork, the sameas always.They’d shared a simpledinner—another pot ofBelinda’s soup, in deferenceto Camille’s still-queasytummy. Otherwise, Selena
and her mom had kept tothemselves. The same as lastnight, when Belinda hadreturned from the hospital,andCamillehadalreadybeenasleep, and Selena had beeninherroom...needingtimeandspacetothink.“I fell asleep earlier for a
fewhours,”hermomsaid.“Itdidn’tstick.Iheardyoucomeouthereawhileago.”Belinda stared straight
ahead while Selena pushed
thembothintheswing.“How are the Dixons?”
Selena asked, knowing hermom had called Marsha tocheckonthings.“Joe’s still in CICU.
Marsha’s awreckwhile theywait forhim to stabilize.Butshe’s staying strong for herkids.Youknowhowsheis.”“Justlikeyoustayedstrong
forme,afterDaddyleft?”Belinda hesitated, then
nodded. “After I told him to
hittheroad.Becausewewerebetteroffwithouthim.”“Why...”Selenainhaled,fightingthe
long-agoanger,theoutrageatbeing abandoned, the unfairblame that she’d heaped onher mother. For hours, she’dbeen picturing herself twentyyears from now, having asimilar talk with her owndaughteraboutthefatherwhomayormaynothavedecidedtobeapartofCamille’slife.
“Why,” she tried again,“didyou letme thinkall thistime that Daddy just up andleftusfornoreason?”“Because that’s exactly
what he did, the day hedecided tocarryonanaffair,andtokeepseeingthewomanforoverayear.”Everything inside Selena
froze.“What?”“Then when I confronted
himabout it,heexpectedmeto accept it as part of our
marriage. It was a minormatter I should overlook,because he was so good atputting foodon the tableandkeeping the lights on.Besides, if I left him and hismoney, what the hell was Igoingtodowithouttheprettylife I’d grown accustomedto?”Selena planted her feet on
theground.Theswingjerkedtoastop.“What?” she croaked.
“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”Belinda kicked off and
relaxed into the brightlycovered cushions as theyswung. “Have you toldCamille about Parker’s otherwomen?”Selena shook her head.
She’d barely been able toadmit it to hermother,whenSelena had called to say hermarriage was over, and shewasn’tsureshecouldpickupthe pieces of her and
Camille’slifeonherown.“Would you have stayed
withhim?”hermotherasked.“For your daughter’s sake,would you ever go back tohim, nomatter howhe treatsyou,nowthatyouknowhowdifficult it is to make endsmeetonyourown?”Selena shook her head
again, understanding more,andless,abouthermotherbythe second. “Is thatwhy youtook Camille and me in?
BecauseofwhatDaddydidtoyou?AndnowParker—”“I took you in”—Belinda
inhaled the summer spice ofthenightair—“becauseIloveyou, and Iwish I’d never letyou go in the first place. Iknow it’s hard for you tobelieve that, or to want tocomebackforgood.AndI’mgrateful to have you andmygranddaughter here beforeyoumoveon.Butbeforeyouleave again, Selena, I want
you toknow. . . I’vealwayswishedyou’dcomeback.I’vealways wanted you to behappyhere,makea lifehere,raise your daughter here. Nomatterwhat’shappened.”Selena curled her feet
beneathher.“You let memiss Daddy.”
She needed to know it all.“All these years, you let mebe mad at both of you andmiss him, when you’d donewhat you had to, because he
—”“He was your father. You
werealreadybrokenhearted.Ididn’t want to take more ofhim away from you than Ialreadyhad.”Selena thought of the hazy
photographthatwasallofherdadshehadleft.Apictureofthem that she’d once kept inthe last book he’d ever readtoher—Alice inWonderland.Afterhe’ddisappeared,she’ddreamed of falling down a
rabbit hole and finding himon the other side. Her entirechildhood, she’d craved themagical future they shouldhave had together. When allalong,thatmagichadalreadybeen hers—here in this tinyhousewithhermother,who’ddone the best she could toprotect and raiseSelena.Theway Selena was now lovingandprotectingCamille.She’d taken Alice in
Wonderland with her when
she’d left forNewYork.Butshe realized she had no ideawhere her dad’s photo wasanymore. She’d put itsomewherewhenCamillehadfalleninlovewithAlice,too.Selena had always meant tolookthroughherthingsforit.She’dthoughtmaybeonedayshe’d even go searching forhim.Butnowsheknew—herfather hadn’t deserved to befound. He didn’t deserveanother second of Selena
missinghim.“You protected me,” she
said to Belinda, gentlystrokingherarm.“Your father loved you, I
think, in his own way. Justnot enough to keep his flyzipped up when he wasn’thome.”“Andnotenoughtowantto
stay a part of my life onceyou tossed his cheating assout.”Belindachuckled.Shetook
a cleansing breath, thenexhaled. “He was a bastard.There’snogettingaroundit.Iknow it’s been hard on you,honey.I’vebeenhardonyou.ButallIeverwantedwasforyou to make the rightdecisions, the ones that’llfinally give you somehappiness.AndIwantyoutodo the same thing forCamille.”“Youmean about Oliver?”
Selena wished there was
enoughlighttoclearlyseehermother’sexpression.“OliverandParker.”“Oliver’s nothing like my
husband, or Daddy.” Selenawascertainofthat,ifnothingelse. “He’s not the one who. . . he’d never cheat on methe way I hurt him withBrad.”Belinda swung somemore.
“Youcan’tseemtostayawayfrom the man he’s become,any more than you could
whenhewasaboy.”“I went to the hospital his
first day back to apologize.I’d hoped that would beenoughforbothofus.”“Youwerewrong.”And maybe Selena had
wanted to be wrong. Maybeshe still did, about so manythings.Belindalookedather.“The
choiceyoumakenextforyouand Camille will affect a lotofpeople.”
“Idon’t think thechoice isminealonetomakealoneanylonger.” By now, BelindamusthaveheardaboutSelenaand Oliver talking outsidetheirAAmeeting.“Do you love him?” her
motherasked.“Sincewhenhasmyloving
Olivereverbeenenough?”The swing creaked on its
hinges.The night drew a little
closer.
“IwantedCamilletohaveafresh start,”Selena said. “Nomore disappointments. Nomore fear and confusion andworrying what’s wrong orwhat’sgoingtohappennext.”“Andshecan’thave that if
youstillcareaboutOliver?”Selenaletthemswingfora
while, knowing the momenthad come, knowing hermother probably alreadyknew,but,Lordhelpher...“WhenOliverwasherethe
other day when youinterrupted us,” she said, “itwasn’t just to see me. AndnowIhavetodealwith...”“We have to deal with it,”
Belindaremindedher.Loving her mother for the
we, Selena pressed on. “Hewanted—he still wants—todiscuss something Marshasomehowguessed.SomethingI should have been straightwith you about before now.Witheveryone.Yousee...”
Selena’s stomach bouncedintoherthroat,chokingher.“I do see, honey.” Belinda
said.“MarshaDixon’snottheonly one with eyes andintuition where her child isconcerned. Or hergrandchild.”“Youknew.”“Do you?” Belinda took
Selena’s hand, where Selenawas clutching one of theswing’s cushions. “Do youknow who your daughter’s
fatheris?”Selena shook her head,
feelingitall.Thepastandtheregret.“Itwasn’taconsciouschoice at first. I was on myownwhenIfoundout.”“You wouldn’t have been,
ifyou’dtoldme.”Hermothersoundedsad,notdisappointedthe way Selena had thoughtshe’d be. “And it’s my faultyou didn’t know back thenthat I’d have helped you, nomatter what. I can be a
critical person, Selena. Afteryour father . . . Ibecame toofocused on getting throughlife. Surviving and makingthingsworkwhen I hadonlymyself to lean on. I couldn’tfail. I wouldn’t let thathappen to you, too. So Iworked hard at everything,and tried to do the very bestforyouIcouldeveryday.ButIleftyoufeelinglonely.Untilyou turned to someone elsefor the love you thought you
didn’t have at home. It tookme too long to realize that Iwaslosingyou.”“You haven’t lost me,”
Selenainsisted.“I’msosorry.For everything. I mademyselfbelievenothingwouldeverberightformehereafterDaddy left, and then Oliverleft. I made my ownproblems, not you. And Ithought I could run fromthem, even after I hadCamille.Iwantedhertohave
more than Ihad. I convincedmyself Parker could give usthat.When all this time . . .she had a grandmother whowould have doted on her.Noneofthisisyourfault.”Belinda patted Selena’s
hand. “It’s never wrong towant more for your child.But, honey, there’s nothingyoucandoforyourdaughter—nothing you can dobecauseyouloveherandyouwant the best for her—that
I’ll think is wrong. I’llsupport whatever decisionyoumake.”Selena caught the glimmer
oftearsinhermother’seyes.“You have supported us,
Mom.You’ve savedusmorethanIhadarighttoexpect.”“You’re saving yourself.
I’dliketostillhelpwiththat,as much as you’ll let me.”Belindadashedathereyes.“IspokewithMarshaalittlelastnight...aboutCamille.”
“Mom...”Belinda raised her hand.
“Whoever thegirl’s father is,Marsha and Joe Dixon wantonlythebestforyouandyourdaughter. I’m convinced ofthat.Inyourheart,Ithinkyouknowit,too.”“DoI?”“Thinking about having
themonyoursidescaresyouisall.”“That’snottrue...”“If we all get behind
whateveryouthinkisbestforCamille,” Belinda said, “youhave one less reason toconvince yourself that youneedtorunagain.”Selena left her mother and
the swing behind, moving totheothersideoftheporch.“Camille wants the fairy
tale,” she said. “And shedeserves that. White picketfences and perfect yards andbubble wands and happilyeverafter.”
“Why can’t she have thatandhavetheDixons,too?”“While her father is
marrying someone else andmaking a new family forhimself? Or if Oliver’s herfather, while he’s so caughtup in his crazy busy careerthat it keeps him from beingwith his family except whenthere’sanemergency?”“Camille will have you to
helpherthroughallthat.Andme. And her other two
grandparents. Brothers andsisters. It won’t be easy, but...isthefactthatit’llbehardagoodenoughreasonforyouto run again and keep yourdaughter away from all ofus?”Selena looked out into the
sleeping yard she and herdaughter had helped Belindacoddle.Every beautiful thingout therewaswaiting for themorning sun—for anotherchancetothrive.
“What do I do, Mom? Icould bring her back forvisits. I’ve already told her Iwill.But she loves it here. Ifsheknowsshehasevenmorefamily in Chandlerville, thatshebelongswith theDixons,too . . . if I explain aboutOliver or Brad . . .” Selenapaced across the porch.“What if one of them hurtsher somehow, even if theywon’t mean to? Or if I stilldecide to leave,andknowing
about the Dixons hurts her?WhatifjusttellingCamilleatall screws everything upagainforher,afterwhatshe’sbeen through already withParker?Ican’tstopthinkingIshould just leave it alone, nomatterhowmuchIwant...”No matter how much
SelenawantedOliverandtheDixonsforherself,too.“Maybe I should settle
Camille somewhere elsefirst,”shereasoned.
All day, Selena had beentrying to rationalize movingat the end of the school year—somehow getting themoneyfromParkerandpilingherself and her daughter andeverything they owned backinto Fred and leavingChandlervillebehind.“Maybe then I could
explain to Camille about herfather, once we have somedistancefromallofthis.”Selena knew she sounded
ridiculous. But Belinda hadsat through it all. Nojudgment. No advice. Justwaitingandsupporting.“WhatdoIdo,Mom?”“You stick.” Belinda
steppedtoherside,theswingcreaking softly as it rockedwithout them. “You stick itout this time, until you’resure you know the rightanswer.”Selena hugged her mother,
desperate for the soft, loving
feelofit.“I’velearnedalotfrommy
own mistakes.” Belinda heldon. “From living with themforas longasIhave.Wearewhat we are, inside—whereverwegointheworld.My moving us to this housedidn’tchangethedamagethatcamefromlosingyour father—for me or for you. Anymore than you leaving NewYork has erased whathappened with Parker. But
growing up in this housebrought you closer to theDixons and Oliver. Andcoming home has broughtyouandyourdaughtercloseragain. Don’t run this time,untilyou’resure lettinggo iswhatyouwant.”“So I should stick?” The
very opposite of whatSelena’s instincts werescreamingforhertodo.“As long as it takes to
figure things out. Not for
Camille or me or Oliver orParkerorBradortheDixons.Thisisyourlife,Selena.Yourchoice to make, for you andyour daughter. For yourfamily. There’s no right orwrong decision. There’s justwhatyouthinkisbest.”“Like you did when you
toldDaddytogo?”“Yes.”Belindaeasedaway.
“As hard as it’s been, I lovemy life inChandlerville.Theway I never would have if I
hadn’t told your father toleave.I’vefiguredouthowtobe happy, Selena. Now it’syourturn.”“I...Idon’tknowhowto
dothat.”Forsolong,damagecontrol had been all Selenacouldthinkabout.“You will.” Her mother
wrapped an arm aroundSelena. Together, they staredat the landscaped view theycouldn’tquitesee.“Andonceyou do, I’ll be right here,
fighting for whatever youdecide.”
Chapter
Sixteen
“Whoever the girl’s father is. . .” Camille’s grammy hadsaid.“MarshaandJoeDixonwant only the best for youandyourdaughter.”Camille hugged her tulip
quilt that Grammy had saidher grammy hadmadewhen
Camille’smommywas born.It was so early in themorning, there was hardlyany sunlight at all outside tokeep Camille company.Grammy and Mommy hadstayed up late talking on theporch. Their voices hadgotten Camille up when theHelloKittyclockonherwallhadsaidtwoo’clock.The sound of their voices
hadmadeherfeelweird,evenwhenshehadn’tbeenableto
make out the words. They’dsounded mad or scared orsomething. Things Grammyand Mommy didn’t like forCamille to hear them being.She’d snuck down thehallway anyway, to getcloser.Nowshekindawishedshehadn’t.Why hadn’t Mommy told
her?Whyhadn’tGrammy?Camille snuggled deeper
into the window seat she
loved—her room atGrammy’s had the coolestwindow.Bigenough tosleepin, so sometimes she did atnight after everyone else hadgonetobed.Becauseitmadeherfeellikeshewassleepingin Grammy’s garden, justoutside. Last night, she’dstayedinthewindowallnightwithherflowerquilt,lookingattheDixonhousenextdoor,eventhoughGrammy’shedgehid most of it from where
Camillewassitting.Next door was her family,
too?Is that what her mommy
and grammy had beensaying?Hergrandparents,herbrothers and sisters, and . . .her daddy might be overthere? Then why hadeveryonepretendedtheywerejust neighbors, and Oliverwas just a friend from whenMommy was little? EvenMrs. Dixon had pretended.
And why did Mommy wanttomoveonagain if theyhadanother family inChandlerville,plusGrammy?Or if Oliver’s her father,
whilehe’ssocaughtupinhiscrazybusycareer...Isthefactthatit’llbehard
agoodenoughreasonforyouto run again and keep yourdaughterawayfromallofus?Camille didn’t want to
leave, now more than ever.Evenifshedidn’tunderstand
how Oliver could maybe beher daddy. And she wasn’tsure she wanted him to be.AndwhowasBrad?Andwhywasn’t anyone telling heraboutanyofit?Mommy had sounded so
sad and scared, like she hadright before they’d leftParker. Camille wanted theDixonstobeherfamily.Thatwould be the coolest thingever, besides coming to livewith Grammy and maybe
getting a puppy. But shedidn’twantherMommytobescaredagain.AndCamillewanted a real
daddy.Shewantedtobepartof the Dixons’ fun family.But if she couldn’t knowabout them and stay inChandlerville, too, then shejustwouldn’t tellMommyorGrammy she that she knew.She’d pretend, the way sheused to pretend she didn’tknow that her mommy and
Parkerwerefighting,andthatMommy was getting sadaboutstayinginNewYork.Shesnuggledwithherquilt
and looked out at the Dixonhouse.How long, she wondered,
’tilpeoplewereupnextdoor?And how long ’til MommyandGrammywouldn’tnoticeif Camille snuck over there?She could stay outside allmorning if she had to, andtakeherquiltandherbubbles
and Bear and play in theshade by the back hedge nomatterhowhotitgot.Then when everyone was
too busy to notice, she’dsneak over. Just to play. Justto see Mrs. Dixon andeveryone and everything thatmight be hers, too. Andmaybe she could asksomeoneovertherewhatwasgoing on. Maybe that way,without makingMommy sadat all,Camille could findout
for sure if the Dixons wereherfamily,too.
Chapter
Seventeen
“Shoot me.” Oliver slappedthe lid of his laptop closedand stared at Marsha’sinfernal stove. He wasbeginningtobelievethethingwaspossessed.It was late Saturday
morning.He’dbeenup since
five with Teddy. Fin hadbrought him to Marsha andJoe’s room at the crack ofdawn, the toddler fussingagain.Turnedoutthekidhadbeen running a slighttemperature. When OlivercalledDru, she’d said not toworry unless the fever gotany higher. Oliver shouldpush fluids—yay! morediapers—and give Teddybaby Tylenol at carefulintervals.
Whichhad been a relief tohear and Oliver had almostgotten the kid back to sleep,whentherestofthetribehadwoken up to their lastSaturday before summerbreak, ready to rumble.Waiting for updates on Joewaswearingonallofthem.Thekidshadtakenturnsall
morning giving each otherand Oliver a hard time. Andnow his plan for a crowd-pleasing lunch that didn’t
come in a pizza box wasofficiallyabust.“Justshootme,”hesaid.Thepotofboilingmacaroni
heckledhimbycontinuingtobubble over. Smoke seepedthrough the oven vent. Hisrep as a man who could fixany problem he set hismindtohadjusthitarecordlow.Ifonly Xan Coulter could seehimnow.Hesnatchedupthepotbyitshandleanddumpedthehalf-cookedmacaroniinto
asteamingpileinthesink.“Is the oven s’posed to be
doing that?” Lisa asked.She’dfollowedhimfromoneroomofthehousetotheotherall morning, helping. “Itnever smells like that whenMom cooks. I don’t thinkthere’ss’posedtobesmoke.”Fin sauntered in and
laughed. “Told ya. He can’tevenmakecrapmacaroniandcheeseandfrozenfries.Let’sseeifhecanruinPB&J.”
“Look, kid . . .” Olivercaughthimselfbeforehe losthiscool.If some loser with zero
domestic skills had bargedinto Oliver’s life when he’dbeen the same age—needingthe kids’ help most of thetime to get through thesimplest tasks—Oliverwouldhavebeenasmartass,too.Hiseye tracked to the fireextinguisher on the wall bythe sink. Did he even know
howtouseone?Crackingthetightmuscles in his neck, hedraggedonpurpleovenmittsand opened the stove he’djustturnedoff.“Shutthedoortotheliving
room,” he said, “in case”—the fire alarm bleated itseardrum-shattering warning—“thedetectorgoesoff.”He dumped the charred
fries into the sink. The edgeof the sheet pan brushed hiswristandsingedhim.
“Damnit!”“I’ll get Teddy,” Lisa said
over the blare of the alarm,racing into the living roomwhere the toddler had finallygonedownforanap.Oliver grabbed the broom
and with the end of thehandle stabbed at thesquealing demon in theceilinguntilitshutup.“I’llget thepeanutbutter.”
Fin trudged to the pantry,lugging out a hernia-
inducing-sized tub of extra-chunky.ThekidshadmadeaseriousdentinitsinceOliverarrivedonthescene.“Maybe Dru can bring
something over from theWhip,”Oliverreasoned.“Who’sasoldasyou,”Fin
griped,“andcan’tcook?”Sandy-brown hair, athletic
and growing into lanky, hewore a ripped soccer jerseythismorning and almost-too-short jeans. He dumped his
burden onto the island andflung the refrigerator doorwide to root for the grapejelly Oliver had seen lurkingbehind the pitcher of orangejuice he’d mixed up fromconcentrate for breakfast. Ameal Oliver had finishedcleaningupless thananhourago.Followed immediately by
starting laundry, figuring outfrom the chore chart on thelaundry room wall who was
onvacuumdutyonSaturdaysand who got stuck with thebathrooms,anddragginghalfthe kids back to theirbedrooms to make the bedsMarsha insisted bestraightened at the start ofeveryday.Lunchshouldhavebeenacinchafterallofthat.“I cook just fine.” Armed
with a pot holder, his wriststill stinging, Oliver scrapedthe burned remains of whatusedtobecrinkle-cutfrieson
top of the failed mac andcheese.Finfakegagged.Oliverpulledtwoloavesof
bread from the cabinet underthe island. “PB&J isn’t sobad.”“Boris’s jelly only.” Fin
flicked a thumb over hisshoulder at the reminder listtackedtothewhiteboardthattook up half of therefrigeratordoor.“Allergies.”“Right.” Rule number one
inDru’smind-numbinglistofhelpfulreminders:Don’tsendanyone to the hospital.“Thanks.”“You’re no good at any of
this.”Oliver hadn’t failed at
something this badly sincehighschoolmath.Marshahadactually laughed at some ofhishorrorstorieswhenthey’dtalkedoverthephoneanhourorsoago.“Goodthingbeingadomesticgoddessisn’twhy
I’mhere.”“Whyareyouhere?”“BecauseI’vealreadydone
everything all of you mightthinkyoucangetawaywith,just becauseMarsha and Joearen’t around—long beforeyoufiguredoutthatrebellingis a natural high. So spreadthe word. Don’t waste yourtime.” He brandished thespatula for emphasis. “Notonlywill your chores doubleeachtimeyoutestme,butI’ll
be waiting for you at thestartinggate,ruiningyourfunfromtheget-go.”Fin rolled his eyes. “So if
you’re so tough and badass,why come back now just topush us around? Dad mightbe dead soon . . .” The kidwassuddenlyfurious.Excepthesoundedlikehewasgoingtocry.“Andthenweallgottago somewhere else, right?Who cares if you ride ourasses about making our
beds?”Lisa returned, the baby
squirminginherarms,almosttoobigforhertohold.She’dheard Fin’s tirade, and shewas lookingscared—thewayOliver suspected all the kidswere feeling, no matter howthey acted like nothing hadchanged in their ever-changingworlds.“I’mherebecauseI’myour
big brother. Like Travis is.Like Dru’s your big sister.
Andbrothersandsisterssticktogether. That’s why I’mback.AndJoeisnotgoingtodie. Mom says he’s doingbetterandaboutascrankyasyou guys this morning. Hewants to be back home,sleeping in his own bed.Soundslikethedoctorsmightokay him moving to anotherroom as early as thisafternoon.”“And that’s good, right?”
Lisa fed Teddy snack
crackers from a box she’dsnaggedfromthepantry.“It’shuge.”OliverlookedbetweenLisa
and Fin, feeling for them.Feeling too much like themsomedays.Evennowafterallhe’d accomplished with hislife, it was easy to expectwhatever good he had not tostaythatwayforverylong.“I know I’m a disaster
around here,” he said,“messing up all the things
DruandTravisdobetterthanme. But that doesn’t meanI’m not good at listening, ifyouneedtotalkaboutJoe,orif—”“Who wants to talk about
him?”Fin stomped tooneofthecabinetsforenoughplatesto feed everyone.He yankedopen the utensil drawer,grabbed knives and spoons.The sound of everythingclattering onto the counterstartedTeddycryingagain.
Oliver pressed his thumbsinto his eye sockets, close toscreaminghimself.“CanIhelp?”Everyone pivoted. Camille
stood in the doorway to thebackyard looking fullyrecovered from being ill,wearing pink shorts and ayellow top. There were dirtsmudges all over her, likeshe’d been rolling around onthe ground outside. Sheheaded straight for the baby,
smiling as if they were bestbuds. Teddy’s arms openedwide.Lisahandedhimover.“Does your mom know
you’rehere?”OliverwatchedCamille cuddle the toddler.She reached into the box ofcrackers Lisa had left on theisland and started feedinghim.“She comes over
sometimes.”Lisapickedupaspoon. Fin had alreadydraggedbreadoutofthebags
anddividedouttwoslicesforeach plate. Hewas smearingpeanutbutteronhalfofthem.Lisa started covering the restwithjelly.“She does?” Oliver
crouched in frontofCamille,who was looking guilty butdeterminednottoletitshow.“Howoften?”Shedidn’tanswer.“Saturdays mostly.” Lisa
looked up from thesandwiches.“It’snobigdeal.
ShehelpsMomsometimesisall.”“Do you come for the
cookies,too?”Oliverasked.Camille nodded. “I helped
make them last weekend.Your mommy made themwith stuff I can eat, whichmakes cookies taste gross.But hers don’t. She says it’s’causeI’mgoodhelp.”She’s sneaked over to the
houseafewtimes...We’ve had some lovely
chats.Oliver’s mother had been
baking with the girl. WhileSelena wanted Camilleprotected from his family,until Selena was ready toexplainthingstoherdaughterher own way. He tweakedCamille’s nose with histhumb and forefinger. Hetook Teddy before shecollapsed under the toddler’sconsiderableweight.“Those were the best
cookies I’ve had in years.”HepattedTeddy’s back.Thebaby fussed, reaching forCamille again. “Now I knowwhy.”Camillesmiled.“Where’s your mom?” he
asked.“Jogging. Every Saturday
morning. Grammy doesn’thave toworkonSaturdays. Ihelpherintheyard.Mommyruns. Evenwhen it’s raining.Running makes her happy.
She says it helps her think.Sometimesatnight,too,afterI go to bed. But always onSaturday.”“AndyourGrammyknows
you’re here?” He found thathardtobelieve.Camille bit her lip and
shook her head. “She thinksI’m—”Teddy barfed all over the
onlycleanT-shirtOliverhadleft. Oliver barked outsomething not suitable for
children of any age to hear.Likely not for most of theadults in Chandlerville,either.“Eeeeeew.”Finstabbedhis
knife into the peanut butterjar and backed away. “I’mnotcleaningthatup.”“Hedoesthatwhenhecries
too much,” Lisa said withauthority, while Oliver heldTeddyatarm’slength.Footsteps clambered from
where the other kids had
either been upstairs cleaningstuff or in the living roomdoing the homework theyhadn’t finished yesterday.Suddenly Oliver had fourmorespectatorssurveyinghislatestdisaster.“Lunch!” Gabe and
Shandra said at the sametime.Thehighschoolersgrabbed
their plates. Gabe snagged abag of chips from the pantrywhile Shandra took orange
soda from the fridge. Theysprinted for the dining roomas if they hadn’t nearlypolished off a box of cerealbetween them just a fewhoursago.ShandragiggledasshepassedOliver.“Man,” she said, “you
smelllikebabypuke.”“That’s because I’m
coveredinbabypuke.”“I’ll take him again.”
Camille held up her arms.“Helikesme.”
Fin and Lisa desertedOliver, too, with their platesanddrinks.Borisgrabbedhisfoodandleftwithoutsayingaword. Oliver was intimatelyfamiliar with the maneuver.Inabigfamily,youkeptyourheaddown,youkeptmoving,and good things happened.The slow and careless weregivenprojects,asMarshaandJoe liked to call them.Therewas always something to do.Especially when there were
babiesaround.Oliver shook his head,
alone now with Selena’ssmiling, helpful, not-supposed-to-be-there child.He got another whiff ofhimselfand,resigned,handedTeddyover.“Just for a second.” He
shoved a kitchen towel atCamille in case there wasanother eruption and edgedtoward the laundry room.“Then we’re getting you
home. My shirt from lastnight’s run is filthy, butanything’s better than this.I’llberightback.”He pulled the thing from
the laundry room floor andshuckedhissoiledT-shirtoff.At the soundof thedoorbell,hehunghisheadandstaredathistatteredtennisshoes.Theywere sporting even morecharacter now, complimentsofTeddy.“Perfect.”
Still holding his runningshirt, he used the puked-onone to wipe down hissneakers. Leaving itwith therestof the laundry,he turnedback into the kitchen andrushedpastCamille.“I’ll be just a few more
seconds,”hepromised.ShehadTeddyonthefloor.
The kid was giggling andplaying with her ponytailsand the pink polka-dottedribbons tied around them.
Oliver slowed, his heartbeating frantically at theperfect picture they made—his maybe daughter and hisyoungest foster brother,sharing a happy, carelessmoment. Then the doorbellpealedagain.He headed down the hall.
He tripped over a backpackhalf-tossed into a corner. Itspilled onto the faded runnerthat had looked a hundredyearsoldwhenhe’dlastlived
there.Thebellrangtwiceinarow this time, impatient,demanding. He yanked thedoor open, pulling his shirtover his head and oneshoulder.“Yeah?” he asked the
young woman in a suitstandingon the top step.Shestared at his half-exposedchest. He shoved his otherarm into his T-shirt andpulled down the tail. “Can Ihelpyou?”
“Um . . .” She seemed tomentally shake her thoughtsback on track. “I’m Ms.Walker. DonnaWalker, withFamily Services. I’m TeddyRutherford’s caseworker.Actually, several of the kidsaremine.Well,notmine.ButyouknowwhatImean.”Shetook a deep breath. “Iapologize for theinconvenienceonaSaturday.Our office was informed byMrs. Dixon about Mr.
Dixon’s heart attack. Wealreadyhadthisunannouncedsite evaluation on theschedule, and my supervisorwanted me to keep itconsideringthestrainMarshaandJoearegoingtobeunderfor the next while. We needto be certain Teddy’splacement isn’t toomuch forthe home. If otherarrangementsareneeded,it’llbeimportanttomakethemasquickly as possible. Waiting
too long might contribute toany attachment issues Teddycould experience aftermaking another change sosoon.Thatis...”She paused and really
looked Oliver over for thefirst time since staring at hispecs.“Excuse me,” she said.
“But who are you, exactly?And where are the Dixonchildren?”“I’mOliverBowman.”
Hepulledhis cell fromhispocket. Though what he’daccomplish with it at thispoint by calling Marsha, orTravisorDru,hewasn’tsure.His mother was entrenchedwith Joe,andhisbrotherandsister were both elbow-deepintheirdemandingSaturdays,workingfull-dayshifts.“I aged out ofMarsha and
Joe’s home seven years ago.I’m back to help the family.My mother was supposed to
have let someone in yourofficeknow.”Ms. Walker consulted her
notepad. “I have a record ofher call. But I see nothingabout you supervising thekidsinMrs.andMr.Dixon’sabsence.We’d assumed yourlocalsiblingswouldbetakingcareofthat.”“I’m giving them a break.
The kids are eating lunch inthe dining room,” he said.“They’re being well
supervised,and—”A toddler wail unleashed,
loud enough to be heard allthe way from the kitchen.Though it could have beenlaughter—with Teddy it wasalwaysatoss-up.“Is that the baby?” the
caseworker asked, a secondshriek echoing down thehallway.“Ishehurt?”“No,he’s...”Oliver glanced over his
shoulder.Ms.Walkerbrushed
pasthim.“Damn it.”He followed in
her wake, bringing up hiscontactsonhisphone.He had his brother’s and
sister’s numbers on speeddial.Marsha’s, too.Butnoneof them needed thedistraction of knowing hecouldn’thandletheonethinghis family had asked him todeal with while he was intown.Hestoppedscrollingatanothernumberandhesitated.
Teddy kept fussing, cryingfor sure. Ms. Walker was inthe kitchen now—with atoddler Oliver didn’t knowhowtosootheandalittlegirlwho might or might not beOliver’s daughter. TheFamily Services caseworkerwouldwonder about Camillebeing there without hermother. And Oliver wouldhave to come up with someexplanation that wouldn’tsend Ms. Walker next door
for a chat with BelindaRosenthal. Lord knew whatSelena’s mother would havetosayabouthim.Heselectedthenumberand
texted, 911. My parents’place.Hurry.Emergencies only, he’d
promised Selena. He rushedintothekitchen.“Hello,” Ms. Walker was
saying to Camille overTeddy’s sobs. “And who dowehavehere?”
This most definitelyqualifiedasanemergency.
“What?”SelenapantedontheDixon front porch, sweatyfromherrunandfreakedafterOliver’s text. “What’swrong?”Nothinghadlookedatodds
when she’d sprinted byBelinda’s house: no fire,
nothingexploding,nocopsatthe curb. The same with theDixon place. She’d rung thebell and stopped short ofpounding on the door to getin. Oliver had yanked thething open before she couldchangehermind.“I need your help.” He
grabbed her hand and pulledher through the cluttered butempty living room, thendownthehall.God. She hadn’t been in
thishouseinages.Butitstillfelt the same. Like a largefamily,likealotoflove,likeahomeyoucouldbeyourselfin.Likeheaven,she’dalwaysthought.“My helpwithwhat?” She
staggered over a backpackthathadbeenleftonthefloor,thengasped.Oliver’sarmhadcurled around her waist tokeep her moving toward thekitchen. “You said it was anemergency.”
“It is. Just followmy lead.Please.”“Oliver...”“Please.”His second please was
partially drowned out byanotherwoman’svoice.Theyrounded the corner andSelena stared for the splitsecond it took her to recoverfrom finding whoever elsewas in the Dixon kitchen—awoman she didn’t know,wearing work clothes in the
middle of a Saturday—kneeling and talking with ahappy-as-you-pleaseCamille.Selena rushed forward,
alarmbellsringingagain.“Is everything okay?” she
asked over her shoulder.“What’s my daughter doinghere?” She drew Camille toher side and confronted theother woman, who wasstanding now. “I’m sorry.Whoareyou?”“Camille’s fine,” Oliver
explained. “She’s beenkeeping Teddy company.Andthisis—”“Teddy?”Selenaasked.“Marsha and Joe’s
youngest,” he explained overthe low-level racket of whatmustbetherestoftheDixonbrooddoingsomethinginthedining room—presumablyeating lunch. “He wassleeping while Fin and Lisamade—while I was makingsandwiches for the kids. He
spit up on me, and Camillewas playingwith him on thefloorwhileIchangedandthekids took their food to thedining room. That’s whenMs. Walker—this is DonnaWalkerfromFamilyServices—rang the bell. So I calledyou. I thought it would be agoodtimeforCamilletoheadhome, before things got anymoreofftrackforMarshaandJoe’s site evaluation. Youremember how important
thosecanbeforanewfosterchild’splacement.”He sounded so certain he
wasmakingsense.“What are you talking
about?” Selena sputtered asCamille lifted the cute, red-headed little boy into herarms.“Howdidmydaughterget here?” Selena castCamille a disbelieving look.“You’re supposed to be nextdoor playing while yourgrandmother works in the
yard.”“I’m Ms. Walker.” The
otherwomanreachedoutherhand, all business. “FamilyServices.Howexactlydoyouand your daughter know theDixons?”TherestofwhatOliverhad
said, his stoically in-controlexpressionwith justahintofdesperationaroundtheedges,sankin.This was the Dixons’
caseworker.
“Teddy likes me,” Camilleinsisted. “He likes it when Icome over to play, andMrs.Dixon doesn’t mind.” Shegrinned atMs.Walker. “I’veknown him for weeks now.Soit’sokay.Mrs.DixonsaiditwasokayifIplaywithhimsometimes.”Which most definitely
wasn’tokaywithSelena.But neither was Oliver
making any worse animpression on Ms. Walker
thanhealreadyhad,thanksinpart to Selena’s wanderingspawn. Camille seemed fine,Selena consoled herself.AndTeddy certainly was contentin her daughter’s arms,whatever had happenedbefore Selena got there. Theenthralled baby reached aslobbery hand for Camille’shair and tugged. Camillelaughed. He let go of herponytailandclapped.Selenasnaggedtheopening
and knelt in front of herdaughter.“Sweetie,whydon’tyoulet
OlivertendtoTeddynowandhead back next door toGrammy’s? Does she knowyou’rehere?”Camille shook her head as
Oliver took the baby. Shelooked down at her favoriteflip-flops. They had fabricdaisies glued to the top ofthem.“I heard noise from the
kitchen,” she said. “Thewindowswereopen.Thekidswere talking and laughing,and there was a loud sound,and Teddy started crying.AndIknewIcouldhelp.Youweren’tbackyet,and...”“AndItoldyouIwouldbe
onlyhalfanhour.You’renotsupposed to leave the yardwithoutanadultwithyou.”“But I thoughtMrs.Dixon
washere,andIcouldhelpherbake for just a few minutes
likebefore,and—”“Like before?” Selena
looked toOliver. “How longhas she been coming overhere?He shook his head,
shrugged. His attentionflicked toward the socialworker.“Am I to understand,”Ms.
Walker said to Selena, “thatyou had no idea yourdaughterwasherealonewithMr.Bowman?”
“Shewas never alonewithme.” The tightness aroundOliver’s eyes was the onlyhinttothedegreeofpanichewascontrolling.“The baby doesn’t count,”
Ms.Walkercorrected.“Lisa and Fin were just
here,”Camillesaid,as if twomore of Marsha and Joe’sfoster kids were her goodbuddies. “They were helpingmakelunch.”“And I knew shewas here
the entire time,” a voice saidfrom thedoor to theDixons’backyard.Belinda stood there. She’d
been listening for who knewhowlong.Shewalkedtherestofthewayintothekitchen.“Mom?”Selenaasked.“Isteppedintomyhouseto
take a phone call and waswatchingthroughthewindowwhile Camille played,”Belinda explained to thesocial worker. “I saw my
granddaughter scamperthrough the bushes and headover.Marsha’snevermindedhercomingforavisitbefore.I figured Oliver wouldn’t,either,untilIhadachancetofetchCamillehome.”Selena skewered her
motherwithawe’lltalkglare.“Mrs. . . . ?” the social
workerasked.“BelindaRosenthal.”“How well do you know
theDixons?”
“They’ve been myneighbors since I moved toBellevue Lane, long beforeOliver joined them.”Belindamatched Ms. Walker’s no-nonsense stare. “If Marshatrustshimwithherkids, I’vegotno reason toworryaboutCamillebeinghere for a fewminutes while he’s takingcare of the house for hisparents. No one’s morecareful with their childrenthan the Dixons. And Oliver
was just visiting our housethe other day. Wasn’t he,Selena?”Selena nodded. She
clamped down on the rest ofwhatsheintendedtosayonceMs.Walkerwasgone.“AndIhelpedwithTeddy.”
Camille’s wide, innocenteyes, begged Selena tounderstand. “I’m really goodwithhim.Right,Oliver?”“Betterthanme,”hesaid.“High praise,” Selena
muttered.“I planned on sending her
home as soon as I realizedshe was here,” he explained.“But thingsgota littleoutofhand. Teddy woke from hisnap early.”He turned toMs.Walker.“Whydon’tyoutakehim inand talkwith thekidswhile I finish up with myneighbors?”Ms. Walker took the
toddler.“I have another
appointment this afternoon.”She looked less than thrilledatbeingdismissedbutturnedon the heels of herconservative, stylish pumpsand struck off for the diningroom. “I’d hate for yourparents not to get the mostbenefitfrommytimehere.”“Thank you,” Oliver said
when she was gone—toBelinda and Selena. “I can’tscrew up Teddy’s placementformyparents.”
“It’stheleastwecoulddo.”Belinda looked down atCamille. “You promised meyou’d stay in the backyard,young lady. Iwas scared outof my wits just now when Icouldn’tfindyou.”“So you didn’t see her
comeover?”Selenaasked.Belindashookherhead.“You had no idea she’s
beenoverherebefore?”“No. But I didn’t want to
make trouble forMarshaand
Joewiththeirsocialworker.”Oliversighed.“Thankyou,
bothofyou, forcoveringmyass.”“I’m sorry, Grammy.”
Camille hung her head. “But—”“She reallywas a big help
withTeddy,”Oliveroffered.“Evidently, they’re fast
friends,”Selenaadded.“But—” Camille started to
sayagain.“Mom, would you mind
takingherhome?”Belinda scolded Camille
withanadmonishinglook.“Itsounds as if someone’s notgoingtogetanymoreoutsideplaytime unless she stayswithmeorhermother.”“But—”“We’ll talk about this at
home.” Belinda tried to leadCamille toward the backdoor.“No.” Camille refused to
budge. “I don’t wanna go. I
won’t.Iwon’tgo!”“Camille?”Stunned,Selena
kneltinfrontofher.Her daughter’s face was
bright red,herbreathrushinginandout.Shewastremblingandclosetotears.“Youshouldn’thavesnuck
over uninvited,” Selenainsisted, “even if Mrs.Dixon’s let you before. Youshouldn’thavewanderedoverwithout your Grammyknowing. But we can talk
aboutitatourhouse.”“Butthisismyhouse.”Her
daughterstompedherfoot.“Ibelonghere,too.Yousaidso,and I wanna stay. I wannaplaywithTeddyandtheotherkidsbeforewemove.Whydowe have tomove?Whydo Ihavetogonow,when—”“This is not your house.”
ThewordschokedSelena.Ormaybe it was the panic ofwatchingherworstnightmarecometrue—herchildhurtand
scared because of somethingelseSelenahadscrewedup.She hadn’t stopped
worrying over what to doabout the Dixons sincetalking with Belinda lastnight. She’d stayed gonelonger on her run than she’dintended,goingoverandoverthings in her mind whileshe’d rationalized continuingtoavoidOliver.Howdidshetell Camille? What did shesaytoBradandDru?Whatif
Oliver wasn’t her daughter’sfatherlikeSelenahadalwayshoped? What if he was andtherewasnochanceforthemtobearealfamily?And now Selena was
gazing into her daughter’sconfused expression,wishingtherewas someway tomakethe next few minutes lessscary than they were alwaysgoingtohavebeen,nomatterwhatSelenasaid.She felt Oliver’s hand on
her shoulder. He knelt, too.She saw Belinda’s concernlockontothethreeofthem.“When did I say this was
yourhouse,Cricket?”“You told Grammy the
Dixonsweremyfamily,too.”Two tears spilled fromCamille’s eyes.Olivergentlythumbed them away. “Lastnight,ontheporch.Icouldn’tsleep. And I snuck up tolisten. And you said youdidn’t know how to tell me.
Or ’splain about Oliver and. . . someone else. You said...”Camille stared at Oliver,
her tiny chest rising andfalling while Selena’s heartimploded.“Could you really be my
daddy?”
Oliver stared into eyes that
looked exactly like his. Ordid he just want, badly as itturned out, for Camille tobelongtohim?He’d lain awake the last
two nights wanting anotherchancetotalkwithher,gettoknowher,makehersmileandmaybe look for himself alittle in how she acted andtalked. But now she washurting, the way Selena hadsaid she would. More tearstrickleddownhercheeks.
“Yes, Cricket.” Selenaturned her daughter to faceher. “Oliver might be yourfather.Butwe’renotsure.”Camille looked back to
him. “That’s what you wereasking, when you werelooking for someone’sdaddy.”Oliver nodded, his voice a
no-show. His heart was apuddle of mush as Selenastroked her daughter’s armandCamilleflinchedaway.
“Oliver had just foundout,sweetie,” Selena explained.“And...”Camille backed into
Belinda, and hergrandmother’s arms closedaroundher.“We wanted to be sure
before telling you,” Oliverfinally got out. “That’s whywe’vewaitedtotellyou.”We.He caught Selena’s
surprised glance at him
making her decision to delaydealing with Camille’spaternityawe thing.Becausehe didn’t like how Camillewaslookingathermom,asifSelena were suddenly theenemy. He took Selena’shandandignoredthewayshetensedathistouch.“You’re not sure youwant
me?”Camillelookeddownather flip-flops, gutting Oliverwhenherbottomlipquivered.“OfcourseIwantyou,”he
said. “And my parents forsure want you as theirgranddaughter, whetheryou’remineornot.Everyonein this familywill be thrilledtohaveyou—lookhowmuchTeddylightsupwhenheseesyou.Butwe’reworriedaboutconfusing you. We wantedeverythingtobeokayforyouwhenyoufoundout.”Camille stared at him.
Hope, doubt, fear . . . itwasallthere.
“Ialwayswanted. . .tobepart of your family.” Shesnuck a peek at Selena andthenuptoBelinda.“It’swhyI came over today, even if Iwasn’t supposed to and Ishouldn’t have listened lastnight, and I wasn’t going totellwhatI’dheard.ButIstillwanted to be . . . to have afamilylikeyours,”shesaidtoOliver. “But you knew andyoudidn’ttellme.Youdidn’twantmetoknowand...”
Her attention flickered toSelena before she turned inBelinda’sarmsandburiedherhead against hergrandmother’stummy,cryingsohardnowshecouldbarelycatchherbreath.Belinda lifted Camille into
herarms.“I’ll takeherhomeandcalmherdownwhileyoutwo talk.” She gave Oliverherfullattention.“Ireallyamsorry I lost track of her andsetallofthisintomotion.”
Selena stood once hermother and daughter weregone, her hand covering hermouth. “How did thishappen?”“Fast.”Oliverwincedatthe
memory of the franticbeginning to Ms. Walker’svisit. “It was all happeningtoo fast. That’s why I sentyou the 911.Camillewalkedintothemiddleofacompletemeltdown. And then I didn’tknow what to tell the social
worker about her. FamilyServices might crucify myparents because of how I’vehandledthings.ButIcouldn’ttellMs.Walkerthatontopofeverything else that I had anunsupervised minor overwho’d been told not to visitthe scary people next door.And I didn’t want to upsetCamille. The last thing Iwantedwastomakehercry.”Selena dropped her arm.
Her hand slapped against the
thighofher joggingpants.“Iguessthatplan’smoot.”“Hey, I’mnot theonewho
letthepaternitycatoutofthebag to your daughter.” Herubbedhis temple. “Damn it,I’mtryingtodothebestIcanfor everyone. And not ruinmy parents’ chances to keepTeddy.Therewasnooneelseto help me this morning, noonecloseenough.So,I—”“KnewI’dcomerunning?”“Iknewyou’ddo the right
thingonceyougothere. Justlike you’ll do the right thingnow that Camille’s askingquestions about me and myfamily.”“The right thing being
tellinghereverything?”Hehadnoideaanymore.“I
want to protect her, too,Selena. Iwant toprotect youboth. But I’m worried aboutmy parents, and I know youcareaboutthem.”“And?” Selena looked as
flabbergastedashefelt.“And you kissed me the
other night. You agreed totalk things through. Then Idon’t hear fromyou forovertwenty-four hours. I’mturning myself inside out,destroying potential businessopportunities to stay inChandlerville for my family—and for you and Camillenow.” Staying for himself,too,becauseleavingfeltmoreimpossiblebythehour.“Hell,
Camille’s already figuredoutmost of it for herself. But Ibetyou’restilltryingtothinkofawaytodealwithwhoherfatheriswithoutdealingwithwhatever this is between us.Meanwhile, we can barelykeepourhandsoffeachotherwhenwe’realone.”Selena smoothed both
palms down her thighs,drawing his attention to hertoned, trimbody.She lookedlike she could run for days.
But she couldn’t run fromthem now.He found himselfcloser. He reached for hershoulders.Heheld fastwhenshewenttopullaway.“You don’t distrust me
nearly as much as you wantto.” It had been a stunningconclusion he’d come tosomewhere in the middle oflast night. “And you don’tlikeitonedamnbit.”“No,” she admitted. “I
don’t.”
“You’ve wanted me faraway from you from thestart,”hesaid,“not just fromyourdaughter.Thishasneverbeen entirely about Camille,hasit?”“Ofcoursenot.”“Because you still feel
guilty about things you didsevenyearsago?”Selena shook her head,
looking like she despised theboth of them for herweakness.
He aligned their bodiesuntil her heart beat next tohis. She was warm from herrun. She was looking up athim, seeing and feeling him.Shewassoftagainsthim,likeshe’dbeenalifetimeago,likein his dreams of her eversince.“Because you wouldn’t
have been able to stay awayfrom me,” he said, “whetherCamillewas involvedor not.Anditterrifiesyou,whatthat
could mean. There’ssomething in you for me,Selena Rosenthal. There’ssomethingbetweenusstill.”She nodded in silent
agreement.“And you don’t want to
trust me again,” he repeated.“Evenif this—youandme—could help Camille feel safeandhappy?”Selena tensed against him.
“Parker started out saying hewanted to make me and my
baby happy. Almost as soonas I limped into New YorkandmethiminsomeclubI’dheardIcouldgeta jobdoingwhatever clubs paid girlsmyagetodo.I’dscrewedupanychance I had to have you inmy life. I couldn’t face mymother, not knowing whosebaby itwas. Iwasdesperate.And thereParkerwas, actingsmitten,readytotakeover.”ThewayOliverhadtriedto
their last fewmonthsofhigh
school. The way he waspushinghernowtodealwithCamille’spaternity.“Take over what?” he
asked.“Me.Myeducation,Parker
calledit,whileIlearnedtobesomething besides eighteenand pregnant, though collegewas always out of thequestion, because no onecouldknowawifeofhishadnodegree.Hewasreadytoberesponsible for my child,
though.He’d raise her as hisown.Aman of a certain ageshould settle down, he said,and make his life look morestable.And Iwas so gratefulat first.Hewasgoing toslayallmydragons.CamilleandIwere going to be safe,forever, the way I’d oncedreamed you’d make lifebetter. All I had to do wasbettermyselfandkeepParkerhappy.”She looked ready to run
again.ShesettleddeeperintoOliverinstead.“Except Iwas never going
to be able to make Parkerwant the kind of familyCamille and I deserved,” shecontinued. “Not when therewas a big city of otherwomen out there panting tomake him happywithout theadded baggage of being ahusbandandfather.So,goodriddance. Now my daughterwillbehappybecauseofme.
Not because we needsomeone else to decidewhether he loves us enoughto walk through the door attheendoftheday.”“YouthinkIcouldstillhurt
you.”Oliver couldn’t keep his
handstohimself,slidingthemup and down her curves andfeeling her body warm forhim. He desperately wantedtomeetParkerandwring theman’scheatingneck.Hestill
wanted to slay every dragonSelena was determined toface on her own. He wantedthatchancewithCamille,too.But...“No matter how much we
might still feel for eachother,” he said, “you think Icouldstillhurtyou.Soyou’redetermined not to give this achance.”“You could destroy me,”
Selenawhispered.Thenshepressedherlipsto
his.He took the kiss he’d
wanted since she’d drivenaway from him two nightsago. Once again she’dinitiated it, when he’d halfexpected her to shove himaway. To tell him to go tohell. He wouldn’t have beensurprised if she’d bitten him,given her current state ofmind. Instead, she was alloverhim.Shestillexpectedtheworst
of him. But she was risingonto her toes to give himmore, take more, want morewith him. Just like whenthey’d been kids, only betternow.Shewasstillafraid.Butnotinthismoment,whileshearched, stretched, luxuriatedinhishands sliding fromherwaist upher ribs, his thumbscaressing the sides of herbreasts. Her hands slippedunder his T-shirt, her nailsscraping across his belly and
then around and up, down,smoothing over his butt, thebacksofhisthighs,asifshe’dneverstop.God, he hoped she never
stopped.He deepened the kiss,
shuttingoutthesoundofMs.Walker talking with the kidsin the next room. Selenaangled her head so theirmouths could feast. She stillhaddoubts,buthecould feelherneedblowingthroughthe
compulsion to be careful.Therewashonestyinsideher,too, for him and what theycould have. And trust.Somewhere deep where shecouldn’t stop it, she stillwanted to trust him. He’dneverbeenmorecertainofit.Her complete openness
while she explored his bodyagain was sexier than hergasp, her touch, her tongueseeking his. This was hisSelena, giving everything,
taking more. And he wantedeverytaste,everysip,untilhewasdrowninginit,inher.There’d never been half
measures between them.All-consuminghadbeentheonlyway they’d known how tolove as teenagers. The sameall-or-nothing would be thepath they’d travel as adults.And it had Oliver spooked,the same as Selena. Becausethis time around if theyfailed,itwouldn’tbebecause
theyhadn’tknownbetter.He ached to lift her to the
kitchen’s islandandsettle in.Shewasallbutwrappingherbody around him, smoothskin and sleek muscles andslipperyrunninggearthathidnext to nothing of her. Shekissed his neck. Hereciprocated and tasted saltand Selena, nibbling beneathher ear, licking at the goosefleshrushingoverher.“Oliver,” she whispered.
“Please.”“Selena...”They were begging. Their
bodiesweredemanding.Andtheycouldn’tdothis.Notyet.This needed to be slow andsure and in it for the longhaul, before they sank anydeeperintothefloodofit.Hecurled his hands around hershoulders. Hers cupped hisface.She broke the carnal
rhythm of their kiss and
pressed her lips to his, overand over. Healing, gentletouches that had himpromising himself to protecther, Camille, and everythingthatwasimportanttothem.The raging, relentless tide
of desire finally began toease. Leaving her smilinggently, her eyelids closed asif she were having the bestdream.Helethisfingerstrailthroughherhair,whereithadescaped the ponytail she’d
caught themassof curls intofor her run. Her smilewidened. Her eyes flutteredopen.“Hello,”shesaid.He lifted her hand and
looked down at her palm,nestled trustingly in his.“Hello.”He drew the backs of her
fingers to his lips. And thenhe let go, so she wouldn’thaveto.Her features lost some of
their softness. Worry creptback. Doubt, as sheswallowed and bit her lowerlip.“Whatarewegoingtodo?”
sheasked.“Wecan’tjust...”“No,”heagreed,“wecan’t.
Butwecanwork throughallof this together, especiallythingswithCamille. I’ll dealwith Ms. Walker, and thenget Travis over here on hislunch break. You and I canwalk Camille through her
questions.Andthenwe’ll—”Selena’s cell phone played
Mission:Impossible.He chuckled. She smiled
and rolled her eyes. Shepressedthecallthrough.“Mom?” she said. “I have
youonspeaker.I’mstillwithOliver. I’ll behome in just a—”“It’sCamille,”Belindasaid
in a rush. “Her EpiPen’s notworking. She’s really havingtrouble breathing. I’ve
already called herpediatrician.Thenursesaidtobring her straight to the ER.We have to get her to thehospital, Selena.We have togorightnow.”
Chapter
Eighteen
“The doctors know whatthey’re doing,” Belindainsisted, her arm circlingSelena’s waist. They werewaiting outside the ERcubicle Camille has beenwhiskedinto,shooedasidebythenursesso thecriticalcare
teamcouldworkonSelena’sdaughterwithoutdistraction.“Of course they do,”
Marsha reassured them both,hugging Selena from theother side. “You gotCamillehere quickly. That makes allthedifference—”“In severe anaphylaxis
cases,” Selena finished forher, whispering the doctor’sdescription of Camille’scondition.Selena was shaking so
badly, if the other womenhadn’t been supporting her,she’dhavecollapsed.Severe.It was a word she’d never
heard used about herdaughter’s allergies. But sheknew the horror stories.Worst-case scenarios. ThishadbeenhernightmaresinceCamillehadbeenababyandfirst diagnosed with foodsensitivities. And all shecoulddowaswaitnow,while
specialists tried to stabilizeherbaby.“They have her on
oxygen.” By the time Selenahad rushed her daughter intothe ER, Camille had beenlethargic, almostunconscious. A team ofnurses and the doctor hadbeenwaiting.SohadMarsha,who’dhurrieddownfromthecardiac floor. Oliver hadcalled ahead and energizedeveryoneintomotion.Within
seconds, Camille had beentakenfromSelena’sarmsandintoatreatmentarea.Now Selena couldn’t tear
her gaze from the image ofher daughter lying immobileonatreatmenttable.Herplayclothes had been cut awayfrom her chest so monitorsand heaven knew what elsecould be hooked up. One ofher flower flip-flops lay onthe floor beneath the examtable. The other was still on
her left foot.Therewere twoIVs, one in each arm. Thefrantic activity around herhad settled down in the lastfewminutes.Thathadtobeagoodsign.Right?“They’re just taking
precautions,”Marsha assuredher. “Theparamedics did thesame with Joe when theycame to the house. They’restabilizing her. Making surewhatever’shappeningdoesn’tgetanyworse.”
Selena nodded. Then herbreath caught as sheremembered everythingMarsha had been throughearlierthatweek.“You should be upstairs
with your husband,” Selenainsisted.“Dru’s with him. Joe’s
spirits are up. We justreceived the approval tomove him to the step-downunit. Travis headed over tothe house so Oliver can be
here—Oliver feels so bad,thinking it was somethingCamille ate when she waswithhim.Everyone’sexactlywheretheyshouldbe,Selena.Including me. Camille isimportanttous.Youbothare.We’llget through this.Don’tyouworry.”Wecanworkthroughallof
this together, especiallythingswithCamille...Selenafoughtbacktears.Belinda’s hold on her
tightened.“Thank you for being
here,” Selena said to bothwomen.“Ms.Rosenthal?”Thevery
young trauma doctor who’dbeen working on Camillestepped around the half-closed green curtain that hadbeenpulledaroundCamille’sERbed.“Yes.” Selena rushed
toward him. “How is mydaughter?”
“Wehaveherbreathingandheart rate better controlled.She’s still pretty out of it.We’retreatingherwithahighdose of steroids for theasthma symptoms, othermedsfor theprimaryallergy.We’ll be admitting her andobserving her closely for thenext twenty-four hours.Dependingonherresponsetotreatment we may need tokeepherlongerthanthat.Butfornow...”Hesmiled.“I’m
cautiously optimistic thatwe’re out of the woods withthisattack.She’saveryluckygirl that you got her here soquickly. Her airway wasalmostcompletelyobstructed,and her blood pressure wasdangerously low,compromising her heart’sabilitytobeatproperly.”“What...”Selenacouldn’t
finish. She felt Camille’sgrandmothersjoinher.“What caused this?”
Belinda asked. “She’s neverhadareactionthisbadbefore,hasshe?”Selena shook her head.
“Butherpediatricianswarnedme this might happen. Theysaid to let her lead a normallife but to be careful that theadults around her knewwhatto do in case of anemergency.”And that had been the
beginning of the end forSelenaandParker—longafter
she should have left him forother reasons, but had stayedthinking she owed herdaughter to try tomake theirfamily work. Parker’scarelessness where Camille’sallergieswere concerned, hisrefusal to takeprecautionsorlearn anything about how tohelp her if she becamereactive, had been the finalstraw.“There was no way to
foresee this.” The doctor
shoved his clipboard underhis arm. “Your daughtercould have outgrown herallergies without an extremeanaphylaxis episode everhappening. Most kids do. Itsounds like you’ve doneeverything just right. Myteam will take it from hereand get her back on her feetand playing again in notime.”“But can you tell us what
causedit?”Marshaasked.
“Oneofthenurseswilltakea history of what you thinkshemighthavebeenexposedto immediately prior to theonset of symptoms, butunfortunately that might nottellusanythingforcertain.”“I wasn’t with her the
whole time—”Selena startedtosay.“Iwas.”Oliverappearedat
herside.Marsha and Belinda faded
away as he took Selena’s
hand, his grip firm,reassuring, his eyesconcerned but calm. Hisattention strayed to whereCamillewas lying so still onthe table beyond the greencurtain. He quite simplymelted.“I’m so sorry,” he said to
Selena.“It’s not your fault,” she
assured him. “You couldn’thave—”“She was with me this
morningwhenshe—”“And me,” Belinda
interrupted, behind them.“We don’t know what shecame into contact with orwhen.”“And even when we are
sure,” Selena said, “thedoctorwasjustsayingnoonecould have predicted this.And she surprised you thismorning on top of it. Don’tblameyourself.”“She’s so sick,” Oliver
said. “And she could be my...”Selenapushedontohertoes
and kissed him, loving himforbeingsoconcerned.“Yes,”shesaid.“Shecould
be.Sopullyourself together,like any parent would haveto. She’s going to be okay.”Selena was more able tobelieve thatnow,withOliverbesideher.Oliverkissedherback,then
inched away, steadier now.
HisfocusreturnedtoCamille.The ER doctor cleared his
throat. “As I was saying.Someone will be by with asurvey for you to fill out, sowe can try to identify thecause.I’vealreadygottenmystaff started on admittingCamilletopediatrics.”“Thank you,” Marsha
replied.The doctor left as one of
the ER admissions nursesrushed over. “Mrs.
Gryphon?”Oliver’sattentionshiftedto
the nurse, then to Selena.Givenhisstartledexpression,it was the first time he’dheardhermarriedname.“Your husband’s on the
phoneat thedesk,” thenursesaid.“What?”SelenaandOliver
bothasked.“We had some admit
questions regarding herinsurance,” the nurse
answered while she eyed theman Selena had just beenkissing. “The insurancecompanymusthavecontactedyour husband. He insists onspeaking with you beforehe’lldealwithus.”“You can’t be serious.”
Belinda sounded ready toexplode.Selenawasrighttherewith
her. From the rising fury onhisface,sowasOliver.“He was asking for details
about his daughter’scondition,” the nurse said,“butyoutoldusyouwereherprimary guardian. Weweren’t sure what to say tohimso...”“She’s not his daughter,”
Selenacorrected.“HewantedtoadoptCamille,”shesaidtoOliver,“but . . .”She lookedto Belinda. “He wasn’t thefatherIwantedforher.”Thenurse, eyes rounded at
thepersonaldetails,pointeda
thumb over her shoulder tothe admissions desk.“Whoever he is, he’s on thephone.Yourdaughter’slistedasadependentonhispolicy,and at the moment he’srefusing to provide theinsurance rep confirmationaboutherstatus.”“I’ll take care of the bill,”
Oliversaid.“What?” Selena shook her
head. “That’s not necessary.It could be thousands of
dollars if they keep her herefor a couple of days. Andwe’re still covered byParker’s insurance. He’s just—”“Trying to control you.
He’s harassing you whileyour daughter needs urgentmedicalcare.”Oliverpulledacredit card from his wallet.“Use this to cover heraccount, then hang up thedamnphone and cut himoutoftheloop.”
“Oliver,don’t...”He had to stop. It was a
wonderful if overly generousgesture. The rational part ofSelena could see his point.Eliminating Parker from thesituation was the mostefficient way to handlethings. But she couldn’t takeit—Oliverthrowingmoneyather problems the way he’dbankrolled his family from adistance.Hehadtostop.Theyhadto
stop. Everyone, everything,had to juststopforaminute,until Selena could thinkstraight and didn’t have theurge toshove theman’sgoldcarddownhisthroat.“Idon’twantthis,”shetold
him. “You don’t have to dothis. You don’t knowanythingaboutParkerandmeandCamille.Please,don’tputyourself in themiddleofourproblems.”“It’s done.”He handed his
card to the nurse. Once shewas gone, he said, “Whathappened between you andthe bastard you married isnone of my business, if youdon’t want to talk about it.But Camille’s family,whether I’m her biologicalfather or not. She’s going toget what she needs—withoutyou having to do yourhusband’s bidding while hebullieshiswaybackintoyourlife. That’s not going to
happen as long as I have adimeinmybankaccount.”
“How long has she beenhere?”MarshaaskedDru.They were staring through
the windows of Joe’s CICUroom. He was scheduled tomove to step-downtomorrow. He was doing aswell as a man could expect
less than two days afterhaving open-heart surgery.Whichmeanthewasswollenand puffy and paler thanMarsha had ever seen him.Andhewasinalotmorepainthan he wanted anyone toknow. But as she had everytimeshe’dseteyesonJosephDixon since her first day atcollege,shegazedathimandsmiled.They were going to get
through this stronger than
before.Hehadsomuchtolivefor.
Just look at the surprise thathad been awaiting her whenshe’d returned from the ER.Bethanywascurledupbesideher dad, half on his hospitalbed,oneleghangingovertheside, her head nestled onJoe’sshoulderwhileheslept.“Bethie was here when I
came back from thebathroom,” Dru said, “abouthalf an hour ago. The nurses
said she’d just slipped in.And she’s already stayed toolong. I’ve run themoff twiceso she could have as muchtime with Dad as she wants.Doyouthinkshe’llstayoncewegetheroutofhisroom?”“I think she should know
how much we want her tostay.” Like Marsha washoping Selena and Camillewerelearninghowmuchtheywere wanted. Like Oliverhopefully was. “Our family
hastopull togethernow,andnotjustforJoe.”Dru huggedMarsha to her
side. “Bethie’s doing a goodjobattheWhip.Whateverweneed her to do. She’s evenletting me hang some of herworkonthewalls.Unsigned.Of course it’s too good.Everyone knowswhose it is.There’s so much of her ineach painting. But no onebothers her about them. Youshould see people, Mom.
They stop and stare andsmile.”Bethany had a gift for
bringing her imagination tolife so others couldexperience how she saw theworld.Itwasinhandlingday-to-day reality that she stillstruggled.“She must have heard by
now,” Marsha said, “thatOliver’sback.”“She’stalkedtohimalittle.
People in town are trying to
get her to spill what sheknows about Oliver andSelena. But she’s notgossipingaboutthefamily.”“Of course she’s not.” No
matter how angry Bethanymight be at her brother forbeinggonesolong,she’dstillprotecthim.“Is Camille okay?” Dru
asked.“They’re keeping her for a
dayfromthesoundofit.Butshe’sgoingtobefine.Oliver
and Selena, though . . . hewants to love those two somuch.Selena’sterrifiedtolethimtry.”Dru watched Joe and her
sister for a while beforeresponding. “Selena’s afraidhe’sgoingtorunagain.”“Weallare.”Dru raised an eyebrow.
“Except she’s a runner, too.All those years ago fromBelinda. From her problemswith her husband. From
Chandlervilleagain, fromthesoundofit.AndnowOliver’scrowding her too much, toosoon. Maybe so he can dowhathethinksheneedstoforthe family—formeandBradand you and Dad—and thenleaveagainhimself.”Marshatookinthepeaceful
picture of Bethany curlednext to the foster fatherwho’dforeverclaimedherashis own. Tears rushed.Blinking her eyes, she kept
thematbay.“Wecan’tletthemgo,”she
said. “Oliver or Selena. Wecan’tloseCamille.”“We won’t.” Dru leaned
her head on Marsha’sshoulder. “Not without afight.Notforever.Notevenifthey do leave. We’ll makesure they knowwe’ll alwaysbe here for them. The wayyou’ve let Bethany know.And look, she’s back. She’swith Dad when it matters.
Camillewillhaveherchancetoknowus,too.”“Family stands up for
family.”ThewayOliver hadpushed back against Selena’shusband’s asinine demandsdownstairs. Marsha kissedDru’stemple.Her daughter’s eyes
watered, too. She smoothedher hand over her belly.“Camillebelongswithus.”Marsha dug into the
pockets of the light cardigan
she wore to counter theartificial cold of the CICU.She passed over a bundle ofunused tissues. “The wayyourbabywillbelong?”“It would break my
heart”—Dru sniffed—“formy baby not to grow upknowing . . .” She steppedback. Stared at Marsha, hersecretout.“Youknew?”Marsha pulled her into a
hug. “That you and Braddon’twanttowaituntilfallto
getmarried,formorereasonsthan your dad’s health?You’ve been pushing yourfood around on your platewhen you come for Sundaydinner. You usually havemore energy than the rest ofuscombined,butBrad’sbeenobsessed with you gettingyour rest since Joe’s heartattack.”SheeasedDruaway.“Plus,” she added, “you’re
blooming, honey. You’re
morebeautiful thanI’veeverseen you, and that’s sayingsomething. Your fiancéobviously thinks so, too, thewayhewatchesyouwhenhethinksnoonewillnotice.I’msohappyforyouboth.”Dru laughed, her tears
spillingover.“I’mawateringpot.Hedoesn’tknowwhattodowithme.Helikesitbetterwhen we fight, and then wemake up. Now he just sitstherewhenIgetlikethisand
holdsmy hand andwaits forme to turnback intomyold,crankyself.”“Oh, the crankywill come
as the hormones surge andyour feet swell and you bothare freaking out about howtherestisgoingtowork,nowthatyou’readdinganew lifeintothemixofyourjobsandyourmarriageandeverythingelse you both love to doaroundtown.”“We’dalreadydoanything
for this baby,” Dru gushed.“Anything. We stay up atnight,dreamingofhowitwillbe, everything we’ll haveoncewehaveourownfamilyto raise. I don’t know howyou and Dad do it, so manykids from so many differentplaces, and somehow youmadeusallfeellikewewereyourpriority.”“Eachofyouwas.”Eachof
them still was. Every childMarsha and Joe had fostered
stillbelongedtothem.Wouldalways belong with them.“Just like this baby, andCamille, if she’sBrad’s,willbeyourpriorityfromnowon.That’s how love works. Nomatter how full your heartfeels, there’s room for morewhen someone you loveneedsyou.”“Like Camille and Selena
need Oliver, regardless ofwhatsomepaternitytestsays.They’remeanttobetogether,
Mom. We can’t let themscrewthisupagain.”
Chapter
Nineteen
Selena gathered her pursefrom the small table in herdaughter’shospitalroom.Shewas stillwearingher jogginggear from that morning. Shesmelled like her run and likea mother who’d been scaredout of her mind for the last
four hours. She needed toclean up before she tackledmoredrama.“You’ll make the right
decision.”Belindahadsettledinto the chair besideCamille’s bed as soon asSelenastood.Once Camille had been
moved to the pediatric unitand fallen asleep, Selena’smother had split her timebetween pacing back andforth across Camille’s tiny
room grumbling aboutParker,andsilentlypacing inthe hallway outside. She’dstepped back in a momentago, saying Oliver waswaiting to giveSelena a ridehome.Where, Selena had nodoubt, she and Oliver wouldbe dealing with Camille’squestions, Parker’s latestasshole move, and Oliver’sdetermination to interveneonSelena and Camille’s behalf.All before Selena could get
herself cleaned up and backtothehospitalinherowncar.“Is there a right decision?”
sheasked.“You’re worried about the
money Oliver wants to shellout?”hermotherasked.“Andwhatitmeans?”“I don’t knowwhatany of
thismeans.OrhowI’mgoingtoexplainwhathappensnexttoCamille.”Belinda pulled her
newspaper from the canvas
bagshe’dhadthepresenceofmind to grab when they’draced out of the house withCamille.Selena’smotherhadbrought her bag, Camille’sflowerquiltfromherwindowseat, and Bear. Meanwhile,Selena didn’t even have herpurse. Her mother had saidshe’d sit with Camille whileSelena took whatever timeshe needed to pull herselftogether.“One of these days,”
Belindasaid,“you’regoingtohave to completely trustsomeone.”“I trust you now.” It was
still a little shocking, howeasyandrightthatfelt.“Did you ever really trust
Parker?”“Did you ever trust
Daddy?”“Gabriel . . .” Belinda
slipped on the sliders sheused to read, then pushedthemup to reston the topof
herhead.“Yourfatherwasn’tcutoutforfamily.IknewthatwhenImarriedhim.Butyouwere on the way, and weloved each other, and Ithought he’d grow into therest.Justbecausehecouldn’t,just because Parker thoughtsuccess meant money andthingsanda familyeveryonein his corporate world couldadmire . . . doesn’t meanevery man, even one who’shad trouble settling down,
won’t come through if yougivehimachance.”Selena shook her head.
“After all these years. Afterhow much you disapprovedwhen Oliver and I weredating . . . now you’repractically shoving me athim.”Belinda laid her paper on
the table by the bed. “It’sokaytowanthim,Selena.It’salways been okay, even inhigh school when I was
terrified of how reckless youtwowerebeing.Ididn’twantto believe how much youlovedOliver.Howmuchyouneeded him. And I didn’twant him to make you evenmore unhappy than youalready were. But I believethat he loved you back then,nomatterhowbadly the twoof you ended things. I thinkhecouldbegoodforyoustill,ifthat’swhatyouwant.”“But what . . .” Selena
thought of all the dreamsshe’dfoughtaboutbuildingalife for her and Oliver andCamille. “What if CamilleturnsouttobeBrad’s?”“And you’ve given your
heart to amanwho isn’t herfather?”Selenanodded.“A man,” her mother
added,“youthinkwon’twantyouoryourdaughteroncehedoesn’t have to feelresponsibleforyou?”
“He’s trying to beresponsible.But...”“Youwanttobeloved.”And Selena so wanted for
thatlovetobeOliver’s.Lookat thewayhe’dheldher andkissedherattheDixonhouse.The way he’d talked socarefully with Camille whenshe was upset, and tried tohelp her understand. Evenhow he’d overstepped andpushed back against Parkerdownstairs when it had
technically been none of hisbusiness. It all sounded sogood.Butwasitlove?“If it’s not going to last,”
shesaid,“Ihavetoputastoptoit,forCamille’ssake.”Forboththeirsakes.Youcoulddestroyme...“How?” her mother asked.
“Camille’s asking her ownquestions. She’ll be lookingforherownanswers.Youcantry to stop what you’re
feeling for Oliver. But youcan’t decide for yourdaughterwhoandwhatshe’sgoingtocareabout.Trustme.I’vedonethelegwork.”“But what if she’s hurt all
overagain?”“What if she loves the
Dixons and Oliver, or Brad,orallofthem,andeverythingturnsoutfine?”You wouldn’t have been
able to stay away from mewhetherCamillewasinvolved
or not. And it terrifies you,whatthatcouldmean.“What if I mess it up
again?” Selena said, voicingher deepest fear. “What if Ican’t love Oliver enough tostop...”Tostopbeingterrified.“Youcan,Selena.Takemy
word for it. I’ve seen youwith your daughter. KristenBeaumont can’t stop talkingtopeopleabouthow thekidsat school adore having you
sub for them. You’ve givenme a second chance, and Iknow I haven’t made thateasy. You don’t know hownot to love, honey. You’rejustgoingtohavetotrusttherest of us—including Oliver—toloveyouback.”
“Thanks,man,”Oliversaidtohis brother. He punched the
call closed and tossed hisphone onto his truck’s dash.“Travis says to take as longasweneed.”Selena didn’t move in the
seat beside him. She hadn’tsaid a word since they’d leftthe hospital, driven downMain, grabbed the takeoutDruhadcalledinfor thematthe Whip, and finally pulledinto Belinda’s drivewaybehindSelena’sjunker.“Howthehell,”Oliversaid,
needing a target for thefrustration he’d beensuppressing for hours, “didyoumanagetomakeitallthewaysouthinthatheap?”She swiveled toward him.
“Fred’s good as gold. He’sneverletusdown.”“Fred?”“Flintstone.”Shewaitedfor
Olivertoworkitout.He smiled when he did.
“Does that make yourdaughterPebbles?”
“Cricket.” Selena tuckedher hair behind her ears. “Icall her Cricket. The wayshe’s always loved to playoutside.Shehopsallovertheplace, dances, rolls in thegrass,likea—”“Adorable little bug. I get
it.Youneverused tobeableto sit still, either. Likemother,likedaughter.”He watched some of the
wariness ease from Selena’sexpression. Hopeless,
bottomless love took itsplace.“Camillelikestospreadout
one of Belinda’s quilts,” shesaid, “and lie in the sun andread.Overby—”“The camellia bushes? I
saw her out there the otherafternoon. It made me thinkof us, when we’d hang outback or in some fieldsomewhere, like the one inBethany’s painting in theDreamWhip.”
“Yeah. I saw it. The firsttime I did, it mademe thinkofCamille.”“Why?”“You.”Selenalookeddown
atthefingersshe’dclaspedinher lap. “Andme. Itwasmybirthday, and we made loveby the tree Bethany painted,just beforewe . . . theweekbefore I broke up with you.I’ve always told myself thatwas the afternoon we madeCamille. Even if I didn’t
know for sure, I’ve alwayswantedher tobeyours. Iseeso much of you in her. Butwanting doesn’t make it so,Oliver. Iappreciatewhatyoudid thismorning.But I don’twantyoutofeelobligated—”“She’s my family, Selena.
As much as Dru and TravisandFinandTeddyandalltheotherkids.”“Yes.But...”“Butwhat?”“It’s different with her.
With you and me and her. Icouldn’t bear Camille beingjustanobligationforyou.ForBradorforyourparents.”“You know my family
betterthanthat.”“But do I know you?
Really? What do you want,Oliver?”She was the one who’d
given up on themwhen theywere kids. He should havegone and found her in NewYork. Maybe then she
wouldn’t have married thatslime Parker. Oliver shouldhavekeptlovingheruntilshewas strong enough to loveherself better. But that wasseven years ago. And eventhen she hadn’t known if hewaswhatshewanted.“You first,” he said. “Stop
making thisaboutadaughterwe may or may not havetogether. Camille will betaken care of and loved,whether I’m in thepictureor
not. Your secret’s out. Butyou’re still pulling away,waiting for some other shoeto drop. Tellmewhat this isreally about. One minuteyou’re kissing me. The nextyou’re tellingme tobackoffbecauseyoudon’tneedmeinyour life unless I meet somelistofconditionsyouseemtoadd to on an hourly basis.Why—”“Whyareyouherewithme
now?” Selena demanded.
“Why aren’t you at thehospitalwith your family, orover at your parents’ houselooking after their kids?Because you’re trying tomake everyone happy?Which, by the way, isimpossible.Orbecausebeinghere for me now, or at thehospital for Camille thismorning—worried and angryand out-of-your-mind furiousat Parker on her behalf—iswhatmakesyouhappy?”
Oliver clamped his handsaroundthesteeringwheel.Heknew what she needed tohear. Why couldn’t he justsay it? “I’ll give youeverything I can, Selena. Ialways would have if you’dhave let me. I didn’t comeback to town thinking thiswould happen. I can’thonestly tell you I wanted itto. My family needs me tokeep doing the work I do.Workingtohelpthemiswhat
my life’s been about prettymuch since I leftChandlerville.But—”“Butwhat?You’lltakeone
for the team with me andCamille?Be a good guy andpay for whatever it takes tobe involved inour lives, too.Love me a little whenever aclient doesn’t need you—aslong as you don’t have tocommit emotionally for anylongerthanyouwantto.UntilIwakeuponedayandrealize
I’ve been alone all along.Andthatyou’vebeenfindingsomeoneelse toconsoleyou,because being with me andmy daughter has just gottentoodamncomplicatedforyoutohandle?”Selena’s rant hiccupped to
ahalt.She’d inched away, her
back pressed against thepassengerdoor.“Parker?”Oliverasked.Don’t think you can bully
me, she’d said when Oliverfirst confronted her aboutCamille. And after theugliness that had gone downin theER, he had no troublebelieving her bastard of ahusbandhadbeenmistreatingher long before she filed fordivorce. Oliver was going tomeet Parker Gryphon oneday.Hisnextexcusetotravelnorth, he was hunting theslime down and working afewthingsoutman-to-man.
“He cheated on you?” heasked.“If that’swhatyouwant to
callit.”“Sleptaround?”“And around.” Selena’s
laugh had Oliver wanting touse the travel app on hisphone to book a red-eye toNew York that very night.“But Parker is a goodprovider.Andhewaswillingtokeepproviding,aslongasIcould adjust to our
arrangement.”“Whatarrangement?”“The one he’d made
entirelyonhisown,wherehefound a ready-made familythatgavehimtheappearanceofstabilityheneeded.AndhegavemethesecurityI’dbeenso desperate for when hesavedme fromhaving to runback to Chandlerville ateighteen and beg mymotherfor help. He provided forCamille what on the outside
looked like a family that anylittle girl would love, in astylish high-rise apartment inthe heart of Manhattan . . .andIjustcouldn’t.Icouldn’tabandon her to that, Oliver.She deserves to besurroundedbyreallove,evenifit’sonlymine.”“And what do you
deserve?”Oliverasked.“I . . .” Selena’s lips
trembled, just like herdaughter’s did when she lost
control.“Whatever this is between
us, I don’t want it to stopagain. But you can stop it ifyou’re determined to. Likewhen we were teenagers. Iwas lovingyou theonlywayIknewhowthen,too.”“And now your way is by
throwingmoney at people tokeep them from expectingmore.Likeyoudowithyourfamily. Like this morningwith Camille in the ER. I
know I sound paranoid. ButI’mnot settingmyself ormydaughter up like that again.Especially with someone Ilove as much as I’ve alwayslovedyou.”Selena looked at him, into
him, shocked by what she’drevealed.Before he realized what
he’ddone,Oliverhadhauledher closer. Or maybe she’dlaunched herself at him,stretched across the truck’s
center console, her handsgripping his arms, herbeautifuleyessearching.Likein his dreams, it was justthem,andSelenawasneedinghimlikeshewouldn’tsurvivewithout him. The way hewouldn’twithouther.Theytookeachother’skiss,
and he was transported backtowherethey’dbeenaskids,where they’d always be—loving each other witheverything they were. With
Selena in his arms, he’d behomeforas longasshe’d lethimhaveher.He framedherface with his hands, anglingher mouth for more. Herfingers threaded through hishair,grippingandurginghimcloser, their kiss roughening,desperate.Thiswaswhathewanted.More.Andthenmore.And
always. He’d always wanteditwithSelena.Nomatterhowmany women, how much
time, how much work he’dused to fill the emptiness, orhow far away he’d traveled. . . being here, home, withSelena had always beenwherehe’dbelonged.Enoughtokeepmovingon forever ifhe was never going to haveherback.Shewasstillinherworkout
clothes. He kissed down toherneck,tastingsaltandsun.“IthinkofyouwhenIrun,”
he whispered into her ear,
feeling her tremble. “I wasthinking about you the nightbefore I came back, after Iwas supposed to have let goof the past as part of myrecovery . . . but I couldn’tstopmyself.”Hekissedherlips,thetipof
her nose. He watched hereyesflutteropen.“Anytime,” he said, “I’m
free of the work I’ve filledmy life with, whenever I tryto sleep, when it’s quiet and
justme—you’realwaysthere,makingmewant you. All ofit,everythingI’vedonesinceIlefthashadsomethingtodowith you, Selena, and howgood we once were for eachother.Howmuch Iwant thatback. I’ll never be free ofyou.”Theneedinherbrowneyes
deepened until he swore hecould see her heart. Atentative smile spread acrossher face. Her tongue was a
flirty temptation, caressingher bottom lip. His bodytightenedjustshyofpain.“Really?” she whispered.
Her chest rose and fell inrhythm with his. “I couldn’tforget, either. This. All therest. The hours we’d just sitand talk, or sit and donothing, out back by thecamellias, in townsomewhere,somequietplacewherenoonewouldfindus.Icould never forget you. And
when I run now, to clearmyhead so I can think . . . Inever can, completely,becauseyou’realwaysthere.”“IthoughtI’dneverseeyou
again,” he confessed. “And Icouldn’t be in Chandlervillewithout you. I’m starting tounderstand that.Without youIcouldn’tfacecoming...”“Home.”Shekissedhim.Oliverdrewherhandsfrom
around his neck and placedher palms against his chest,
knowinghewastakingarisk.She’d just had a shock.Camille was still in thehospital. And Parker wasramping up the pressure toget Selena and her daughterback.Selenawasoff balanceand still not one hundredpercent sure of Oliver, or ofthem. But what if this wastheirlastchance?“We’rebothherenow.”He
searched her expression,seeing her love and fragile
strength. Craving both. Butdid she really see him—theway he was, instead of themixed-up kid she’d onceknown?“We’vebeencirclingthis for days, for years. Youcan’t tell me what you’regoing to need next—forCamille or yourself. And Ican’t promise I can be thatperson for you, not until wesort things out. But we canhavethis.”He gave her the gentlest
kisshecould.Liketheirveryfirstkiss—whenshe’dshownhimhowtoloveagain.“Thiscanbeours,”hesaid.
“No being afraid. No one,nothing between us. Please,Selena.Bewithmeonemoretime.”She watched him for what
felt like hours. For too long.She smoothed her palm overhisheart likeshewouldpushhim away. But then she wasin his arms again, holding
himasifshe’dneverletgo.“God, Selena.”He crushed
her closer. “I love you. Sodamnmuch.”It was his last coherent
thought.
Selena surfaced fromdrowning in Oliver’s kisses,her vision as clouded as hermind.
“We can’t do this,” shegasped.“We can’t?” Oliver gritted
histeeth,hisjawtighteninginbrutallyharshlines.She drew him into a soft
kiss this time, afternoonsunlight slanting through thewindshield of his truck,nearby trees caressing themwithswayingshadows.“Not here,” she explained.
“Where anyone could drivebyandseeus.”
They’dbeenthetalkof thetown since the night of theAA meeting, since beforethat. Now they were makingout in his very recognizabletruck, in her mother’sdriveway.“Right.”Oliverfumbledhis
keys out of the ignition.“Inside.”He was beside her door
before she could get it open.Hand in hand, they hurriedacross Belinda’s yard and to
the porch and through thefront door that was stillslightly ajar fromSelena andhermotherrushingCamilletothe hospital. Selena closed itbehind them, turned, andOliver backed her into itswooden surface. He pressedhis body to hers. His mouthtortured her again,everywhere, anywhere, notnearlyenoughplacesatonce.She stretched into him,
wanted to feel every inch of
him.“Too many clothes,” she
panted, tearinghis shirt fromhisjeans.“Bed?”heasked.She shook her head. “I
sleep on a couch in mymother’ssewingroom.”His attention strayed over
hisshoulder.“Couchescanbegood.”“Yes,theycan,”sheagreed
and was swept off her feetandcarriedacrosstheroomto
hermother’sloveseat.“This one’s closer,” he
insisted,“evenifit’ssosmallI’ll be a cripplebeforewe’redone.”She giggled as he lowered
her to the cushions. Sheinhaled when his chestpressedagainsthers,hisbodypinningheragain,rightwhereshewantedtobecaught.Shewrappedherarmsaroundhimand dragged his shirtcompletelyoff.Heburiedhis
face in her neck, kissing thesensitive skinbehindherear,setting her body raging formore. She caught a flash ofcoloroverhisheart.“Letmesee,”shesaid.He pulled back, his
expressionquestioning.Whenshe brushed her fingersreverentlyoverherdiscovery,hestilled.“It’s beautiful,” she said.
So delicately done, it couldhavelookedfeminine,butnot
on Oliver. Not even with itscrimson-red flower and thesoft curves of its petals andleaves.“It’sa—”“Camellia,”hesaid.“SoI’d
havesomethingtoremindmeofyou.”Like Selena had had
Camille, and prayed in hermost secret heart that herdaughterwasOliver’s.A rush of . . . rightness
blinded her. She blinkedaway the emotion so she
could seeOliver clearly. Shecaressedhistattoo,thestrongbeat of his heart answeringhertouch.“You okay?” he asked. “If
thisistoomuch...”“No.”Shesmiled.“It’sjust
been a long time . . . sinceI’ve let myself wantsomething as much as youmakemewant.”He smiled, too, with
wicked intent. “Wanting canbegood.”
She kissed him again andagain, while he made fastwork of her jog top. “Very,verygood.”His breath hissed in at the
sight of her. His hands andfingers caressed while hersdid, too, relearning his touchand, with her tongue, histaste.Hismouthtookitsownjourney, worshiping herbreasts and then her belly.Whilehernailsscrapeddownandbackupandaround, and
then down again to thequivering muscles of hisbelly,thebuckleofhisbelt.“Hurry.”Sheneededmore.
Sheneedednow.“Yes.”Oliver helped her make
quick work of her runningpants and socks and shoes.His jeans and the rest of hisclothes melted away. Shewrapped her arms and legsaround him, rocking withhim,kissinghimandneeding
him.“Yes,” he chanted.
“Selena.”They became one slowly.
The world stoppedcompletely.Herbodythrilled,shimmering all over, as heheld them both still, heldthemback, keeping her fromrushing.“Oliver.Please...”“Look at me.” His thumb
tilted her chin up until hereyes opened. His face
hovered above her in thedeepening shadows of theunlitroom.“Staywithme.”He began to move, set the
rhythm. She reveled in theperfectfeelofit,ofthem.Hetook her slowly, as if hewanted to make it last. Shedidn’t want it to end either.Ever.Butshecouldn’tbearit.It wasn’t nearly enough.Notwhen her body knew whatwas coming, what they’dalways found. A place only
theirs, where need becamelove and they’d never bealone again. Wild. Untamed.Desperate.Butneveralone.Sheurgedhimonandcried
out when his next kissdeepened,seduced,draggedagroan from her lips. Hishands lifted her higher, heldher, encouraged her to wantmoreofhim,allofhim.“Now,” he breathed, “take
mewithyou,Selena.”Shesawstars,shesawhim,
them. She saw their perfectconnection mirrored in thebrilliant green of Oliver’seyes. And then they wereflying, clutching at eachother, loving each other, onfireandsoaringandtumblingand knowing nothing but thetruth neither of them hadoutrun.Thatthis,theirbodiesstraining closer, deeper,harder, and then caressingsofter, holding, comforting...
This was intimacy.Belonging.Truelove.And it would destroy her
againifshehadtogiveitup.
Chapter
Twenty
Selenapulledthehand-piecedthrow from the back ofBelinda’scouch,whileOliverstoodandslippedhisamazingbackside into his jeans. Theleanmusclesofhisshouldersand torso disappeared underhis T-shirt. Only then did he
turnaround.He’d said nothing since
they’d finished making love.He’d grown quiet almostimmediately, slipping awayemotionally even while he’dstill been holding her. Nowthey were back to staring ateach other without saying aword, thesameaswhenhe’dfirstpulled into thedrivewaynext door. Her body wasshaking.Her heartbeatmightnever settle. Entirely too
weak andwanting him back,she’d felt . . . relieved at hiswithdrawal. And flash-firefurious.“Ididn’tknowamancould
do the walk of shame,” shesaid, “practically standing inone place. If you need towash up before you head toyourmother’s, there’sahoseout back. Feel free to drownyourselfunderit.”Absorbing her uncalled-for
outburst, he ran both hands
through the dark hair she’dmussed. He sat in Belinda’srecliner.“Idon’tregretwhatwejust
did,”hesaid.God,Selena.“Makinglove?”sheasked.“Yes.”“I can see that, what with
half of the room between usandall.”He clasped his hands
together, his forearmspropped on his thighs. “It
meanta lot tome.Youmeanalottome.”She’d felt that while he’d
been holding her, like shewas his everything again,exactlythewayshe’dneededtofeel.Buthewas regrettingitnow.Ormaybeshewasjustoverthinkingthings,worryingtoomuch, looking for all theways this could still endbadly.You can’t tell me what
you’regoing toneednext. . .
AndIcan’tpromise Icanbethat person for you . . . Butwecanhavethis.She was freezing without
him. The way she’d beenfrozen inside for the lastseven years. And she wastired.Tiredof landingonherass,ontheletdownsideofyetanother dream. And that’swhat this felt like. She’dalways known it would, andshe’dletherselfwishherwayhere,regardless.
“This isn’t your fault,” sheconceded. “You’re a goodman, Oliver.” He was thebest. The best for her. Therewas no denying it. Justmomentsago,inhisarms,allshe’d been able to see wasforever.“But?”“But we’re looking for
differentthings,Ithink.”“Are we?” His voice was
clipped, deeper, warning hertobecareful.Maybewarning
himself.Youdon’tknowhownot to
love,honey...“Do you want me?” she
asked. “Camille? A life withus?Areal life,whereyou’rea part of our every day, andwhen you’re away you can’twait to come home to us?Canyoutellmethat?”He looked down at his
linked fingers. She lookedback at the two other timesshe’dbeenat thiscrossroads.
When she’d made adestructivechoiceandbrokenup with Oliver the first timearound. And when she’dmade a healthy decision towalkawayfromhermarriagetoParker.“Youdon’tknowwhatyou
want,” she said to the manwhocarriedareminderofherover his heart. “Except thatyoudon’twant to let anyonedown. You’re not sure whatanyofthismeans.Exceptthat
itmeanswehavetodothis—reallytalkaboutus.”“And we have to do that
now?”“I won’t be careless with
Camille’shappinessagain.Ormine. You care about mydaughter, obviously, and I’mgratefulforthat.Andforyourfamily’s acceptance. But ifsheturnsouttobeBrad’s,oreven if she’s yours, you’renotsurewhatanyofthiswilllookliketoyoutomorrow,or
next week, or when Joe’sbetterandit’stimeforyoutogetbacktoyourreallife.”Oliver stood and slowly
returned to the couch, sittingbesideher.Hestaredatwhereshe was clutching hermother’s quilt to her chest.Helookeddowntothetennisshoes they’d both kickedunder thecoffee table—lyingin a jumbled heap like theymight every day if he andSelena lived together, ran
together,camehometogetheronafreeafternoontosneakachancetomakelovewhilenoonewouldmissthem.“This is a lot for me,” he
said. “I’ve turned my lifeinsideoutinlessthanaweek.I’mstilltryingtodotherightthing for everyone.” Heshookhishead. “Like anyofusknowswhatthatis.Exceptthat I was terrified thismorning. From the momentBelinda called until I could
get toyouandCamilleat thehospital, I was terrified oflosingmychancetohaveyouandyourdaughterinmylife.Of never knowing what thatcould be like again—aforeverfamilyofmyown.”A forever family. That’s
what foster kids called it,he’d told her a lifetime ago.What they all secretlywanted, even theoneswhosebehaviorandchoicesmade itimpossibletofind.Aplaceto
belong to forever, no matterwhat. Exactly what Selenahad been searching for, too,eversincelosingherfather.“Oliver...”Shecurledinto
his hug. She squeezed hereyesshut.“You’re right about one
thing.” He kissed the top ofher head. “I don’t dwell onlong-term things. Now iswhat I’m good at. Makingmoneynow.WhereI’mgoingtobemakingmoneynext,so
other people can live theirlives and take care of theirlong-termthings.I’mgoodatdoing that for my family. Ihaven’t letmyselfwantmorethanthatforalongtime.ButI swear, Selena, back in thetruckwithyou...”Hekissedher again. “When I held youinmyarms justnow.SinceIfirst caught sight of youTuesday morning . . . I’verealizedhowmuchIstillneedyouinmyheart.”
“Today. But what abouttomorrow?Whenyou’regonefrom here tomorrow or nextweek, how much of us willstill be in your heart then?Howlongwillitbebeforeweseeyouagain?”She wanted to beg him to
reassureher.Except the truthwas more important. It wasthemostimportantthingtheycouldgiveeachother.“It’s complicated,” he
admitted. “We’re
complicated.”Yes, theywere. “There are
other things, other people toconsider—besides how goodwearewhenit’sjustus.”Hestaredattheirbarefeet,
so different but so rightresting beside one anotherunder the coffee table. “IknowIwant togiveyouandCamilleeverythingIcan.”“Then I guess it’s up to us
todecide.”“Decidewhat?”
“If thateverything is goingto be enough. If thecomplicationsareworthit.Or. . . we get honest withourselvesabouthowdifferentour lives are.We leave wellenough alone and agree tostopfightingreality.Andthistime,weatleaststayfriends.”“You’d really walk away
withouteventrying?BecauseI need time before we put alabel on something that juststarted up again. We’re
supposed to give up now?Because it’s toohardforyouto keep trying? What doesthatmakewhatwejustdid—abootycall?”“It was what it was.” The
first step toward her havingOliver’sheartforever,orhimbreaking hers for the lasttime. “It was a moment. Awonderful moment. But nowit’sbacktotherealworld.Nofairy-tale endings. Nocompletely right choices. No
instruction manual for whattodonext.Wehavetofigureus and our families out. Tomake thatwork, it’sgoing totake being together for morethan amoment. It could takea lifetime—Camille’slifetime.Andyoudon’t evenknow where you’ll be nextweek.”“You don’t trust me,
Selena. That’s what this isreally about.” Oliver walkedover to stare through the
gauzy front curtains, at thewaning light beyond. “Notenough to stick things outuntil they run their course.Youneverdid.”Her phone sounded off,
making themboth jumpas itplayed “Danger Zone.”Oliver’s cell rang, too. Heretrieved her purse from theentryway table beside thefront door. Handing it over,he fished his cell from hisjeansandreadthedisplay.
“Brad,” he said withoutanswering.“Parker.”Selenawassurprisedithad
takenherhusbandthislongtomakehisnextmove.“Shit,” she said on an
exhaustedsigh.“Tradewithme?”“What?”Oliver held out his phone.
“You set up a meeting withDru and Brad, to discussCamille. I’ll deal with
Parker.”“Butyou—”“Iunderstandhis type, too.
I can work with you to gethim out of your life. YouworkwithBradandDruandme to make the right choiceaboutCamille’spaternity.”Selenacouldn’tmove.Why
couldn’tshemove?“Trust me, Selena.” Oliver
laid his phone on the coffeetable. He held out his handfor hers. “Let’s start dealing
with the complications andthe confusion and figure outtodayandtomorrowandnextweek—together.Thisisitforus. This is our chance. Arewein,orareweout?”
Oliver answered Selena’sphone.Thetight-assslimeonthe other end began talkingimmediately in his slick,
UpperEastSideaccent.“Thisisridiculous,Selena,”
Parker said. “You’re beingridiculous. My tactics areunseemly, I know. But youknow I’m not going to stop.Comebackand talkwithmelike an adult instead ofrunning away.You’ll be freeofthatPodunkplaceandyourmother for good. You don’tneed anyone else’s help foryouandCamillebutmine. Ifyou’djust—”
“Neither of them arecoming back to New York.”Oliver kept his tonereasonable. He wanted toreach through the phone andstrangle the guy. “Selenadoesn’t need your money,yourtwo-timing,oryourhelpforherchild.Shehas friendshere, real family. And she’sthe best mother I know.There’snowayyou’regoingtoconvincehertocomeback.Giveitarest,man.It’sover.”
Selena nodded—at whatOliver had said, or towhatever she and Brad werediscussingonOliver’sphone.“Tonight?” she asked both
him and Brad. “At thehospital, you two will comeoveraftertheWhipcloses?”Oliver nodded in
agreement.He’d cover the house and
thekidsforTravisuntilthen,sohisbrothercouldcheck inon Joe or whatever else he
neededtodo.Traviswouldn’tmind stepping back in for awhile tonight, once he heardwhatitwasfor.“I want to speak with my
wife,”theslimeballinsisted.“Ex-wife.”“Notyet.”“Soon.” Oliver bit out.
“Verysoon.”Selena flinched at his
fraying control. He took herhand.“You can speak with her
lawyerfromnowon,”hesaidmore calmly. “You’re donemanipulating Selena withmoney and everything youthink she should still wantwithyou.Leaveheralone.”“Her lawyer?” Parker
scoffed. “Clearly you don’tknowmywifeorthepositionshe’s put herself in. HerlawyerisoneofafleetthatIkeeponretainer.I talk to theman every day. Now putSelenaonthephone.”
Oliver gently squeezed herfingers. “Her lawyer is mylawyer now. Let yours knowto expect our filing to turnover all records pertaining tothedivorce.”“And justwho the hell are
you?”“I’m Camille’s father.”
Andthesatisfactionofsayingit out loud, whether it wastrueornot,feltright.“Okay,” Selena said to
Brad. “We’ll see you
tonight.”She finished her call and
slipped to her feet, wrappedin her mother’s quilt. Shegrabbed her clothes andwalkedsilentlydownthehall,presumablytoherroom.“I’m the only father that
little girl has ever known,”Parker growled. “Iwanted toadopther.”“Before or after you
decided to bang everythingthat moves all over
Manhattan, and who the hellknows where else? Selenaand Camille are out of yourlife. Get used to it. And tellyour lawyers to strapthemselvesin.Mineareaboutto make sure Selena iscompensatedfortheyearsshespent trying to make amarriagetosomeonelikeyouwork. She won’t be askingfor child support. She won’tneed it. But don’t think thatmeansyou’reoffthehookfor
thewayyoustompedalloverherheart.Stopharassingher.End this, man. You’re justembarrassingyourself.”Oliver thumbed the call
closed,Parkerstillfumingontheotherend.Selena had returned, fully
dressed in jeans and a loosesweatshirt, her face lookingfreshly washed. She’d heardthe last of what he’d said toherhusband.“You won’t have to deal
with him again,” Oliverpromised.“Because you’re going to
take care of it?” She passedhim his phone and held herhand out for hers. “Anotherprojectforyoutoaddtoyourlist?”“Because you’re going to
takecareofitbyallowingmeto help.” He pocketed hisphone. “We’re not kids anylonger,Selena.You’reclearlycapableofmanagingyourlife
and your choices. You werewhenwewereteenagers,too.You’ve always been smartenough to take a friend’sofferofsupport, if itwillgetan asshole like Parkerpermanently out of yourdaughter’slife.”“Afriend?”“That’s what you said.
Friendsatleast?I’llgiveyoumy lawyer’s number. Whatyoudowithitisuptoyou.Oryou can trust me to contact
thefirmonyourbehalf.”“Asmydaughter’sfather?”
Selena’s voice broke. Shepressedherfingerstoherlips.She swallowed beforecontinuing.“WhydidyoutellParkerthat?”“Because I want to be.”
More thanOliver could havebelieved. “And even if she’sBrad’s, I still want to be inherlife,helpingyoubothanywayIcan.Trustmeonthat,ifnothingelse.”
Selena folded the quiltshe’dreturnedwithandlaiditon thearmof thecouch.Shewassoclose.Herbeauty,herheart, her capacity to keeploving fiercely, the way sheloved Camilleunconditionally, no matterhow hard life knocked heraround.AndOliverwanteditall.“I should give Travis a
break,”hesaid.“Yeah. I . . . I need to get
backtoCamille.”ShereachedforOliverfirst
—thank God. It had beenkillinghim,wondering if sheever would again. He heldher, her head pressed to hisheart.“Thankyou,”shesaid.“For
making being done withParker possible. I can’timaginehowmuchit’sgoingtocost.Thehospitalandnowyourlawyer.”Oliver massaged her nape.
Her hair curled madly, silkysoftthroughhisfingers.“Themoneyisn’timportant.You’llbe free. That’s whatmatters.Youmattertome.”“You matter to me, too.”
Shepushedaway tostandonherown.But did hematter enough?
Wouldshegivehimachanceto make sense of all thethings he still had to? Shereached for the purse she’dset on the coffee table and
scoopedupherkeys.“We’re on with Brad and
Dru?”heasked.“Bradsaidthey’dswingby
the hospital after ten or so,meet us atCamille’s room ifthatworksforyou.”“I’llbethere.”Facing the rest of the day
without Selena would beexcruciating. But he wasgoing tomovehis trucknextdoorandoutofhercar’sway.This time he wouldn’t push
her for more than she wasreadytohandle.“Thanksagainforwhatyou
did this morning for Marshaand Joe. You and Belindastanding up for them withFamily Services could makeall the difference in Teddy’splacement.”“Your parents and their
kids are lucky to have youback.”He inhaled. “I’m the lucky
one.”
His family had welcomedhim home, no matter howmuchhe’dput them through.AndSelenahad lovedOliverjust now, like she neverwanted to let him go. That’swhat he’d hold on to untiltonight.Things were still in chaos.
But therehad tobeapath tomakingallofitwork—forhisfamily and Selena andCamille and himself. He’dcome up with the right
solutionforeveryone.Hewascertainofit.AslongasSelenafoundher
waytotrustingherheart.Andtrustinghim,onemore
time.
Chapter
Twenty-One
Camillewantedtogohome.ShewantedherMommy.She wanted to go back to
when she’d been at theDixons’ with her mom andOliverandGrammy.Andshewanted not to have askedwhatshehad.Andshereally,
really wanted not to havegotten sick. She’d snuck justonecrackerwhenshe’dbeenhelping with Teddy. She’dbeen hungry after playingoutside, and she’d thought itwas okay this time. It wasMrs.Dixon’shouse,andMrs.Dixon’scookieswereokay.She liked helping with
Teddy. She did not likehaving allergies. Or being introuble. She shouldn’t be introublebecauseshe’dwanted
toknowthetruthaboutifshehad another family. But shewas. She just knew shewas.Look at everything she’dmade go wrong, becauseshe’d gone over to theDixons’ house. Now shemightnoteverbeabletohelpwith Teddy again before sheandMommymoved.Grammy walked into
Camille’s hospital room andsmiled,notasifshewasmadatall.
“How are we doing inhere?” She kissed Camille’scheek.Shesmoothedwhereaneedle was still stuck inCamille’shand,attached toatube that had a bag at theotherend,hangingbesideherbed.“Doesitstillsting?”“Alittle.”Camille had woken up a
few times before. Sometimesher Mommy had been there.SometimesGrammy.ButthiswasthefirsttimeCamillehad
felt like she was gettingbetter,thewayeveryonekeptsayingshewas—eventhoughpeoplehadkepttellinghertorest.“Can we go home now?”
sheasked.“Tomorrow, honey. But
once yourMommyand I getyou home, I’m going topamper you with the biggestbubblebathIcanmake.”Camille liked bubbles.
Grammy liked them, too,
though Mommy hadn’tbelievedituntilGrammyhadshown Mommy and Camillethebottlesofbubblebathshekept in her bathroom.Bubbles always cheeredGrammy up, she’d said, andmade her feel special. She’dshared every kind of bubblesshe had with Camille, andshe’d even bought Camille aspecial bottle all her own—aHello Kitty bottle, and thebubblessmelledlikeflowers.
If Grammy was going tomake Camille a specialbubble bath when they gothome,Camillecouldn’tbe intoo much trouble for askingOliverwhatshehad.“I didn’twatermy flowers
thismorning,”shesaid.The ones right under her
window that needed waterevery day. Except today,she’d played out back allmorning instead, and herflowers had to be really
thirsty.“Please,” she begged. “I
want to water them. I won’tdo anything else. I’ll stay inbed.ButIwanttogohome.”“I’ll take care of your
forget-me-notsinalittlebit.”Grammy smiled. “Once yourmommy’sbackandIcanslipout.”“AmI ina lotof trouble?”
Camille asked. Then beforeGrammy could answer, shesaid, “I didn’t mean to eat
Teddy’s crackers, it justhappened.Hehandedmeone,and I was hungry and . . . Iwon’tgoover to theDixons’again, ifMommy’s mad anddoesn’twantme to.Butwhydoesn’t she want them to bemy family? What’s so badabout them?Or aboutOliverbeingmy...”Camilledidn’tsaydaddy.She tried again, but she
couldn’t.Grammy sat on the bed
nexttoher.Shepulledupthetulip quilt she’d wrappedCamille in before she andMommyhadbroughtCamilleto the hospital. Camille hadtaken it outside to play thatmorning. Grammy hadbroughtitbackaftertheylefttheDixons.Camillelookedather favorite quilt now, and itmade her sad instead ofhappy.“Your mom’s got a lot to
think about,” her grammy
said.Grammy sounded sad, too,
no matter how glad she saidshe was that Camille wasokay. Something must bereallywrong.“Your mommy doesn’t
think the Dixons and Oliverare bad,” Grammy insisted.“Andyou’renotintrouble.”“Goingnextdoorbymyself
was wrong.” Camille’sstomach felt gross again.“And I shouldn’t have snuck
up front last night andlistened to you and Mommytalk.But...”“You wanted to know.”
Grammy rubbed her arm.“There’s so much that youneed toknow.Andyouhaveeveryrighttowantto.”“I like theDixons.They’re
fun. And they’re so big, andthey’d want me, Oliver said.AndIwantOliver,ifhe’smy...”Daddy.
“Would it be so bad,”Camille asked, “for me tobelong to Oliver and hisfamily?”Camillesatupinthebed, squeezing Grammy’squilt close. “I like it nextdoor. I like it with you andMommy at your house. Andplaying in your yard andstaying in Mommy’s room...ButIliketheDixons,too.Andtheylikeme.TeddyandFin andLisa and everyone. Iknow they do.” She hoped
theydid.“Woulditbesobad,to want to be part of them,too?”Grammylookedatherfora
long time, like Grammylooked at Mommy a lot—when Mommy thoughtGrammy was going to bemad, but Camille thoughtGrammy was just trying notto say the wrong thing. “Idon’t think having morefamily in your life is ever abadthing.”
“Really?”Grammy nodded. “Even if
sometimes family makes usangryorscared.”“Like I was this morning?
AndMommy,too?”Grammy nodded again.
“Family,realfamily,isneverabadthing,nomatterhowithappens into your life.” Shesmoothed her hand over oneof the tulips her mommy’smommy had sewn a long,longtimeago.“Doyouknow
why this is my favoritequilt?”“’Cause it’s pretty, and
yourgrammymadeit?”Camille’s grammy brushed
her hand wider, across thecolors and prints that madethe different flowers andpiecesofthequilt.Everythingwas white and pink, orsomethingclose towhiteandpink. The pieces were alldifferent shapes, but theyweresoprettytogether.
Her grammy had told her,when she’d let Camille pickthequiltfromthestackinherbedroomcloset, that someofthe pieces had come fromworn-outclothesandeventhesackspeopleusedtosellstuffin, like corn and beans andthings. And Grammy’sgrammyhadcutitallupintodifferent shapes and sizes,when people stopped usingtheir old things. She’d madethe quilt out of stuff that
would have been thrownaway.Grammy smiled. “Families
are like quilts, honey. Allkinds of people, comingtogether, sometimes from allkinds of places. Just look athow different your mommyand me are now. How longwe’ve lived without eachother—mostofyour life.Butwe’restill family, right?Youandmeandyourmom.”Camillenodded.
“All families,” Grammysaid, “even the ones withdifferentpartsthatdon’tlooklikethey’dfittogether,canbebeautiful—if you put enoughwork into them. And onceyou get the work right, likemy grammy did with thisquilt—because she knew allthe different-shaped pieceswould make lovely flowersforme—whatyoucreatecanbe the most beautiful thingyou’veeverseen.”
“It’s so pretty.” Camillebrushed her hand over thequilt,justlikeGrammy.“Some people think quilts
look messy,” Grammy said.“But a good quilt, if it’sstrong enough, will lastforever. And more thananythingelse, that’swhy thisone’s my favorite. Mygrandmother made it a longtimeago,andit’sbeenusedalot. I used to drag it all overtheplace,thesameasyoudo.
Andlookhowbeautifulitstillis.It’sstillstrong,evenifit’snot perfect anymore. AndnowIgettoshareitwithyou.Because our family’s turnedout to be strong, too, honey.Nomatterhowdifferentyourmommy and I are, I get toshare my flowers and mybubble bath with you. Andyour mommy’s old room inmy house. And the town Ilove so much. It’s all evenmorespecialtomenow.”
“Because you love me somuch,too?”“I love you and your
mommyboth,sweetie.I’msoglad to have you inChandlervillewithme.That’swhyIwantedyoutohavethisquilt. I want you to think ofmeeverytimeyouuseit.Justlikewhen I see it, I think ofmygrammy.”“I...Icankeepit?”“It’syoursnow.”Because Camille and her
mommy were still going toleave?“Do you . . .” Camille
couldn’t stop herself fromasking again. “Do you thinktheDixonswould be glad tohaveme,too?”Oliverhadsaidtheywould.“Of coursewe’re happy to
have you as part of ourfamily,”avoicesaidfromthedoorway.Mrs. Dixon was standing
there.
And so was Camille’smommy.“I brought you a visitor,”
Mommy said. She wassmiling like Grammy had—like Camille wasn’t really introuble at all. “Are youfeelingupforit?”Camille stared as Mommy
sat next to her, while Mrs.DixonstoodnexttoGrammy.“I’m so sorry, Cricket.”
Mommy kissed Camille onthe forehead. “I’m so sorry I
didn’t tell you the truth, andyou had to hear me andGrammy talking about theDixonsandOliver,insteadofmetalkingtoyoumyself.”“ButIshouldn’thavesnuck
next door. I shouldn’t haveeaten one of Teddy’scrackers. I thought it wouldbe okay,” she said to Mrs.Dixon. “Because yourcookies are okay. But Ishould have asked first. Ishouldn’t have come over to
yourhouseatall.”“Yes,”Mommysaid.“You
shouldhave.Youshouldhavegotten to know them a longtimeago,as soonasMr.andMrs. Dixon wanted us tovisit.Youwantedtogo,andIsaidno,because...”Camille picked at the
biggestfloweronherquilt.Because her mommy was
sad. That’s what was wrong.It’swhathadbeenwrongfora long time. Camille wanted
Oliver to be her daddy, andhis family to be her family.But she wanted her mommyto be happy more thananything. More than stayingat Grammy’s. More thanbeingaDixon.“I won’t go back next
door.” She crushed a flowerin her hand. “If you don’twantmeto,Iwon’twant theDixons to be my family. Iwon’t visit them anymore orplaywithTeddyandtheother
kids or see Oliver. I won’twant them to be my familyeveragain.”“Buttheyareyourfamily,”
hermommysaid.“They...theyare?”Mommy smiled. “And I’m
verygladtheyare.Ishouldn’thave kept them from you. Ishouldn’t have made youafraid of talking tome aboutit.Youshouldn’tbeafraidofanyofthis,Camille.”Camille looked up at Mrs.
Dixon,wondering if shewasglad, too. She checked withher grammy to see if it wasreallyokay.“Thismustbe a lot to take
in.” Mrs. Dixon sat on theedge of the bed. “You musthavetonsofquestions.”Camille couldn’t think of
anyofherquestionsanymore.TheDixonswere really hers.All of them different. All ofthemtogether.LikeeveryonesittingaroundCamillenow.
Mommyhadsaidoncethatshe looked a lot like herdaddy. The granddaddyCamille had never met.Grammy was smaller, withblondehairandblueeyeslikeCamille had sometimeswanted, thoughGrammyhadsaid Camille’s green eyeswereprettier.Mrs.Dixonhadred hair, and lots of whitehair, too, and really whiteskin. And they were allCamille’s, Mommy was
saying.Like the tulip quilt—differentthings,buttheywereso prettywhen youput themtogether.“Igettobeinyourfamily,”
she asked Mrs. Dixon, “nomatter who my daddy turnsouttobe?”Mrs. Dixon looked tired,
andmaybe like shemightbesadalittle,too.Butitmustbea happy kind of sad, ’causeshewassmiling.“Always, Camille. Joe and
Ihavelotsofkidswhocomefrom lots of different placesand mommies and daddies.And that’s never stopped usfrom loving any of them asmuch as they’d let us. Wealready think of you as ourgranddaughter. Joe’s in thehospital, too. And he heardyouweren’tfeelingwell,andhe wants me to hurry backand tell him how you’redoing.He’d love to see you,nowthathe’sgettinghisnew
roomand thedoctorswill letkids in before long. Do youthinkyou’d like tovisit yourgrandpaonedaysoon?”Camille held on to her
quilt, the way she had thatmorning, staring out herbedroom window andwishing she understoodeverything she’d heard hermommyandgrammysaying.And then she’d dragged itoutside,soshecouldbecloseenoughtotheDixonhouseto
sneakover.AndnowshewashuggingitandwantingtohugMrs.Dixon,too.And then she was in Mrs.
Dixon’s arms, and Mrs.Dixon was holding her likeGrammyalwaysdid.Likeshewanted to keepCamillewithheralways.“CanI?”Camilleaskedher
mommy, still hugging Mrs.Dixon. “Can I go visit mygrandpasoon?”
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Selena had stayed withCamille until her daughterfell asleep,Bear inher arms,tucked in beneath her quilt,dreaming happy familydreams.Belinda and Marsha had
slippedawayahalfhourago,
leavingSelena to read to herdaughter about Alice’sadventures finding her wayhome. Selena’s baby hadfinallyrunoutofquestionstoaskabouttheDixonsandJoeand Marsha and Oliver.Answers Selena couldn’tfully wrap her head aroundyet.Notallofthem.Soshe’dkept telling Camille thateverything was going to beokay. Just like Oliver hadpromised Selena when they
wereteenagers,andagainjustafewdaysago.She shut the door to
Camille’s room behind herand faced the trio in thehallway.She’dheardBelindaandMarsha talkingwithDruand Brad and Oliver as thewomen left. Dru was atBrad’s side, both of themleaning against the wallacross from Camille’s door.Oliverstoodslightlyseparate,on his own. He stepped
toward Selena, then stoppedin themiddleof thehallway,his hands digging into hisjeans pockets, his gazeintense but uncertain.Waiting.Butforwhat?“Camille wants to see her
grandpa, as soon as Joe’s upto visitors,” Selena told him.“I’m sorry I’ve put this off.ForMarsha and Joe, and forallofyou.I letmyselfworryabout . . .” Belonging,leaving, never wanting to
leaveagain.“Ishouldn’thaveletanythinggetinthewayofmy daughter knowing yourfamily.”She shiftedherattention to
Brad.“Ibehavedselfishly.Seven
years ago. The last twomonths.Iwouldn’tblameyoufor never forgiving me. Ireallyamsorry,forallof it.”She looked to Dru. “Howmuch I hurt you, especiallywhen Oliver left and then
Brad. When I think of whatyouandBradmighthavehadforalltheseyearsifitwasn’tforme...”No one said anything, and
Selenawasgrateful.Thiswasher moment—the one sheknew she finally had to dealwith, or she’d always belookingback.“Brad . . .” She shook her
head at him. “I don’t knowwhat to say. Except that Inevermeanttouseyou.Iwas
just so scared back then.Butthere’s one thing I’m notsorryfor.”She sensed Oliver hanging
oneveryword.“I’m not sorry that my
daughter is the result of mymistakes,”shesaidtohim,toall of them. “I’ve beengrateful every day that I’vehadCamillewithme.Ididn’tdeserve such an unexpectedblessing.Justknowthatfromthe start, I was trying to do
my best for my daughter. Istillam.”“Of course you are.” Dru
inched closer. “We’re allgrateful to you for bringingherhome.”Selena wished it could be
thatsimple.“That’snice.Butafter I slept with Brad, you—”“I was pissed for a while,
sure.”“Awhile?”Bradjoinedhis
fiancée.
“Okay.” Dru elbowed himin the ribs. “For a fewyears.But”—she smiled at Selena—“Ihaveaniecetoplaywithnow.Or a stepdaughter.AndBrad and I are gettingmarried.Andyou andOliverare...”Selena and Oliver were
what?She had no idea. And
Oliver was just standingthere, close but still distantsomehow.
“Oliver and I want what’sbestforCamille,”shesaid.“Wealldo,”Bradagreed.“No matter what . . .”
Selenahadsatlisteningtoherdaughter’s chatter about theDixons and her newgrandparents and family andall the things she wanted todo with them. And Selenahad known she’d made theright choice, asking MarshatojoinherinCamille’sroom.“Iwantmydaughter to have
the life she always shouldhavewithyourfamily.”“Does that mean you’re
stayingintown?”Druasked.Itwould be so easy to say
yes,spurof themoment,andfigure out the details later.But Selena looked to Oliverinstead. Their crazy rollercoasterofadayseemedtobeswirling through hismind asmuchasitwashers.Idon’twantthis.It’sdone.
Thisisitforus.Thisisourchance.Except by Oliver’s own
admission,hewasnogoodatlong-term things. Meanwhileshe needed his love everyday, every up and down,every moment. Facing it alltogether,likeOliver’sparentshad, because there was nootherwayforthemtolive.“I don’t yet know if
Camille and I are staying,”she admitted. And she saw
himwince.“There’ssomuchelsetodealwithfirst.”“We heard about this
morning in the ER.” Brad’sfeatureshardenedwithanger.“That husband of yourssoundslikearealbastard.”“AndI’velethimaffectme
andmydaughter’slifefortoolong,” Selena said. “I shouldhave gotten out of mymarriage years ago, when...”“When what?” Oliver
asked.“When Parker started
pushing to formally adoptCamille, and I knew Icouldn’tletthathappen.”“Because he was cheating
on you?” Oliver asked,promptingmoreoutragefromBrad. Dru looked as if shemightcry.“That,” Selena said, “and
the judge would haverequired that we notify herbirth father. And I just
couldn’t . . . I wasn’t ready.I’ve been a coward all thewayaround.It’stakenmetoolongtorealizewhatmysecretwas depriving my daughterand your family fromhaving.”“And you.” Dru stepped
closer. “We’re here for you,too, Selena. Not just yourdaughter.” Her expressiongrew fierce. “And we’re notgoingtoletthisParkerasshatbully you into going back to
him.Tell her,Oliver.Brad?”Bothmen inhaled to answer.Not that Dru seemed tonotice.“Okay,I’lltellher.Noone in our family’s going toletCamilleoryougobacktoNew York, to that man, ifthat’s notwhere youwant tobe.Screwwhathehas in thebank and howmany lawyersareonhispayroll.Lethimgeta look at us.Hewon’t knowwhat’s hit him. I have half amind to fly to New York
myself and introduce him tosomeSouthern-friedjustice.”Selena had watched Dru’s
ascension from righteousindignationtoavengingangelwith fascination and growingamusement. A small laughtrickled out. Followed by aburst of giggling. And thentheywereallchuckling.“I’m sorry.” She wiped at
her eyes, the tears fromlaughter, yes. But also ingratitude for being included
in such an easy, belongingmoment. “I appreciate thevenom on my behalf. ButParker isn’t worth gettingyourselfworkedupover.I’mdonelettinghimplaymethatway.”Olivernoddedhisapproval,
finally smiling. She resistedthecompulsiontobeghimtowake up beside her everymorning and smile just likehewasnow.Drushruggedandaccepted
Brad’skiss.“I’vebeenalittleemotional
lately,”sheexplained.“If there is a God”—Brad
kissed her again—“it willsettle down once you’re inyoursecondtrimester.”“You’re . . .” Oliver spun
his sister toward him. Hepulled her into his arms.“You’repregnant?Really?”The joy and excitement on
his face pierced Selena’sheartwiththethoughtofwhat
Oliver’s finding out aboutCamille a different way, alifetimeago,mighthavebeenlike.Drudisengagedherselfand
sank back against her fiancé.“No more spinning mearoundforawhile,okay?Notunlessyouwantme topullaTeddyandhurlalloveryou.”“And I assure you”—Brad
grinned, excited, but a littleappalled—“that’s a distinctpossibility. We have to pull
over most of the time justdriving around town, so shecan puke at the curb in frontof some unsuspectingstranger’shouse.Motionisn’tyour friend, evidently, whenyou’re—”“Gestating someone else’s
progeny?” Dru jabbed himwithanotherelbow.Then she wrapped him in
thesweetesthug.Bradburiedhis face in her hair andinhaledas ifhewereholding
a miracle. The tender scenehad Oliver smiling at Selenaagain, making the momentmore beautiful because theyweresharingit.“Lemondrops,” she finally
saidtohissister.Dru looked up. “Lemon
drops?”“They’ll settle your
stomach. And broth, whenyou think nothing else willstaydown.Iwassickforninemonths with Camille, and
...”Selena trailed off, feeling
the weight of it fresh andnew.“You’ll never get those
yearsback,”shesaidtoBradandOliver,appalled.“No.” Oliver’s strength
encircled her, his warmthcounteringthecrazyemotionsthatrefusedtosettleunlesshewas near. “But we’ll haveevery new day with Camilleyou’ll let us share. A clean
slate.Afreshstart.That’sallanyonewants.”Acleanslate.It was time to begin again
andfocusonwhatcamenext.She was standing with
Oliver and Brad and Dru,dealing with their problemsbutjokingandcheeringabouthappynews,too.BelindaandMarshahadbeenwithSelenaearlier, not judging orblaming her, but helping herexplain things to Camille.
And Belinda had opened upto Selena last night and overthelastfewdaysandmonths,her support solid in a waySelena hadn’t imaginedpossible.She had no business being
scaredofanyofthesepeople.This could be her andCamille’slife,ifSelenaletit,whatever happened betweenher and Oliver. And if thiswas what her mother hadmeantwhenBelindahadsaid
forSelena to figureoutwhatshe wanted and go for it,whatever the risks, then shefinallyunderstood.Herdreamcome true wasn’t the start-over life she and Camillecould forge for themselvessomewhere else. It was thesecond-chance family thathadbeenwaiting for them inChandlervilleallthistime.She slipped away from
Oliver, needing to know thatshe could say what she had
to,dowhatshehadto,evenifhe wasn’t yet ready to taketheridewithher.“Weallneedacleanstart,”
she said. “We need to moveforward without the pasthangingoverus.”“What are you saying?”
Oliverasked.Selenawasn’t exactly sure.
But she was smiling up athim, she realized. She wasimagining Camille curled upwith Joe on his hospital bed,
hergrandfather readingherastory. And she could seeherself and Oliver there, ifthat’swhat hewanted, too—standingtogether,surroundedby family, the beautifulmoment even more specialbecausetheyweresharingit.“Ifeveryonehassometime
now . . .” She inhaled, herpulseraging.“I’dliketoheaddownto theclinic,”shesaid,“and see if they’re open, sowe can start Camille’s
paternitytesttonight.”
“How’s my granddaughter?”Joewanted to know the nextmorning,whenOliverslippedinto his father’s step-downroomonthecardiacfloor.Both of his parents were
there.Two surgeries in a week
had taken their toll on Joe.
Oliver’sdadmanagedtolookboth gaunt and swollen. Thedark circles under his eyestook up half his face. Therewas very little of him thatwasn’t attached to somethingthatwas beeping orwhirringortakingareadingthatoneofthe nurses could monitorfrom the desk down the hall—evenifJoe’sroomnowhada solid door and walls thatweren’twindows.Marshasatinachairbeside
thebed.“Dru stopped in to see
Camillebeforeheadingtothehouse to spell me,” Olivertold them. “The doctors aredischargingCamilleinalittlewhile. Thanks for comingdown last night, Mom, andtalkingwithher.”Hewalked toMarsha,bent
andkissedheronthecheek.She smiled. “You should
have come inside yesterdayandtalkedwithheryourself.”
“Or at least done somestopping in of your own thismorning,” Joe added, “onyour way here. Sounds likeSelena’s warming up to theidea of her girl being part ofthefamily.Andweowealotof that to you and hermendingfences.”Olivergrunted.“Talking with me upset
Camille pretty badlyyesterdaymorning.”HelaidahandonJoe’sarm,justabove
the portwherewhateverwasinhisdad’sIVbagwasbeingshot into his veins. “It’sconfusing enough to explainto a little girl that she has afathershedidn’tknowabout,when you can’t actually tellherwhothatfatherisyet.”“She was doing much
better by the time I leftyesterdayafternoon,”Marshasaid.Oliver shook his head.
“Having one of hermight-be
dads pop in to say hi mightset things off again.Especially when I’m on mywayoutoftown.”“You’re leaving?” Joe and
Marsha responded in unison.They exchanged concernedglances.“After Selena andDru and
Bradand Iwentdown to theclinic to have blood drawn,”Oliver said, “Selena’s beenlocked into watching overCamille. I’ve been with the
kidsat thehouse.Everyone’sretreated to their neutralcornerstodealwithwhattheyhave to. It seems likeagoodtimeto—”Travis stepped in from the
hallway and shut the doorbehind him. “How’s ithangin’, Dad? You ready toblowthisjointyet?”“Your father’s still not to
gettooexcited.”MarshaeyedOliver. “So take it easywiththesurprises.”
“I’mreadytogodancin’assoonasyourmother’sgottensomerest.” Joe heldOliver’sgaze. “I was thinking wecould double-date in a fewweeks. Take our ladies outforanightonthetown.”Oliver would love nothing
better.“Ineedtotakecareofa few things in Atlanta first.But when I get back, I’mgamewhenyouare.”“Soyouarecomingback?”
hismotherasked.
“That’s the plan.” Oliverfinally had a plan he couldfight for—afterstandingwithSelena in the pediatrichallway yesterday, watchingherbattleforanewfutureforherselfandherchild.Afuturehewoulddoanythingtobeapartof.“I talked with Chris at the
department,” Travis said.“I’m cleared for short-termfamily leave.” He slappedOliveron theback. “I’vegot
things with Teddy whileOliver’sgone. IfMs.Walkerstops back by, she’ll havenadatocomplainaboutinhernextreport.Wegotalongfineyesterday,onceOliverleftmetosmooththingsover.It’sallgood,right,bro?”Oliver nodded. He and
Travis had texted back andforth, after Oliver had beenupmostof thenight again—thinkingaboutDruexpectingher first baby, and Bethany
acting like she wanted torejoin the family. Joe’s longrecovery, and the strain itwould continue to be forMarsha. Fin and Lisa andTeddy and the other fosterkidsOliverwas only startingto get to know. And thentherewasSelenaandCamille.Selena might be wary of
whathappenednext.Hell, sowashe.Butshewasopeningher heart to love again. Shemight have slipped away
from the clinic last nightwithoutsayinggood-bye.Butbefore that, Oliver had heldher inhisarms,andhe’dfelthowmuch she’d needed himthere. And when she’dcommitted to discoveringwho Camille’s father was,he’dseendreams inhereyesinsteadoffear.This was his chance, their
chance, and he wasn’twastingit.“IknowIpromised to stay
andhelpwhileyougotbetter,Dad.” Oliver didn’t like thetimingof thisforhisparents.“But—”Joe stopped him with a
raisedhand.“Thereareafewthings you might need helpwith,too?”Oliver knelt down beside
the bed, eye to eye with hisdad.Hismom’s touchsettledonhisshoulder.Traviswasasupportive presence besidethem.
“I’ve needed help for awhile,”Oliveradmitted.“I’vebeen pushing too hard atwork. At least I was until acouple of years ago when Ilanded myself in sometrouble again. I’ve cut backon the deadlines and thestress. A little. Not nearlyenough.NotifIwanttohaveany kind of life except myjob. Not even enough tosleep,really.Andnotenoughto come home. I thought
coming home would ruineverything. So Imade sure Icouldn’t.AllIamanymoreisballs-to-the-wall gettingthingsdoneforclients.”He winced, realizing what
he’d said in front of hismother. Marsha flashed himanother of her unconditional-lovesmiles.“Except now,” he said,
“I’mthinkingthat...”His dad’s hand found
Oliver’s at the edge of the
bed. “That being with yourfamily and the woman youlove and her child becauseyouneedtowouldbemoreofa—”“Life?” Oliver and Travis
finishedatthesametime.Oliver met his brother’s
gaze.Heproppedhischinonthe arm he’d braced on thesideofthebed.Hisheartfeltlike it might burst as hestudied the parents who’dgiven him all the time and
support he’d needed to findhiswayhome.“Allthistime.. .Ifigured
if Iworked hard enough andsenthomemoney,Iwouldn’tletanyonedownagain.”“You’ve never let us
down,”hismothersaid.“All we’ve ever wanted,”
hisdadinsisted,“isforyoutobe happy and to share asmuch of your lifewith us asyoucan.”“That’s what I want now,
too,Dad.”“So you decided to leave
town?”“It’s a long story.” It was
Oliver’sstory,finallycirclingbacktowhereithadbegun.He’d gotten to the heart of
it intheearly-morninghours,pacing the floor with ateething Teddy and staringout Joe and Belinda’swindows at the floweringhedge between his parents’property and Belinda’s. Yes,
hewas leavingChandlervilleagain.This time, sohecouldmakehiswayhomeforgood.“I need to close the most
importantbusinessdealofmylife,”hetoldhisparents.Marsha looked dubious.
“Business?”“The kind that will allow
me to keep doingwhat I amforyouandthefamily,andtobe with Selena and Camille,too.Ifthey’llhaveme.”“Hell, boy.” Travis
thumped Oliver on the backagain.“Ofcoursethey’llhaveyou.Whenwas the last timeyousetyourmindtoanythingand didn’t manage to get itdone?”
Selena pulled into Belinda’sdriveway just before lunchand parked behind hermother’s car. Belinda had
headed home from thehospitalbeforethem,tomakefreshsoup.SelenacarriedCamillewith
her as she walked hesitantlynext door, through theopening in the front hedge.She stepped toOliver’s side.He’d just placed his duffelbagintothecabofhistruck.Camille gave him a weak
wave,herheaddroopingbacktoSelena’sshoulder,herlimpbody a sweet, welcome
weight inSelena’s arms.Herdaughter was exhausted—she’dsleptinFred’sbackseatthe whole way home. ButSelena knew she’d neverhaveheardtheendofitlater,once Camille felt better, ifSelena had taken her insidefirst instead of bringing heralong.Oliver had texted just as
they’d pulled away from thehospital. And he’d silentlywatched them approach just
now,hisexpressionopen,hisbeautiful eyes softwithwhatlooked like the same jumbleof love and confusion andneed Selena was feeling.When he opened his arms,she rushed into them, intoOliver, inhaling the just-showered smell of him andcurling herself and herdaughter as close as theycouldget.“I can’t believe you’re
leaving,” she said, “now that
we’vefinally...”“Nofinally.”Oliversmiled
downat them. “That’swhy Itexted, to be sure we got totalkbeforeIleft.”I can’t go without holding
you again, his message hadread.Bothofyou.He curled her and Camille
against his heart. “I won’tever surprise you like thatagain.”“Surprise me?” Selena
sputtered. “The Dixon
prodigal son running for thehills now that his Father oftheYearisonthemend?Oneof the neighbors would havemade sure to tell me if youhadn’t.”“ButIwantedto.”Oliver’s
lips brushed Selena’sforehead. He kissedCamille’s, too, then easedaway. “And I’m not runningthis time. I’ve already talkedwithmyfamilyaboutit.”“Iknow.”Selenagavehim
anotherquickkiss.AsubduedCamille looked sleepily backand forth between them.“Bethanystoppedby.”“Really?”“She’d heard from Dru
aboutyouleavingforthecity.Dru told her about Camille,too. Bethany found us at thehospital before Camille wasdischarged. I turned aroundand she was standing in thedoorway, staring at Camillelike she was seeing her for
thefirsttime.”“Iknowhowshefeels.”Selena watched the corner
ofOliver’smouthkickupandreveled in how much hewanted Camille to be his.“Butitstillcouldbejust—”“Wishful thinking?”Oliver
asked. “Idon’tmindwishingforsomethingthatwonderful.Doyou?”Selena shook her head, a
little afraid of how close herdreams felt to coming true
while she was watching himgo. She looked down at theground and the muddy silkslippers she’d thrown onyesterday along with thechange of clothes she’dsnatchedfromherclosetaftersheandOlivermadelove.Oliver’s finger tipped her
chinup.“Thepastisjustonepart of our story, Selena.There’ssomuchmorewecanbe, if we’re ready to figuretherestout.”
She nodded. “Everyone’slives could have been somucheasierifI’dtrustedyouyearsago.”“Maybe.” He leaned
againstthesideofhistruck—a city man with carefullycombed hair for once,wearing jeans and a T-shirtand looking as if he couldcommand any boardroom,anywhere, just the way hewas. “Or maybe this isexactly how it was supposed
to happen.We’ve both comehomefromwherewethoughtour lives were going to be.We’ve learned a lot aboutwhat we don’t want. Nowwe’re ready to make thechoiceswe didn’t know howto handle when we werekids.”“Exceptyou’regoingaway
again.”Camillepickedherheadup.
“Doyoureallyhavetogo?”“Not for long, darlin’.”He
brushed his fingers throughhercurls.“I’llbebacksoon.Iwon’tletyoudown.”Selena wanted to believe
him, believe in thismoment,she really did. But deepinside, a part of her wasscreaming for him not toabandon her, the way she’dyelledathimyearsago.“What about all the rest?”
she asked. “Everything wedon’tknowyet?”Thepaternity test.Whether
sheandCamillewouldfindaplace in Chandlerville ormoveon.SelenaandOliver’sfuture.“We wait,” he said. “And
whateverhappensnext,wedotherightthing.”Sheangledherheadathim.
“What’stherightthing?”“Whateverworks for you.”
When she blinked inresponse, he smiled.“Whatever’sbestforyouandCamille. That’s what will
makemehappy,Selena.”“What . . . what are you
saying?”“That I know what I want
now. And I have to besomewhere else for a while,so I can make sure I do itright.ButI’mcomingbacktohearyouranswer.”“Towhat?”Wherewas the
reckless, greedy man who’dpulled her close in his truckand kissed her until she’dforgotten everything else . . .
and then told her he didn’tknowwhen he’d be ready todealwithmore?“To whether you want to
spend the rest of your lifewithme.”“You . . . you said you
neededtime.”“Just a little.Wait for me,
Selena. No matter what mynextCIOneedsorwhatsomepaternity test says, I’ll beback for you and Camille.Believe that, and keep
figuringoutwhatyouwant—like you did yesterday. Letmeloveyouagain,andwe’llmaketherestwork.”“But...howlongwillyou
be?”“Idon’tknowyet.Ineedto
set something up that couldtake a while. Something Ishouldhavedone formyself.NowIhavetwomorereasonsto make it happen.” Hesmiled.“YouandCamille.”Selena pushed herself and
her daughter into his armsagain, needing to feel themaround her. Needing Oliverforever. She held on, and sodidhe,dreamingandwishingand wanting to believe it all...together.“I love you,” she
whispered.“Iloveyou,too.”Oliversetthemaway.“Save me a cookie?” he
asked Camille. “I’ll comecollecting.Promise.”
Camillenodded,asmileonher lips as her eyes closedand she dozed in Selena’sarms. Oliver slid behind thewheel of his truck, shuttingthe door and leaning an armon the edge of the openwindow.“I’llseeyousoon,”hesaid
as he fired the ignition andbacked down the Dixons’drive.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
“ToChandlerville’sFatheroftheYear.”Belinda raisedherplastic cup of lemonade in atoast.Selenajoinedtherestofthe
crowded room at the GarnerRehab Center where Joe hadbeenmoved, liftingherdrink
andsaying,“ToJoe!”It was a beautiful late-
Sunday afternoon, withfamily and friends andneighbors cheering andcelebrating around her. ThepartyBelinda had spent dayspulling together had grownuntil Joe’s private roomseemed to be bursting at theseams.Thecrowdhadspilledinto the center’s hallway asmoreguestsandtheirfamiliesjoinedinthefun.
Adults were drinking andeating—goodies donated byeither the Dream Whip orDJ’sbakery.Kidsofall ageswere everywhere. Free fromschoolforthenexttenweeks,the younger ones wererunning wild. The teenagershad grouped off in clumps,playing games on theirphones or messaging onsocial media, basicallyignoring the adults. Therewere balloons, streamers, a
Father of theYear banner. Itmight have seemed corny tosome. But to Selena the joyandcelebrationthatfilledtheroomwere...love.Theloveshe’d always hoped herdaughter would besurrounded by. The homeshe’ddreamedofforherself.“Ican’tbelieveallofthis.”
Joe’s smile was wide, hiseyesbright.Hewasstilltooweaktoget
outofbedwithoutassistance.
Marsha didn’t like some ofthesideeffectsofthearrayofmedicationshewastakingforhis heart and circulation andblood pressure. He wasfrustrated not to be goinghome yet. But today Joe’sfamily and community hadcome to him, to honor him.Hewasawell-lovedneighborand friend, a doting fatheradmired by everyone in theroom and many who’dphoned in their regrets but
sent cards and good wishesBelinda and Marsha hadtaken turns reading out loud—much to the good-naturedembarrassmentof themanofthehour.Marsha stood beside her
husband now, beaming withpride.Belindaandhergardenclub—who’d organized thefood, the commemorativeplaque, the balloons, and themusic streaming fromSelena’s smartphone playlist
—were circulating, makingsure people were enjoyingthemselves.So many locals had gone
outoftheirwaytoattend.Ginger and her family and
her mother. DJ and KristenandWalterandLawandtheirspouses and kids. Several ofthedeputiesfromthesheriff’sdepartment and their lovedones. Belinda’s nosyneighbors, theRitters,andsomanymore.
Travis, Dru, andsurprisingly Bethany stoodwith theirmotherat theheadof Joe’s bed. Each of themhad pitched in, getting theyounger Dixons cleaned upand to the center on time.AndatCamille’srequest,sheand Selena had strapped ababy seat into Fred anddelivered Teddy—who wasnow happily perched onDru’s hip, being entertainedby his uncle Brad. It was a
perfect afternoon. Everyonehad said so. Only one thingwas missing for Selena andtheDixons.Oliverwasn’tthereyet.He would be, Travis had
assured Selena. He’d textedwith his brother just a fewhours ago. Oliver hadbusiness to finalize in townthat couldn’t be put off. Buthe’d get to Chandlerville assoonashecould.He and Selena had talked
nightlysincehe’dleft.AboutCamille and how she wasfeeling. About Joe and hisrecovery andmove, andhowMarsha was doing. AboutBethany stopping by theDixon house and thenBelinda’s the other day, notstaying for long, butwantingto meet Teddy and to seeCamille again. AboutSelena’s last few days atChandler Elementary beforetheschoolyearended.About
everythingbutherandOliverandwhat theywere going todonext.They’d stopped short each
night of talking about thefuture. They had plenty oftimetogettothat,Oliverhadsaid. Once he was home.Until then, he justwanted totalk,togettoknowheragain,to hear her voice each nightas he stared out at hisMidtown Atlanta view. Hewantedtoknowifshe’dwait
for him, just a little longer.Andshehad.Sure, she’d seriously
contemplatedleavingCamillewithBelindaFridayafternoonand charming Fred into aninterstate excursion into theheart of the city. But notbecause she didn’t trustOliver. The as-yet-unopenedenvelope she’d received inthe mail on Thursday hadbeentheculprit.Anenvelopeshe’d carefully tucked away
instead of opening it ordrivingtoOliver’scondoandinsisting they open ittogether.Instead,she’dsavedit for today. Then she’dgottenbacktothebusinessofcreating the life that she’ddreamed of for her and herdaughter. Just as she’dpromisedOlivershewould.No details over the phone,
they’d agreed. About whateither of them were up to.They were trusting each
other, no matter what theyfacednext.Waitforme,Selena.Iwon’tletyoudown.I’llseeyoutomorrow,love,
he’d said before hanging uplastnight.Shehadn’theard fromhim
since.Camille ran up, pigtails
flying.Shewasclutchinghalfof one of Dan’s special,Camille-friendly, chocolatedoughnuts.Atleastathirdof
theotherhalfwassmearedalloverherface.“IwannagiveGrandpaour
cardnow,” she said,hoppingupanddown.“Ouch, sweetie.” Selena
picked her up, to protect hertoes.Her beautiful child was
over-the-moon excited aboutbeing one of the Dixons. Ithad made the last week anonstop celebration.Everyoneinthefamily,adults
andkids, had acceptedher—and Selena and Belinda—astheirown.Yesterdaythethreeof them had attended theirfirst Saturday picnic in theDixon backyard, having ablast with everyone but JoeandMarsha,who’dbeenhereat the rehab center, finishinggettingJoesettled.Wanting to brighten Joe’s
transition to the center hadbeen one of Selena’s reasonsfor postponing the surprise
now sealed inside Camille’scard. Plus wanting Oliver tobe there, to hear the newsalong with his family. Theresults of the paternity testwould formalize Camille’splace in the Dixon family,whoever her father was.Selena had secured herdaughter’sagreementtowait.She’d checked with MarshatobesureJoewasupfor thebigreveal,andwithBradandDru to ask if theywereokay
withfindingoutinpublic.Thefamilywasonpinsand
needles, but they’d saidthey’dbethrilledtocelebrateone more thing today.Beyond that, to Selena andCamille andMarsha and Joeand the whole tribe, Camillewas already aDixon.Now itwas nearly dusk outside andJoewas looking tired.Whichmeant it was time, whetherOlivermadeitornot.“Go on.” She put Camille
down. It was a wonder herdaughter had kept her secretthis long. “Be careful withyour grandpa. Let Marshahelp you up on the bed. Buttheroomisyours.”“Grandpa, Grandma,
Grammy!” Camille raced tothe other side of the room,where Belinda was chattingwith Marsha. “I get to giveGrandpamys’prisenow.It’sforyou,too,Grandma.Idrewthe pictures forGrandpa, but
it’sforyou,too.”She threw herself into
Marsha’s laughing hug andpractically climbed into hergrandmother’s arms. Belindapatted Camille on the back.HersmileofprideforSelenawas a sweet reward for thehard-fought journey that hadbroughtthemalltothishappyplace.Selena had turned the
divorce over to Oliver’slawyer, who was already
engagingParker’slegalteam.She’d stopped answering herhusband’s calls and deletedhis texts and voice mails.She’d accepted Kristen’soffer tobea full-timesubonstaffattheelementaryschoolnextyear.Shewascollectingthe material andrecommendations she’d needto apply for the grants thatwould pay for at least onenight class a semester at thecommunity college. She’d
made it to her AA meetingThursday night. Andtomorrow afternoon, she andCamille andhopefullyOliverwould be heading to a localno-cageanimalsheltertopickout a floppy-eared BlossomorBudtobringhome.Selena closedher eyes and
reminded herself to breathe,to be grateful, to trust,whileher daughter chattered awayto her grandparents. Oliverwouldbethere.He’dgowith
themtolookforapuppy.Heand Selena and Camillewould have their new start.And even if for some reasonhe didn’t follow through onhis promises, Selena andCamille would be okay.Because lookat thebeautifullife they were building forthemselvesinChandlerville.“Wehadityesterdayatthe
picnic,” Camille was saying.“But you weren’t there,GrandmaandGrandpa.”
Selena watched CamillecuddlednexttoJoe,thelargeenvelope that she’d coloredflowers and hearts all overclutched in her hand. Insidewas an enthusiasticallydecorated “Get Well Soon,Grandpa”card fromCamille,and inside that, the sealedletter from the hospital’sclinic. Camille was smilingup at Marsha. And then shegently,verycarefullyhuggedJoe.
“Open it,” she insisted.“Open my surprise,Grandpa!”Joe took the card, while
Belinda steadied Camille,keeping her from bouncingtoohardonthebed.“It’s very pretty,” Joe
praised. “Just like you,Cricket.”Selena blinked away the
happy tears that came everytime she heard her pet namefor her child spoken in the
deepertimbreofJoe’svoice.“It’s prettier inside,”
Camille insisted. “ButMommy wouldn’t let mecolorontheletter.Onlyyourcard.”“Letter?”Joeasked.“Fromthehospital.”Selena
turned her smile to Dru andBrad, wanting to be certaintheywerestillokaywiththis.Theybothsmiledastheroomquieted around them, theother partygoers catching on
thatsomethingimportantwashappening.“Fromtheclinic.”“Mommy said we had to
wait for all the family to betogether,” Camille said,“beforewecouldopenit.”“Then I’m glad I wrapped
up my last meeting in thecity, so I could make theparty,” a deep voicerespondedfromthedoorway.“Oliver.” Selena raced
throughthecrowd.She threwherarmsaround
his neck. She hung onto himthe way she’d wanted to themorninghe’dleft.“You’reback,”shegushed.“I’mback.”He dropped the briefcase
he’d been carrying andhauled her closer, delightingeveryone into a clappingfrenzy when he swooped inforakiss.Hislipswerewarmandtenderandtootantalizingfor a public display ofaffection.ButSelenacouldn’t
stop herself from indulging.Whenhefinallysetheraway,ittookherafullsixtysecondsto focus on the sexy navy-blue suit he wore, completewith a burgundy tie, aruthlessly starched whiteshirt,andgoldcufflinks.“Wowza,”shesaid.“Whythankyou,ma’am.”“The party invitation said
casualdress.”“I didn’t have time to
change. And I needed to
showoffmybeststuffatthismorning’s incorporationmeeting. A man can’t throwdown casual when he’snegotiating with his lawyersandnewbusinesspartner.”“Anewwhat?”“A peer ofmine on the IT
contracting circuit, acompetitor, really.Shenailedmy last two prospectiveclientsbecauseIcouldn’tgetmy pitches together in time.She’s been after me to
combineresourcesforyears.Ijust made her, and myself,veryhappybyobliging.”“Congratulations, Oliver,”
Marshasaid.And then everyone was
raising their lemonade in anewtoast,eveniftheydidn’tcompletely understand whatwas going on, offering acheery“Congratulations!”“But you work alone,”
Selenasaid.Oliverpeckedakissonthe
tip of her nose. “Notanymore.Not ifI’mgoingtolive in Chandlerville andcommuteintothecity.Not ifIcan’ttravelallthetime,andcan’trelocatebecauseaclientsomewhere needs a techworkingata jobsiteforGodknowshowlong.”“But...”“Not if I want to be here
withyouandCamilleandmyfamily, figuring out how tohavealife,insteadofmaking
work my whole life. WithXan on board and the planswe’ve been hashing out forhiring staff and leveragingproject loads, I’ll be able todobothnow.”“Xan?” Selena’s head was
spinning.Oliver kissed her again,
making her tingle all over.“I’llexplainlater.”Hegrinned towardCamille
andhisparentsandBelinda.“Sounded like I was
interrupting somethingimportant,” he said.“Something about a surprisefromthehospital.”“In Grandpa’s get-well
card,” Camille chirped. Herpout made an appearance.“Canheopenitnow?”“Grandpa?” Oliver asked
Selena.“I’ve been working on a
few of my own projects.”There was so much to tellhim.
“I’m intrigued,” he teased.“And I’m also going tocommandeerthepartyforjustanother minute or two, withCamille’s permission, ofcourse. I promise to make itup to you,” he said toSelena’simpatientchild.CamillelookedfromOliver
to Selena, who nodded herheadinencouragement.“Allright,”Camillesighed.
“What’s that?” She stared atOliverandSelenathesameas
everyoneelseintheroom.That’s when Selena
realized Oliver was holdingsomething out to her. Arobin’s-egg-blue box, tiedwithawhitesatinribbon.“Oh my God.” She gazed
into his smiling green eyes,seeing his love there—andherforever.“Oliver...”“Iknowit’spremature.But
my lawyers tell me they’vegot things moving withParker,nowthathe’srealized
he no longer has financialleveragewithyou.And fromthesoundofit,Igotherejustin time to do this right—theway I’ve wanted to since IwalkedintoTiffany’sthefirstof last week and found theperfectringforyou.”“What...”He’d bought her a ring
fromTiffany’s?Herrebelbadboy from high school who’dspent his entire first weekbackinChandlervillewearing
wrinkled jeans,T-shirts, rattytennis shoes, andbabyvomitwas wearing a designer suitand proposing to her with aringthatmusthavecosthimafortune.“What way is the right
way?”sheasked.Oliverheldouttheboxand
smiled when she took it. “Iwanted to ask you to marryme before the paternity testresultswereback.”He’d dropped his voice, to
keep the last of what he’dsaidbetweenthem,notthatitwasasecretaroundtownanylonger. Selena covered hermouth with her hand. Olivertook it and dropped to oneknee.“Marry me, Selena
Rosenthal. Marry me andshareyourdaughterwithme.Make babies with me. Helpme figure out whatevermarriedpeoplehavetofigureout, so we can make this
work the way my parentshave.Forever.”It was magical. It was
Oliver promising everythingthat Selena had alwaysdreamed of, for her andCamille. She threw herselfinto his arms again to theexcitement of the wildlyclappingpartygoers.Oliver stood and twirled
her around, the Tiffany ringbox crushed between them.She couldn’twait to open it,
to see the beautiful,breathtaking treasure Oliverhad picked out just for her.She couldn’twait to tell himeverything, most importantthat he was what she’ddecidedshewanted—himandCamille and her, together—no matter how long it tookhim to come home. But shehad to be sure of just onethingfirst.She turned toward Camille
andfeltOliverwraphisarms
around her from behind. HepulledSelenaintothewarmthofhisbody.CamillewasstillonJoe’sbed.Herspecialcardhadfallenfromherhand,butshewassmiling,too.“What do you think?”
Selena asked. She wouldn’tmake a decision this bigwithout making sure it wasokaywithherdaughter.“Does thismeanwe get to
stayforever?”Camilleasked,her excitement spreading
around the room as peoplemurmured their approval andlooked back to Selena andOliver. Brad and Dru, too.They were holding Teddybetween them, and theylookedthrilled.“Forever, darlin’,” Oliver
promised.To which Camille gave a
happy“That’ssocool!”Andthensheturnedbackto
Joe.“Can we open your card
now, Grandpa, and see yoursurprise?”Laughter and cheers and
more clapping filled theroom. Selena and Oliverpulled the white satin ribbontogether and opened the bluebox.Her breath caughtwhenshe saw the ring. It wasmagnificent. But its sparklewas nothing compared withthe excitement in Oliver’seyeswhenheslid itontoherfinger.
That done, with one moresweet kiss to seal the deal,they turned their attentionback to their family andCamille’s big moment. Joecarefully read his card, hissmilewidening.Heinspectedeach and every scribble hisgranddaughter hadpainstakingly drawn on boththecardandtheenvelope.“It’s beautiful.” He gave
Camille a noisy kiss. “Icouldn’tthinkofabetterway
to celebrate being Father ofthe Year than gettingsomething this special frommyveryfirstgrandchild.”Camille clapped. And then
she held up the sealedenvelopethathadfallentothemattress. “But you have toopen this, too. Don’t youwantyoursurprise?”Joe ran his hand down
Camille’smadlycurlinghair.“Howaboutyouhelpme.”“Yay!”Camillepouncedon
theenvelope.She nearly tore it in two
ripping itopen.Her foreheadwrinkled at the official-looking form inside, as ifshe’dexpected something farmore impressive after thedramaofbeingtoldatleastahundredtimesthatshe’dhaveto wait to see what it was.ShehandedJoethepaper.“What does it say?” she
asked.Marsha leaned over, and
she and Joe silently read thereport together. They handedit toBelinda,whopassed thepaternity results to Brad andDru without glancing at theresults.“What’s it say?” Camille
demanded. “Grandpa, what’sthesurprise?”“Well,Dad?”Oliverasked.Joe chuckled, looking
better than he had since hisheart attack. He smiled atSelenaandOliverandpulled
Camille into another gentlehug.“Congratulations, son,” he
said.“It’sagirl.”
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank my friendJennifer Sewell, motherextraordinaire, for sharingwhat it’s like to raise a childwith severe food allergies.We so frequently hear aboutkids who can’t have this orthat when we drop our own
off at school and play dates.It’seasy to losesightofhowquickly these everydayexperiences can becomedangerous. Or of howchallenging getting throughthem can be for families,when the mere taste ofsomeone else’s snack mightbe life-threatening for a littleone. You’re an inspiration,Jennifer!
Aboutthe
Author
AnnaDeStefanoistheaward-winning, nationallybestselling author of morethan twenty-five books,including the Mimosa LanenovelsandtheAtlantaHeroesseries. Born in Charleston,SouthCarolina,she’slivedintheSouth her entire life.Herbackgroundasacareproviderand adult educator in theworld of crisis and griefrecovery lends itself to the
deeper psychological themesof every story she writes. Awife and mother, shecurrentlywritesinacharmingnortheast suburb of Atlanta,Georgia,notall thatdifferentfrom her characters’ belovedChandlerville. She is also aworkshop and keynotespeaker,awritingcoach,andafreelanceeditor.Get to know Anna at
annawrites.comandtheAnnaDeStefano: Author page on
Facebook, where she sharesher inspirations, herchallenges, a healthy dose ofhonest optimism, and tidbitsaboutupcomingprojects.