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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,