“How can I be a mother to this little girl,” Barbara asked softly in the darkness, “when every time I look at her I see…?” Her voice trailed off, the name too hurtful to speak aloud.

She was silent for a long moment, recalling the face of another child—her smiles, her laughter and tears, the bedtime ritual, the prayers, the good-night kisses. “It hurts, Doug,” she whispered. “All I can see is…Caitlin, but Caitlin isn’t here.”

There was no reply.

This man she had loved for over ten years was closer to her than any other human being had ever been. They were one in every way that counted. Over the years, they had shared their most private thoughts and their most intimate moments.

And yet, in the silence of this moment, in the pressing darkness of their bedroom, Barbara had never felt more alone, or more in need of comfort.

CAROLE GIFT PAGE

writes from the heart about issues facing today’s adults. Considered one of America’s best-loved Christian fiction writers, Carole has completed her fortieth book, publishing both fiction and nonfiction with a dozen major Christian publishers, including Thomas Nelson, Moody, Crossway, Bethany, Tyndale and Harvest House. An award-winning novelist, Carole is the recipient of two Pacesetter awards and the C.S. Lewis Honor Book Award. Several of her novels have been nominees for the Campus Life Book of the Year Award and the prestigious Gold Medallion Book Award. Over 800 of her stories, articles and poems have been published in more than 100 Christian periodicals.

A frequent speaker at churches, conferences, conventions, schools and women’s ministries around the country, Carole finds fulfillment in being able to share her testimony about the faithfulness of God in her life and the abundance He offers to those who come to Him. Born and raised in Jackson, Michigan, Carole taught creative writing at Biola University in La Mirada, California, for several years and currently serves on the advisory board of the American Christian Writers. She and her husband, Bill, live in Moreno Valley, California. They have three children (plus one in heaven) and three grandchildren.

A Family to Cherish
Carole Gift Page

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For thus says the Lord: “Behold, I will extend peace to her like a river…like a flowing stream. Then you shall feed; on her sides shall you be carried, and be dandled on her knees. As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you….”

—Isaiah 66:12, 13

In memory of our own Misty Lynne Page, who slipped so swiftly and silently from our arms into Jesus’ loving arms.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Copyright

Chapter One

Barbara Logan was standing at the bedroom mirror in her silk dressing gown when her husband glanced over at her and that old familiar look passed between them. The look that said, I love you…I need you…I want you…now. Barbara felt the impact of that look and caught her breath. It was like the sudden dip in the road that tickles one’s tummy. For an instant she averted her gaze, partly out of embarrassment, partly out of habit. Then she looked back at Doug to be sure she hadn’t imagined that beguiling glance in his smoky blue eyes. But already it was gone, replaced by his usual take-charge, matter-of-fact expression.

“Did you pick up my shirts at the cleaners, Barb?”

“They’re right there on the bureau,” she replied, masking her disappointment. In the old days when they were dressing for a dinner party, he would have swept her into his arms and teasingly insisted they make mad passionate love before the company arrived. But these days they hardly managed to carry on an ordinary conversation without a sense of awkwardness and remoteness creeping between them. Over time the aloofness had become a wall too high to scale and too thick to penetrate. For Barbara, it was easier talking with a stranger than with the man she had been married to for nearly ten years.

Of course, Barbara blamed herself for their alienation. Too many times over these past four years she had rebuffed Doug’s overtures of affection. She hadn’t wanted to. She hadn’t even intended to. But she couldn’t help herself. Loving him brought back too much pain. Didn’t he feel it, too? How could he think they could simply resume their lives after they had lost so much? But he refused to talk about it, so she didn’t talk about it, either. It was as if they had silently agreed they would never discuss that one shattering, profoundly significant event in their lives.

“The Van Peebles should be here any time,” said Doug, buttoning his starched white shirt. A tall, solid man with curly black hair and a swarthy complexion, Doug had an athletic build and strong, muscular arms from years of weight lifting in college. Yet he had the supple grace of a ballroom dancer.

No wonder Barbara had fallen in love with him almost at first sight that day she spotted him playing volleyball on the beach. And when he had smiled with those riveting blue eyes and invited her to join the game, she had known there was no turning back. This was the man for her.

“I told them seven o’clock,” Doug was saying, “and Clive is a great one for punctuality. As he always says, ‘Time is money and money, time.’”

Barbara eased herself gingerly into her black satin evening dress with its V-neckline and scoop back. “I guess all that Van Peebles punctuality comes from him being a bank president, do you think?”

“And from being one of the richest men in town,” noted Doug. “Fortunately for the hospital, he’s also one of the most generous.”

“Thanks to you,” said Barbara. “You saved his life five years ago with that quadruple bypass. He still claims you’re the best surgeon on the West Coast.”

“Was,” Doug corrected, tight-lipped.

Barbara stole another glance at him, but didn’t reply. She had never understood how her husband could give up an illustrious surgical career for a dreary administrative position in the same hospital. Yet Doug seemed to have a genuine knack for fund-raising. Mercy Hospital had already added a cancer wing and begun work on a new children’s wing with the money Doug had brought in.

Barbara watched as her husband put on his gold cuff links, the diamond-studded ones she had given him on their fifth anniversary, when they still believed love could conquer every obstacle. “I hope you remembered to put Tabby outside, Barb. Remember Mrs. Van Peebles’s allergies.”

“Are you kidding? I scrubbed the entire house with disinfectant. I never saw anyone who hated cats like she does.”

“I suppose if the furry critters gave us sneezing fits like they give her, we’d banish Tabby to Outer Mongolia, too.”

Barbara turned her back to Doug so he could zip up her dress, which he did automatically, his fingers lingering for a moment on her bare shoulder. “You look beautiful, Barbie,” he said softly.

She turned to face him. “You, too, Doug. Handsome, I mean.”

“Thanks.” He nudged her chin, a fleeting glimpse of the old Doug shining through. “I guess we’re ready. With time to spare. Five minutes at least.”

“Not me. I have to toss the salad and check on the roast.”

“You know, honey, if the roast is large enough, you can serve it to Nancy and Paul tomorrow.”

Barbara fluffed her silky blond hair so that it framed her face just so, the loose curls accenting her high cheekbones. “Doug, you know I wouldn’t give your sister and brother-in-law leftovers.”

“Why not? They’d probably just as soon have a picnic in the park or chili dogs at some refreshment stand. Unless Nancy’s into sushi bars now. You know how bohemian they are.”

Barbara smiled. “A couple of hippies left over from the sixties. It still amazes me that you and your sisters were raised in the same family.”

Doug nodded. “I was the bookish one, Pam the socialite, and Nancy the flower child,” he said, a chuckle in his voice.

“I remember the last time Nancy and Paul came down from San Francisco. What was it…four years ago?”

“You know when it was, Barbie. Right after—”

Barbara cut him off before he said the words. “Of course I know. In my mind I can still see that sister of yours. Wearing her baby like a papoose wherever she went. Always had that baby strapped to her, front or back. Like a permanent appendage. She never thought to get a stroller like other mothers.”

“Nancy just has her own way of doing things,” said Doug. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“I didn’t say there was,” said Barbara, checking her makeup in the mirror one last time and blotting her vermilion-red lips with a tissue. “It’s just that she and Paul are such free spirits, you never know what to expect of them.”

“Good thing they’re coming tomorrow and not tonight,” said Doug. “I’m afraid they wouldn’t mix well with the Van Peebles.”

“Oh, Doug, I don’t even want to imagine such a thing,” Barbara replied as she headed out the bedroom door. She crossed the hallway to the spiral staircase, her three-inch heels sinking deep into the plush turquoise carpet. Halfway down the stairs, she heard the doorbell ring.

“Right on time,” said Doug, passing her on the stairs. “You go toss the salad, Barb. I’ll greet them.”

Barbara followed her husband across the marble entry to the carved oak doors. “I’m here now. I’ll say hello.”

With an expansive gesture, Doug swung open the double doors and said, “Welcome! Come right in—” But the words died in his throat as he and Barbara gaped at the trio in the doorway.

Nancy and Paul Myers, beaming smiles typical of a toothpaste commercial, stood arm in arm with their daughter, now a rosy-cheeked, curly-mopped five-year-old. “Hi, guys!” said Paul, looking like a cow-puncher in plaid shirt, leather vest, faded jeans and cowboy boots. “Surprise! Hope you don’t mind us showing up a day early.”

Nancy, in a floral peasant dress, her straight blond hair flowing down her back like a sun-washed waterfall, went immediately into Doug’s arms. He gave her a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. “Sis, I—I never expected you tonight,” he stammered.

Nancy went from Doug to Barbara for a hug, laughing as if they were all sharing an enormous joke. “You know me, big brother. Always doing the unexpected.”

“Keeps life interesting,” said Paul, raking back a wave of sandy brown hair. As his gaze swept over Barbara’s evening dress, his brow furrowed. “Hey, it looks like you folks are ready to go out on the town.”

“Oh, my, yes,” said Nancy with a little gasp. “Look at you two. Dressed to kill.”

“We’re not going out,” said Barbara. “We’re dining in with one of Doug’s clients.”

“Not client, exactly,” Doug corrected. “One of the hospital’s rather generous benefactors.”

“Oh, then we won’t intrude,” said Nancy, backing toward the door. “We’ll go to a hotel tonight.”

“Nonsense,” said Doug. “You’re here now. Come on in.”

The two hesitated only a moment, then in chorus replied, “All right. If you insist.”

Nancy turned to Barbara. “You won’t recognize Janee. She’s not a baby anymore.” She turned to where the child had stood, but there was no sign of the girl. “Paul, where did Janee go?”

He looked around. “She was here just a minute ago.”

Alarm rang in Nancy’s voice. “Well, she’s not here now!”

Both Paul and Nancy darted into the yard in different directions and began calling Janee’s name. Within moments Paul was steering the reluctant youngster up the sidewalk and onto the porch. Janee, a dimpled cherub with impish, sea-green eyes and a profusion of honey-brown curls, was clutching Barbara’s fat, furry Persian cat tightly in her arms.

“Oh, look,” said Nancy. “Janee found your cat. Tabby must have gotten out without you knowing.”

Barbara was about to explain that they had put the cat outside on purpose, but before she could get the words out, Janee set the cat down, and a terrified Tabby sprinted away into the house, taking all nine of her lives with her.

“Stop her!” cried Doug, lunging after the cat and catching nothing more than thin air.

It was too late. Tabby was gone, no doubt cowering under some sofa or table lest the little Shirley Temple look-alike in a sailor dress track her down and subject her to another breath-crushing hug.

A distraught Janee burst into tears. “I want the kitty!”

Barbara saw that the situation was deteriorating fast. “Come on in,” she prompted, ushering everyone inside. “Make them comfortable in the living room,” she told Doug. Before shutting the door, she took a quick glance outside to be sure the Van Peebles weren’t coming up the walk.

To her horror, there they were in the winding driveway, emerging from their sleek luxury automobile—the buxom Harriet Van Peebles in a full-length mink coat and the silver-haired Clive Van Peebles in a shiny black tuxedo.

Barbara stepped onto the porch and greeted them, her smile so brittle she feared her face would crack. “Mr. and Mrs. Van Peebles, welcome! So glad you could come.”

The women exchanged polite hugs, each mouthing a kiss near the other’s ear. “Are we late, dear?” enquired Harriet. “Is that why you’re waiting for us on the porch?”

“Oh, no, you’re right on time,” replied Barbara, flustered, warm-faced. “Please come in.”

Standing like a little sentry in the foyer was Janee, arms folded, tiny chin jutting out, her eyes focused on Mrs. Van Peebles’s coat.

Harriet bent down and smiled. “Whose little girl are you?”

“My mommy’s.”

“Doug’s sister’s child,” said Barbara. “They dropped in unexpectedly.”

“I see you looking at my coat, dear. Would you like to touch it?”

Janee ran her hand over the soft fur, then looked up wide-eyed and asked, “Did you kill a little animal?”

Mrs. Van Peebles drew back in repulsion. “Kill an animal? Good heavens, child, what are you saying?”

“Mommy says bad people kill little animals to make coats.”

Mrs. Van Peebles fanned herself with her hanky, her face draining of color except for the rouge on her cheeks. Barbara quickly helped her off with her fur. “I’ll hang this up for you, Mrs. Van Peebles. It’s an exquisite coat. Just lovely!”

Doug came striding into the foyer and greeted their guests, while Barbara hung up the coat and then steered Janee back into the living room. Doug followed with the Van Peebles and made introductions all around.

“I’ll go put on extra plates,” said Barbara, fighting a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. The night was already a disaster, and several awkward, tension-filled hours still lay ahead. “Doug, would you pour the sparkling cider?”

“Can I help, Barb?” asked Nancy. “I make a great soy-based salad dressing. Or if there’s anything else I can do…”

“No, thanks, Nan. Everything’s ready. Everyone, please come to the dining room. We’ll be eating in a jiffy,” Barbara replied politely.

Barbara invited the Van Peebles to sit on one side of the linen-draped table, and Nancy, Paul, and Janee to sit on the other side. She and Doug sat at opposite ends.

“Wow, you really went all out,” Nancy marveled, gazing around. “Your best silver, china and crystal. The table looks gorgeous.”

“It certainly does,” Mrs. Van Peebles told Barbara. “You have a real knack for entertaining, dear.”

“Thank you, Harriet.” Barbara looked at Doug. “Would you light the candelabra, darling, and ask the blessing on the food?”

Doug’s prayer was short and perfunctory, not like the heartfelt prayers he used to offer when his faith and Barbara’s was still alive and meaningful. He was going through the motions just as she was; it was the pattern of their lives these days.

“I’ll get the salad while you eat your shrimp cocktails,” Barbara said, scooting back her chair.

“I don’t like ‘schimps,’” said Janee, wrinkling her nose. Gingerly she held up a plump, pink shrimp between two fingers, as if it might bite. “They look ugly. Like big, fat worms.”

“I’ll bring you some fruit jelly,” said Barbara, whisking Janee’s shrimp cocktail away. She returned moments later with the jelly, a tossed salad and a basket of hot rolls.

Just as Mrs. Van Peebles placed a forkful of lettuce between her lips, she sneezed. “Excuse me,” she said, then promptly sneezed again. Her husband handed her his handkerchief. “Thank you, dear,” she murmured. “Goodness, it must be my allergies acting up.”

Barbara glanced around surreptitiously. Where was Tabby? Surely not close enough to make Mrs. Van Peebles sneeze! But just then, Barbara felt the cat’s smooth fur rub against her leg and heard the familiar purr. Pretending to reach for her fallen napkin, Barbara nudged the cat away, then stood up abruptly and said, “I’ll get the roast.”

She hoped Tabby would follow her into the kitchen, but the cat had already disappeared again. Barbara returned to the dining room with a steaming rib roast, browned potatoes, and a bowl of freshly shelled peas. “Eat well, everyone. There’s plenty.”

“This is a wonderful dinner,” said Clive, helping himself to a generous portion of the roast. “Isn’t it delicious, Harriet?”

She took a slice of beef and sniffed loudly. “Yes, I just wish I could taste something.”

“I don’t want any,” said Janee, as Barbara passed the roast around the table. “Mama says we don’t eat meat. She says we’re veter…um, veterinarians.”

“Vegetarians,” corrected Nancy. “But that’s okay, honey. Some folks do eat meat.”

“If you don’t want any roast beef, maybe you’d like some peas, Janee,” said Barbara, forcing her tone to remain pleasant.

“She loves peas,” said Nancy.

“Do not,” said Janee.

Barbara gave the child a heaping spoonful of peas.

“Barb, are you still giving piano lessons here in your home?” asked Nancy.

“Yes, Nan. I have a dozen students.”

“That’s marvelous. Do they perform anywhere?”

“They give a recital at the school twice a year. It’s quite an event.”

“And are you still playing piano for the church?”

Barbara drew a sharp breath. “No, I gave that up quite a while ago.”

There was a sudden lull in the conversation. Barbara’s mouth went dry. Was everyone waiting for her to explain why she would give up playing the piano when she loved it so much?

“So, Mr. Myers, what kind of work do you do?” asked Clive, breaking the silence.

“Whatever I can get,” said Paul between mouthfuls of roast beef. “I design computer software programs. Games mainly. For kids. Ever hear of Appalachian Ape Antics? Or The Elephant and the Eggplant? Or The Owl and the Octopus?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Not my best work,” conceded Paul.

“Janee loves your games, Paul,” said Nancy, patting his arm. “Don’t you, Janee?”

Janee didn’t answer. She was carefully lining her peas up in her spoon.

Doug turned to Clive. “Speaking of kids and games, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the hospital’s plans to complete the new children’s wing.”

“Oh, yes, the children’s wing. How’s that going?”

“Great, Clive—if we can just get the funds to finish the job.”

With a triumphant little smile, Janee piled the last of her peas in her spoon. Slowly she lifted the spoon to her mouth, where it remained poised unsteadily in the air for a moment.

“Eat your peas, darling,” urged Nancy.

“Don’t like peas.”

“Janee, your mother said to eat your peas,” said Paul.

“No!” With a twist of her wrist Janee flicked the spoon away from her mouth, catapulting the peas across the table. Two landed unceremoniously in Mrs. Van Peebles’s cleavage. Dead silence reigned as all eyes focused on the two small green peas nestled in the matron’s ample bosom.

Harriet stared down in horror at her embarrassing dilemma. “Merciful heavens!” she murmured under her breath.

Her husband leaned over and made a gesture as if to retrieve the peas, then apparently thought better of the idea. At last Harriet carefully plucked the peas from her bodice and placed them on her plate. “I think I’ve had quite enough peas,” she said faintly.

“I’m so sorry, Harriet,” said Barbara, her face flushing.

“It was just an accident,” said Nancy. “Wasn’t it, Janee? You didn’t mean to hit the nice lady with your peas, did you?”

Janee’s lower lip trembled, but before a geyser of tears erupted, Mrs. Van Peebles again broke into a sneezing frenzy.

“Barbara, dear, are—are you sure you don’t have cats?” Harriet stammered between sneezes.

“I’m afraid we do,” Barbara admitted. “Tabby was outside, but somehow she got inside. I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Van Peebles looked at her husband with red, watery eyes. “Maybe we’d better go, Clive.”

Doug shoved back his chair and stood up. “Please, don’t go, Harriet. We’ll find the cat right away and put her out.”

Suddenly everyone but the Van Peebles was leaving the table and looking for the cat. Random choruses of “Here, kitty, kitty,” rose from the living room and dining room, but there was no sign of the animal. Just when Barbara was ready to admit defeat, Janee came bouncing to the table with Tabby in her arms.

“I found the kitty,” she trilled, all smiles.

But Tabby wasn’t happy to be found. The hefty feline wriggled out of Janee’s arms and sprang onto the tablecloth, knocking over a crystal goblet before jumping into the arms of a startled, swooning Harriet Van Peebles.

The evening ended shortly after that—a near calamity, but not a total disaster. At the door, as Doug helped Harriet on with her fur coat, Clive told Barbara confidentially, “Don’t worry. The hospital will get the money to finish the children’s wing. Harriet already made up our minds before we came. She has a warm spot for kids. And as ill-fated as this evening was, one of these days Harriet and I will have a good laugh over it. And a good laugh is worth a lot when you get to be our age.”

Barbara gave Clive a quick hug. “Thank you. This means the world to Doug and me…personally.”

Clive met her gaze with tender, glistening eyes. “To tell you the truth, Barbara, that’s why we’re doing it. And if I have anything to say about it, you know the name they’ll give the new children’s wing. It’ll be named after your little Caitlin.”

Tears blinded Barbara. The only words that would come were a whispered “Thank you.”

After the Van Peebles had gone, Barbara dried her eyes, put a smile in place, and went to find Nancy who was in the kitchen rinsing the dirty dishes. “You don’t have to do that, Nan,” Barbara admonished. “Go to bed. You’ve had a long day.”

“No, it’s the least I can do, Barb. We never meant to spoil your party.”

“It’s okay. It was a bit rocky there for a while, but no serious harm done. In fact, I think the Van Peebles might actually have enjoyed themselves. At least the night was unforgettable.”

“Still, I’m sorry for the way Janee behaved.” Nancy looked at Barbara, her eyes shaded with contrition. “She’s not a naughty child, Barb. You know that. Just curious and spunky. You must remember how impulsive and rambunctious a five-year-old can be.”

The words impaled Barbara. She reeled, wounded, unsteady; she couldn’t reply.

Paul entered the kitchen just then with a stack of plates. “Nan, be quiet,” he scolded. “You know they don’t talk about that.”

Nancy covered her mouth, stricken. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Barb. Forgive me. I didn’t mean anything. I just thought you’d remember how it was—you know.”

Somehow Barbara found her voice. “Yes. I remember.”

“Which room do you want us in, Barb?” asked Paul, setting the plates on the counter.

“The large guest room upstairs at the end of the hall. It has a bathroom connected to a small bedroom for Janee. The beds are made, and clean towels are on the racks.”

Paul brushed a kiss on Barbara’s forehead. “Thanks. You and Doug are the best. What time do you want us up for church?”

Barbara opened the dishwasher and began loading cups and saucers. “We haven’t been going lately,” she said in a small, detached voice.

“You aren’t going to church?” echoed Paul in disbelief.

Barbara turned to face her brother-in-law, but couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his gaze. “You know how it is, Paul. We’re so busy these days. Doug and I hardly have time for each other.”

“But church? You used to go every time they opened the doors. You got Nancy and me going.”

“And we’ll get back one of these days, too,” she assured him. She turned back to her dishes, but she could still feel Paul’s and Nancy’s questioning eyes on her.

Barbara felt a flood of relief when Janee came bounding into the kitchen and diverted their attention. “Look, Mommy, look!” the child cried, bursting with excitement. “See the pretty bear!”

Barbara whirled around and stared at the familiar brown bear with the scarlet Victorian dress and floppy wide-brimmed hat. How had the child got hold of the irreplaceable Mrs. Miniver? Barbara snatched the bear from Janee’s arms. “Give me that!”

Startled, Janee grabbed for the bear, but Barbara clutched the stuffed animal possessively to her breast. Janee stared up at Barbara, her large green eyes defiant. “I want it,” she said, jutting out her lower lip.

Barbara stooped down and looked Janee directly in the eye, her temper rising. She tried to keep the anger out of her voice as she demanded, “Tell me, Janee. How did you get this bear?”

Janee’s tiny chin puckered. “I got it in the pretty room with dolls and teddy bears.” She turned to her mother and pleaded, “Can I sleep in the pretty room, Mommy? Can I please? Please?”

“No!” Barbara replied more shrilly than she had intended. She was trembling, her hands cold as death. “You can’t sleep in that room, Janee. It’s not your room. Don’t you ever go in there again!”

Janee stood her ground, a feisty little moppet, precocious, imperturbable. “Why can’t I? Does another little girl sleep in the pretty room?”

Barbara didn’t answer.

All she could think of was Caitlin.

Chapter Two

Caitlin’s room.

At midnight, as if drawn by a force beyond herself, Barbara opened the door, flicked the light switch and stepped inside, cradling the Victorian teddy bear in her arms. The room looked exactly as it had four years ago. Other than this stuffed bear, not one item had been moved, except during dusting and cleaning. Ruffled Priscilla curtains with tiny sweetheart roses framed the windows. The canopy bed was neatly made with its downy white comforter trimmed with eyelet. A family of teddy bears was nestled together in the royal blue Queen Anne chair by the bed, awaiting the return of Mrs. Miniver, Caitlin’s favorite. Barbara replaced it now, tenderly adjusting the red taffeta skirt and floppy hat.

Barbara scanned the room again with a sense of relief. Yes, everything was back in place, the way it was meant to be. The white French provincial dressing table and bureau boasted a whimsical hodgepodge of dolls and books and games. The walls were bright with a mélange of crayon drawings, the paper yellowed now. And on the bed lay Caitlin’s pink ruffled nightgown exactly as she had left it so long ago.

“Caitlin, my precious baby,” Barbara said with a muffled sob. “Dear God, why do I do this to myself? Why can’t I forget?” She stepped back out of the room and shut the door, her hand trembling slightly as she turned the key in the lock. At least now no one could trespass and violate her daughter’s memory.

The next morning, shortly after Doug left for the hospital, Barbara reluctantly joined Nancy, Paul, and Janee for their grand tour of Southern California, starting with Universal Studios.

“It’s too bad Doug couldn’t join us,” Nancy told Barbara as they stood in the long ticket line under a scorching August sun. Paul and Janee had moved to another line to see who got to the window first, and now Nancy seemed all too eager for chitchat. “You know, Barb, I told my brother he’s become a stuffy workaholic. I said, ‘Doug, life is too short to spend every waking moment in some dreary office.’ And don’t tell me he’s not, Barb. I can read between the lines. I say to him, ‘Doug, you and Barbara should be out having some fun and enjoying each other.’ Tell me the truth, Barbara. He doesn’t have fun anymore, does he?”

“Work is his fun these days,” Barbara admitted. She looked away, her gaze moving absently over the restless crowds waiting at the ticket windows. She didn’t want to get into this conversation with Nancy. How could she explain to Doug’s sister what she couldn’t articulate? What could she say? When Caitlin was alive, we were a happy family brimming over with love and smiles and good times. Without Caitlin, our lives, our home, even our love has become an empty shell.

As if reading her thoughts, Nancy patted Barbara’s arm and said softly, “God can give you His joy again, Barb. He never takes anything away without giving us something just as wonderful in its place.”

Barbara nodded dutifully, steeling herself. She wasn’t in the mood to hear a sermon now, especially from Nancy, whose boundless fervor and exuberance for life had a way of exhausting the most intrepid of souls.

“You and Doug helped Paul and me discover that truth years ago,” Nancy went on earnestly, brushing her flyaway honey-blond hair back from her face. “You introduced us to Christ’s love, Barb, and, thank God, our lives haven’t been the same since.”

“I’m glad, Nancy. Doug and I are very happy for you…”

Nancy grinned, squinting against the sunlight. “I bet you and Doug don’t even realize what you did for us. I just wish we could return the favor.”

“Don’t be silly, Nan.”

“Silly? I’m serious as a judge. But any gift or gesture I can think of pales by comparison. I mean, we’re talking about eternity here. They don’t make thank-you cards for that, do they?” Her lips arced in a whimsical smile. “Let’s see. ‘Roses are red, violets are blue…. Since you showed us God’s love, we’re ever indebted to you.’ It’s not Wordsworth or even Snoopy and Charlie Brown, but you get the idea.”

Barbara moved forward, following the line. “Really, Nancy, Doug and I just did for you what someone else did for us long ago. We shared our faith, that’s all. And now you’re fine and we’re fine. Everybody’s fine!”

Nancy clasped Barbara’s arm again. “Come on, Barb. Paul and I can both see how the two of you are hurting. We talked about it last night, and if there’s anything we can do to help, let us know. We’d love to do it.”

Barbara wanted to say, Just let us be. Instead, she forced herself to reply sweetly, “Thanks, Nan, you’re the best. But like I said, we’re okay.”

And that was the stance Barbara clung to tenaciously over the next three days as she accompanied Nancy, Paul and Janee to Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm and Laguna Beach, not to mention two pizza houses, four fast-food restaurants, and one kiddieland carnival in the local mall.

No one could say Barbara Logan wasn’t a trooper. She’d show Nancy she could have fun if it killed her. And it nearly did. She had the battle scars to prove it—a broken stacked heel, a torn linen jacket, a lost contact lens, and cotton candy stuck in her freshly coiffed hair. She’d never walked so much in her life, nor endured so many screaming kids, head-spinning amusement-park rides, and ear-splitting rap tunes. She was positively nauseated from too many greasy cheeseburgers, spicy pizzas, and hot dogs on a stick. For some reason, Nancy’s vegetarianism went out the window when it came to eating out at California’s leading tourist attractions.

When Paul and Nancy and little Janee piled into their van on Thursday morning for their drive home to San Francisco, Barbara stood waving goodbye in the driveway, grinning from ear to ear like the original Cheshire puss. Privately she was relieved that they were going home and that her life could get back to normal. I couldn’t face another roller coaster or eat another kiddie meal or face another surging, suffocating crowd of frenzied tourists!

That evening, Doug arrived home in time for dinner, no doubt knowing the coast was clear and the company gone. “So they got off okay?” he asked as he sat down at the table and spread his napkin over his lap.

“Yes, all three of them. Early this morning.” Barbara set a casserole of chicken and noodles on the table and sat down across from Doug.

“I guess they had a good time,” he mused, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his iced tea.

“The time of their lives,” said Barbara through clenched teeth. She was suddenly angry, so angry it surprised her. Her hand almost trembled as she handed him the tossed salad. “No thanks to you, Doug.”

He looked at her, one brow arching. “You know I had to work.”

“Every day? You couldn’t take one day off to be with your own sister who comes to visit just once every few years?”

“I was here in the evenings.”

“When everyone was too tired to visit.”

“All right, so I’m the bad guy. So what’s new? What do you want me to do about it?”

“Nothing. It’s too late. Forget it.”

Doug let his fork clatter on his plate. “Don’t play the sweet little martyr with me, Barb. You know you didn’t want to be out there running all over town with my sister and her kid, either.”

“No, but I went anyway, didn’t I?”

“No one twisted your arm.”

“I went because she’s your sister, and someone in this family has to act like life is normal, no matter how skewed it really is.”

A tendon tightened along Doug’s jaw. “We play this same record over and over again, don’t we, Barb? We keep going in vicious little circles. When will it ever end?”

She speared a morsel of chicken, but had no desire to eat. Her stomach was in knots, her throat constricting. “If you think I like things this way—”

They were both silent for a long miserable moment. Finally he asked coolly, “So how did it go with Janee?”

“Janee?”

“Yeah. The kid who makes Dennis the Menace look like an angel. Did she behave herself?”

Barbara’s anger smoldered. Doug had an infuriating way of changing the subject whenever they got too close to painful truths. “If you must know, Janee drove me up a wall,” she replied. “She had me pulling my hair. I don’t think I could have tolerated that child in this house for one more hour.”

“Come on, Barb. She couldn’t have been that bad.”

“How would you know? You weren’t here. And she was asleep by the time you got home.”

“From what I saw of her, she’s a spunky little tyke. Cute as a bug’s ear. Okay, maybe a bit too mischievous for my tastes.”

“Are you kidding? Paul and your sister never discipline that child. She’s spoiled and impudent. Worst of all, they think everything she says and does is perfectly charming.”

Doug’s expression softened. “Weren’t we that way, too, Barbie?”

“No. Never. All right, almost never.”

“So what did Janee do that was so bad?”

Barbara inhaled sharply. “She spilled grape juice on our plush carpet. She trampled my flower beds picking roses for her mother. She ran up and down the stairs and slammed doors and did a Tarzan yell that rattled my eardrums and put her muddy shoes on my velvet sofa.” Barbara’s voice quavered with an onrush of emotion. “And she kept begging me to let her sleep in the ‘pretty room,’ as she called it.”

“Maybe you should have let her,” said Doug under his breath.

Barbara stared at him in astonishment. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I? Maybe it’s time we let it go, Barb. Stop making it a monument or a memorial or a shrine, or whatever you want to call it.”

Barbara pushed her chair back from the table and stood up, her ankles wobbly. “I’m not hungry, Doug. Will you put the food away? I’m going to bed.”

He stared at her, his brows knitting in a frown. “What about the dishes?”

“Leave them. I’ll do them in the morning.”

He bent over his plate, scowling, and muttered, “A lot of good it does, me coming home for dinner. You just walk off. Next time I’ll pick something up at the hospital.”

“Fine. You’ll probably find better company there, too.”

“Now that you mention it, I probably will.”

She pivoted and, without a backward glance, marched out of the room, quickly ascending the stairs to the bedroom. She undressed and slipped into her most revealing negligee, perversely hoping to tempt her husband just so she could reject his advances. She hated herself for behaving this way, hated the terrible dead-end course their marriage had taken, but she felt powerless to change anything. It was as if she and Doug were actors on a stage, spewing words they didn’t mean, words forced upon them by circumstances beyond their control.

Barbara had felt powerless since the day Doug had told her there was nothing they could do to save Caitlin. It seemed the only power she or Doug had these days was to inflict hurt on each other. It was what they were best at. What irony that the wounded had become so skilled at wounding one another. What hope was there for healing?

Barbara was nearly asleep when she heard Doug come up to bed. She lay still, her back to him as he climbed in beside her and rolled onto his side, away from her. She felt the weight of his body on the mattress, heard the springs creak. She waited, her breathing slow and rhythmic, pretending to slumber. Would he touch her? What would she do if he did? Should she risk letting him know she was awake and needed his closeness?

Barbara’s questions faded when she heard her husband’s deep, steady breathing. She lay in the darkness, listening, waiting. Doug was so close to her that she could feel his warmth as he lay stretched out beside her under the covers. And yet he had never seemed more distant. And she had never felt more alone.

In the middle of the night the telephone rang, startling them both out of sleep. With a muffled snort, Doug sat up and grabbed the bedside phone. Barbara sat up, too, her mind still shrouded in the gauzy cobwebs of a dream. She turned on the lamp and tried to focus on what Doug was saying. By his tone she knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

“Yes, this is Douglas Logan,” he was saying. “Nancy Myers? She’s my sister. What? When? Good Lord, no! Where did it happen? Are they—? Yes, I’ll be there. What hospital? All right. We’ll catch the next available plane.”

He hung up the phone and looked at her, his face drained of color, the lines around his eyes taut, distorted with shock and fear. She knew that look; it was coldly, frighteningly familiar; she had seen it a thousand times in her memory. That look had shattered her life, turned her world upside down. And now it was happening again. Her heart pumped with dread. “What happened?” she demanded.

His voice was tight, hushed. “That was the police. It’s Nancy. Their car crashed just south of San Francisco.”

Her skin prickled with an icy foreboding. “Oh, Doug, no! Are they okay?”

“They’re in the hospital. In some little rural town. A suburb south of San Francisco. We’ve got to go.”

“Of course. I’ll throw a few things in a bag.”

He nodded. “I’ll call the airline.”

It was amazing how in sync she and Doug could be when an emergency demanded it, she thought as she packed a suitcase, tossing in underwear, sleep-wear, toiletries, and a couple of changes of clothes for each of them. She made sure she had their address book, checkbook and a credit card, and put out enough food and water to last Tabby for a couple of days.

“I’ve got us booked on a red-eye special out of Burbank at four a.m.,” said Doug, as she ran a brush through her hair. “They’ll have a rental car waiting for us in San Francisco.”

Barbara and Doug said little to each other during the drive to the airport and the flight to San Francisco. Each was tight-lipped, their thoughts turned inward, their emotions on hold.

They arrived at San Francisco International shortly after five a.m. The airport was nearly deserted, with only a few passengers milling around or catching a catnap on some iron bench. The huge superstructure with its endless high-ceilinged corridors was so silent and everyone so hushed that Barbara had the feeling she was walking through a mausoleum. The only immediate sound she heard was the echo of her own heels on the hard tile floor as she and Doug traversed the long hall to the baggage carousel. After retrieving their suitcase and securing their rental car, Doug got directions, and they drove the twenty miles to St. Mary’s Hospital north of Hillsborough. Again, mostly in silence.

It was nearly six a.m. when they entered the hospital lobby. Daylight was already filtering through the windows, giving the room a smudged, hazy cast, as if the darkness were reluctant to relinquish its hold. Doug went straight to the information desk and asked where he could find his sister. The receptionist checked her charts and directed them upstairs, to the third floor, the Intensive Care Unit. “Dr. Glazier is on call.”

They took the elevator upstairs to the ICU nurses’ station, and Doug asked to see his sister, his voice tight with anxiety and impatience.

“I’ll page Dr. Glazier,” said the nurse. “Please have a seat in the waiting room.”

Doug held his ground. “I just want to know if my sister and her family are okay. Can’t you tell me that much?”

“I’m sorry. You’ll have to speak with the doctor.”

Doug’s tone hardened. “Listen, I am a doctor. A surgeon. And I want some answers. Now.”

“Dr. Glazier is on his way, Doctor. Please have a seat.”

Doug was about to protest again, but instead he threw up his hands in a gesture of futility and muttered something under his breath. He and Barbara crossed the hall to the waiting room and sat down on a green vinyl couch beside a tall potted palm. Nearby stood a table with a carafe of coffee and foam cups. Barbara got two cups of black coffee and handed one to Doug. “Maybe this will help.”

“Thanks. Some news would help even more,” he snapped. “All I want is a little information about Nan, and you’d think I was after top government secrets or something.”

Barbara thought of something. “What about Pam and Benny? I wonder if anyone’s called them.”

“Let’s wait until we have some news to report.”

Finally, a lanky man in a white lab coat approached; he had a narrow face, thinning hair, and a small black mustache. He held out his hand to Doug. “Mr. and Mrs. Logan? I’m Dr. Glazier.”

“It’s Doctor Logan,” said Doug. “How’s my sister?”

“I won’t sugarcoat it, Dr. Logan. It’s serious. Your sister has sustained multiple injuries, including a lacerated liver and spleen. We operated immediately, but there was too much damage. She’ll need further surgery, but at the moment she’s too weak. If she can gain some strength in the next day or two…”

“What about her husband, Paul?”

Dr. Glazier’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry. Your sister’s husband was killed on impact. A drunk driver crossed into their lane and hit them head-on.”

“And their daughter?” asked Barbara, choking back a sob. “Did she make it?”

Dr. Glazier’s voice brightened slightly. “Yes. She was asleep in the back seat. She sustained only minor injuries. She’s in the pediatric wing. Barring any complications, we should be able to release her in a few days.”

“When can I see my sister?” asked Doug.

“The two of you can see her now, but just for a few minutes. She’s in module 2A.”

Barbara and Doug instinctively clasped hands as they entered the small, unadorned room. In the large hospital bed lay a pale figure connected to a maze of blinking, whirring machines. Barbara clasped her hand over her mouth and whispered, “Oh, Doug, she looks so bad.”

Doug approached the bed and put his hand on Nancy’s arm. His voice rumbled with emotion. “Hey, sis, it’s me, your big brother.”

Nancy’s eyes fluttered open, but her gaze remained unfocused. “Doug?” she murmured through pale, swollen lips.

“Yeah, it’s me, baby. Barbara’s here, too.”

Nancy struggled to speak, her lips forming a faint smile. “Didn’t think…you’d see me again…so soon…did you?”

“Can’t say that I did,” said Doug, his voice catching.

“You know me,” whispered Nancy, closing her eyes. “Always doing…the unexpected.”

Barbara slipped over to the other side of the bed and gently smoothed back Nancy’s mussed hair. “Now we need you to get well, Nan. Show us how quickly you can come back to us, okay?”

Nancy moistened her dry lips and gazed up urgently at Barbara. “Janee? Is she…okay?”

Barbara nodded. “She’s going to be fine, Nan. The doctor says she’ll be out of the hospital in a few days, good as new.”

“Thank God.” Nancy lifted her hand weakly to Barbara. “If Paul and I…don’t make it…take care of Janee.”

“Don’t be silly, Nan,” said Barbara, forcing a smile. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“Promise me, Barb. Just in case. Take care of my little girl.”

Barbara blinked away sudden tears. “Of course we will.”

Nancy swallowed hard and groped for words, her voice growing faint. “Teach her about art…and music…and poetry. Take her to church. Show her God’s love…like you showed us.”

Barbara fished for a tissue in her purse and blew her nose. “We will, Nan. I promise.”

“Give her all the love…Paul and I gave her. She needs…a lot…of love.”

Doug bent over the bed and kissed his sister’s pale forehead. “We’ll take good care of her, Nan, until you’re well again and can take care of her yourself. You just concentrate on getting better, okay?”

Nancy turned her eyes to Doug, her sallow skin taut against her high cheekbones. “Say a prayer. Please.”

Doug hesitated for a long moment, giving Barbara a look that said, Get me out of this. She stared back unflinchingly and waited. Finally Doug bent over the bed, his face close to Nancy’s, and whispered a simple, heartfelt petition for her healing. Halfway through he stopped and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. In the silence Barbara could hear the whoosh and click of the machines monitoring Nancy’s vital signs. After a minute, Doug spoke again, his voice broken, the anguished words rising on a sob as he begged God to spare his sister’s life.

It was the first prayer Barbara had heard Doug utter in over four years.

Chapter Three

“We’ve got to look in on Janee,” Doug told Barbara as they left Nancy’s room.

Barbara felt a tight, choking sensation in her chest. “I don’t know if I can. Oh, Doug, it brings everything back.”

“We’ve got to go in, Barb. We’re responsible for Janee until—until Nancy’s well again.”

They were already walking toward the pediatric wing. Barbara took Doug’s arm, fearing her legs might buckle. Quietly they entered the small room with its frilly curtains and bright animal decor. A nurse was jotting something on a chart. Barbara drew in a sharp breath and forced herself to gaze at the sleeping child. In the large bed with its raised guardrails, Janee looked small and pale and defenseless, like a broken porcelain doll, her head bandaged, bruises on her face and arms.

Like another child so long ago.

“Oh, Doug, she looks so bad,” Barbara whispered, clutching her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“How is she doing?” Doug asked the nurse.

“The child’s sleeping soundly. I don’t expect her to wake for several hours. You may want to get some rest and come back later.”

“But someone should be here if she wakes,” said Barbara.

“Leave a number and I’ll call you the moment she stirs.”

Barbara looked at Janee, then nodded. “You’re right. She’s sleeping soundly. We’ll come back later, but please don’t hesitate to call.”

As they headed back down the hall, Doug said, “I’ve got to phone Pam and Benny. They should be here.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know.” Doug ran his fingers distractedly through his thick, curly hair. “The nurse is right. We need some sleep. Paul and Nancy’s apartment isn’t far from here. Twenty minutes maybe.”

“Then let’s go. We’ll need to contact people and…make arrangements.”

Barbara waited on a sofa in the lobby, while Doug crossed the room to a pay phone and called his older sister Pam in Oregon. Barbara didn’t want to hear him repeat the painful news, didn’t want to imagine Pam and Benny’s shock and grief. She just wanted to be back home again, with everything normal, the way it was yesterday. But then again, what was normal? Barbara’s life hadn’t been normal for years.

Nothing was normal without Caitlin.

“Barb, they’re taking the next plane out of Portland.”

Barbara looked up, startled that Doug had already finished his call. “How did they take the news?”

“The way you’d expect. Shock. Disbelief. Tears.”

Neither Barbara nor Doug said much as they drove the twenty miles to the renovated Victorian house in south San Francisco, where Paul and Nancy had an upstairs apartment.

As Doug unlocked the door, Barbara murmured, “It feels strange coming here like this. Like we’re trespassing.”

“I know, Barb, but it’s got to be done.” Doug opened the door, and they stepped tentatively into Paul and Nancy’s world—a quaint, cluttered apartment that embodied a diversity of styles, from traditional to modern to garage-sale chic. Floral wallpaper, dark mahogany woodwork and intricately carved cornices and moldings were counterbalanced by vinyl beanbag chairs, a leather recliner, a rattan sofa, pine bookcases, and a simulated black marble entertainment unit. Plants abounded—from ceiling to floor, on every table and windowsill: creeping ferns and climbing vines, small pots of violets and hanging baskets of petunias, and plant stands with large, leafy philodendron, all badly in need of watering.

“Your sister made an art of clutter,” said Barbara, noting the books, magazines, canvases and sheet music strewn around the room. A guitar was propped in one corner, an easel in another. “I’d forgotten what a creative person she is.”

“When I was growing up, she was always dabbling in something,” said Doug wistfully, picking up an unfinished still-life. “Always writing a poem, painting a picture, picking out a tune on her guitar.”

“And what were you doing?” asked Barbara softly as she examined a charcoal rendering of Janee.

Doug chuckled ruefully. “I was putting splints and bandages on my sisters’ dolls. I even tried operating on Pam’s favorite Raggedy Ann. Cut the thing nearly in two. Stuffing everywhere. Told her I was doing a heart transplant. She wasn’t amused.”

Barbara gave him a gentle smile. “Even then you were preparing to be a great surgeon.”

Doug grimaced. “And where’d it get me?”

“You’re still a great surgeon. You just refuse to see it.”

Doug let the unfinished canvas clatter on the coffee table, and countered, “How did this get to be about me?”

Barbara looked away. She couldn’t handle this rift today. Some other time. “We’re both exhausted, Doug. Let’s get some sleep and talk later.”

“Okay by me. I’ll grab a glass of water first.” He headed for the kitchen, and she followed. It was a clean, compact kitchen with more plants in the garden window and lots of curios and handmade knickknacks on the counters. Janee’s colorful drawings covered the refrigerator door.

“Looks like Janee has some of her mother’s talent,” he said with a catch in his voice. He turned on the spigot and ran the water until it was cold.

Barbara got two glasses from the cupboard and handed them to him. “Do you want me to fix us something to eat? I’m sure there’s something I could whip up.”

He filled her glass and gave it to her. “No, I couldn’t eat. You go ahead.”

“Maybe later.” They went down the hall to Paul and Nancy’s room and hesitated for a few minutes before lying down on the neatly made queen-size bed. “It feels strange being here like this,” said Barbara, easing herself down so she wouldn’t muss the chenille spread. “I’m too tense to relax. Maybe we should have stayed at the hospital.”

Doug rolled onto his side and ran his hand soothingly over her arm. “Try to sleep, Barbie. We need our rest. We’ve got a long, hard road ahead of us, and we’ve got to be strong.”

Stronger than we were when Caitlin died? she wondered silently. How can we be strong now when we still haven’t got past that loss?

Barbara fell into a fitful sleep punctuated by vivid, exhausting dreams. She and Doug were climbing a mountain, trying to reach Caitlin, who stood perched on a precipice, crying for help. No matter how high they climbed, there was always more rugged terrain waiting to be scaled. When they finally reached the spot where Caitlin had stood, she was gone, and they were alone on the mountain, just the two of them, buffeted by dark winds, with the precipice yawning like a black hole below them. “We’ll fall unless we hang on to each other,” she told Doug, but when they tried to embrace, the winds and the darkness drove them apart.

Barbara woke suddenly, her heart pounding, her face wet with perspiration. Doug was no longer in the bed beside her. An irrational fear seized her, coupled with the lingering memory of the black chasm. She bounded off the bed and rushed into the living room, her breathing ragged.

Doug sat on the rattan sofa, talking on his cell phone. “Thanks, Jim, I’d appreciate anything you could do.” He hung up and looked at Barbara, his eyes shadowed with weariness. “I asked some of my old colleagues who are practicing in San Francisco to take a look at Nancy. See if they can help.”

“Do you think they can?”

“They’re going to talk with her physicians.”

Barbara sat down beside her husband. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Enough. How about you?”

“I dreamed mostly. More like nightmares. I feel as if I don’t want to close my eyes again.”

Doug took her hand and caressed it gently. “I’m going back to the hospital, Barb. Why don’t you stay here and try to rest.”

“No, Doug. I want to go with you.”

He squeezed her hand and smiled faintly. “Okay. Let’s freshen up and head back.”

They arrived back at the hospital just as the sun was lowering, a pale orange ball on a hazy, salmon-pink horizon. In the ICU waiting room they found Doug’s sister Pam and her husband, Benny Cotter, talking with a physician.

“It’s Dr. Glazier,” said Doug. “He must have news.”

With hushed, solemn words Barbara and Doug greeted Pam and Benny. Pam was an attractive, sophisticated brunette in her mid-thirties, and Benny, a balding, impeccably dressed man with a ski nose and a booming baritone voice. They owned a used car dealership outside Portland. Benny sold cars; Pam worked for an accountant and helped keep the books for Benny in her spare time. Doug always said they were an unbeatable team; they knew how to make money and how to keep it.

The two couples embraced briefly, then turned back to the doctor. “How is my sister?” asked Doug.

Dr. Glazier was stony-faced as he said, “Dr. and Mrs. Logan, I was just telling Mr. and Mrs. Cotter that your sister has slipped into a coma. I’m sorry. It doesn’t look good.”

They talked with the physician at length, Doug doing most of the talking, using medical terms Barbara couldn’t follow. When there seemed to be nothing more to say, the two couples took turns checking on Nancy, who looked as if she were peacefully asleep. Then they visited Janee’s room. She, too, was slumbering serenely and her coloring was better; the nurse assured them she would likely be awake and alert in the morning.

It was after nine when they went to the hospital cafeteria for coffee and a bite to eat. As she ate, Barbara’s weariness deepened. Conversation around the table was sparse, forced, hollow. The four of them had never been close, held little in common in attitudes, beliefs or interests, and now it seemed even harder to find common ground, aside from this sudden tragedy they shared.

The truth was, Barbara had always considered Benny an insufferable boor and Pam a brittle, self-serving woman who could be catty and mean-spirited one moment and nauseatingly saccharine-sweet the next. Barbara always had the feeling she should be on guard around Pam, as if Pam were secretly comparing herself with others and looking for ways to undermine the competition. Such negative feelings made Barbara feel guilty and uneasy. Maybe she herself was the one making such comparisons and looking for ways to diminish Pam and Benny. Maybe they had no idea how they came across to others. Maybe this whole undercurrent of dissension lay solely in Barbara’s own mind.

That was what Doug said whenever Barbara had questioned Pam and Benny’s actions or motives over the years. “What is there about Pam that makes you feel so inadequate, Barbie?” Doug had asked her after one of their rare visits. “Do you resent them for choosing not to have children because it would interfere with their freewheeling life-style? Do you dislike Pam because she’s not the maternal, nurturing type? She’s not you, Barbie. Why don’t you just try to be friends with my sister instead of second-guessing her?”

Barbara had no answer. Maybe Doug was right. Maybe the problem was her own. And yet now, sitting across from Pam and Benny as the four of them commiserated, dawdling over lukewarm coffee and cold soup, Barbara knew her instincts were correct. She would never trust Pam and Benny with anything precious to her.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” Pam was saying as she stirred cream into her third cup of coffee. “I’m not good with things like this. I just fall to pieces inside. I’m a bundle of nerves.” She held her hand up, her red acrylic nails catching the light. “Look at me. I’m shaking.”

“We’re all feeling that way, Pam,” said Doug, sipping his coffee.

Pam’s voice grew shrill. “Nancy’s not going to make it, is she, Doug? You’re a doctor. You know these things.”

“I’m not giving up on her, Pam, and neither should you.”

“And poor Paul,” Pam went on miserably. “Now we have a funeral to plan. I can’t do it. I wouldn’t know the first thing. I hate funerals. I never go, do I, Benny?”

He nodded. “This lady will skip her own funeral—I’m not kidding.”

“You don’t have to plan the funeral, Pam,” said Doug. “Just be available. Barbara and I can make the arrangements, can’t we, Barb?”

Barbara stared into her coffee cup, biting her lip to keep from saying what she really felt.

“Would you, Doug? I think that would be best,” said Pam. “After all, you and Barb have, uh, well, you know…had the experience already. You know what to do.”

Barbara’s stomach knotted and a sour taste rose in her throat. Yes, she and Doug knew all about funerals. Four years ago Pam and Benny were out of the country on vacation and missed Caitlin’s funeral. They sent an enormous bouquet of pink roses, but never again mentioned Caitlin’s name, never even acknowledged in their conversations that she had ever existed. For Barbara, that was the worst sort of betrayal.

But then, she and Doug never talked about Caitlin either.

“We can’t stay in town more than a couple of days,” said Benny. “You know how it is, Doug. When you’re in business for yourself, you gotta stay at the helm or the ship sinks.”

“Will you be leaving, too, Pam?” asked Barbara.

“It depends on how Nancy does. But Benny’s right. When he’s away from the dealership more than a day or so, everything falls apart.”

Barbara dabbed at a water ring on the table. “The doctor says Janee will be released from the hospital in a few days. She’ll need care until Nancy recovers.”

Pam stared openmouthed at Barbara, then flashed a quizzical glance at Doug and Benny. “My goodness, I just supposed…”

“What?” challenged Barbara. “That we’d take Janee?”

“Well, yes,” said Pam, her voice rising with a slight falsetto tone. “You’d know what to do. After all, you’ve had experience—”

“You can say it, Pam,” said Barbara ruefully. “We’ve had experience raising a child.”

“Yes, exactly. That’s what I meant. And if you had to, um, keep Janee, well, you’d have a child again. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Are you saying I’d have a replacement for Caitlin?” said Barbara thickly.

“Come off it, Pam. You can’t replace a child,” said Doug through clenched teeth.

Pam raised her chin defensively. “I know that, Doug. That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you and Barbara are both so fond of children, I thought you might enjoy having a child in your home again.”

Not on your life! Barbara wanted to shout, but she resisted the urge. “Are you telling us you don’t want to take Janee?” she asked instead.

“You know us,” said Benny. “Pam and I decided right up front, no kids, ever. With both of us working twelve-hour days, what could we give a kid?”

Love, for a start, thought Barbara. But a dark reality struck home. That was something she herself wasn’t ready to give. She had loved one child once. She couldn’t imagine ever loving another.

“Besides, you work at home, Barb,” said Pam. “A child wouldn’t upset your routine. You could still give your piano lessons.”

“Listen, this is a moot issue,” said Benny, raising his large, square hands like a referee. “I believe Nancy is going to get well, so taking care of the kid will be a temporary arrangement. You can handle that, right, Barbara?”

Barbara pretended not to hear the question. At the moment, with Nancy’s life hanging in the balance, Barbara had all she could handle just sitting at this table carrying on a simple conversation and trying to keep her sanity.

Doug reached across the table and cupped his hand over hers. “No one’s making any decisions about Janee tonight,” he said firmly. “Let’s all try to get a good night’s sleep—and see what tomorrow brings.”

Chapter Four

At dawn Barbara was awakened out of a deep, dream-filled sleep by the phone’s shrill ring. She raised up groggily on one elbow, trying to comprehend where she was. This wasn’t her room or her bed. Nothing was familiar. Then, as Doug grabbed the phone and sleepily barked hello, Barbara remembered with a spine-chilling shudder. Reality was worse than her troubled dreams.

She mouthed the words Who is it? But Doug waved her off, his expression grim. “Yes, I understand, Doctor,” he said solemnly. “I know you did all you could. Thank you.”

He hung up the receiver and turned to Barbara, his features stoic. But as she stared at him, his stony face crumbled and he began to weep. “She’s gone, Barbie,” he whispered.

She moved quickly over to his side of the bed and enveloped him in her arms. His chest was bare and his skin cold to her touch. She wanted to say, It’ll be okay; Nancy just slipped away with the angels in her sleep. We’ll see her again someday. But she knew Doug didn’t want to hear such platitudes now, any more than she had wanted to hear them when Caitlin died, even though they were true. She and Doug clung to each other, rocking together with a slow, agonized rhythm. The sobs rose in his chest, and she could feel them in her own breast.

They had wept like this four years ago, but then somehow they had broken apart and gone their separate ways, burying their grief where the other couldn’t find it. Why had it happened that way? Why had they bottled up their tears and retreated behind separate barricades as if they considered one another, rather than death, the enemy.

“At least she went peacefully in her sleep,” said Doug in little more than a whisper. “There was no one like her, Barb. She was so full of life.”

“And she never wasted a moment of it, darling.”

Doug nodded. “If only we could all be like her.”

“Maybe that’s her legacy. We can try to be.”

Doug released Barbara, got up and put on a shirt, his fingers working the buttons as he said, “I’d better start making some phone calls. We’ve got a lot of arrangements to make.”

“First you’d better call Pam and Benny at the hotel.”

“I will. Put on the coffee, okay, Barb?”

“You need more than coffee, Doug. I’ll fix something. Eggs. Cereal.”

“Anything. I’m not hungry.”

She drifted through the living room to the kitchen, her eyes moving over Nancy’s things—her paintings, her belongings, all the ordinary odds and ends that defined her life. I don’t belong here, Barbara thought. I shouldn’t be intruding. Surely Nancy will walk in at any moment and say, “Don’t disturb my things. Don’t dismantle my life. I’m not really gone.”

A ridiculous notion, Barbara realized as she put on the coffeepot and browsed through the refrigerator. But then, wasn’t that exactly the attitude Barbara had maintained for four years—never allowing anything or anyone to disturb Caitlin’s room, as if she might come back at any moment and reclaim her things?

A wave of emotion rocked through Barbara like a tidal wave. She stumbled over to the small oak table and sat down, putting her head in her hands, allowing the sobs to wash over her. It struck her that she wasn’t just weeping for Nancy and Paul; she was crying again for her own daughter. Why was it that every heartache and grief always brought her back to this one, leaving her mourning again for Caitlin as if it were the very first time?

The next three days were among the busiest, the most hectic and exhausting Barbara had ever experienced. Together with Pam and Benny, she and Doug packed up Paul and Nancy’s belongings, carted crates to Goodwill and put the furniture in storage. Doug and Benny notified people, handled the business matters, and made funeral arrangements, while Barbara and Pam spent time at the hospital with Janee, assuring her she would be fine and they would take good care of her.

On the third day they attended the double funeral in the morning, followed by a brief grave-side service at the nearby cemetery. They received condolences from Paul’s and Nancy’s many friends at a luncheon reception put on by their church; then they met with the probate attorney late that afternoon.

Jonathan Wallace, a distinguished, gray-haired gentleman with a small goatee, had been Paul and Nancy’s attorney since their first year of marriage. After offering his sympathies and inviting the two couples to sit down across from his huge mahogany desk, he got right down to business. “Your sister and her husband had a living trust,” he said, opening a maroon portfolio and extracting several official-looking documents. “I won’t bore you with reams of details. You can read the papers at your convenience. Essentially, Paul and Nancy left a modest estate. However, they had a sizable life insurance policy which will provide a generous trust fund for their daughter, Janee. They specified that in the event of their death, Janee be placed with you, Dr. and Mrs. Logan. If for some reason you are not able to become Janee’s legal guardians, they wish her to be placed with the two of you, Mr. and Mrs. Cotter.”

Pam spoke up. “Mr. Wallace, we’ve already talked about it and agreed that Barbara and Doug should take the child. I work full-time for an accounting firm and part-time for my husband, so I’m hardly ever home. But fortunately Barbara works at home giving piano lessons, so she’ll be available to care for Janee.”

A tremor of alarm spiraled through Barbara’s stomach. “Wait a minute. We may have talked about this, but nothing was decided.”

Doug reached over and seized Barbara’s hand. “What are you saying, Barb? You know Nancy wanted us to have Janee. We gave her our promise.”

Barbara’s alarm turned to frantic butterflies, their fluttering wings doing a number on her digestive system. If they didn’t let up, she was going to be ill. “I can’t,” she said shakily. “I just can’t do it.”

“Barbara, are you saying you won’t take Janee?” challenged Pam, her voice shrill. “Are you forcing her on us? You know we never wanted kids. Not our own or anyone else’s. We’ve made no bones about it.”

“I—I’m just saying—”

“I would think you’d be glad to have another little girl in your home,” said Benny in his booming baritone. “Man alive, Barbara, she’s the same age your girl was. What more could you ask for? I mean, is this a coincidence or what?”

Tears stung Barbara’s eyes. “My heart aches for Janee, but it’s not the same, and you know it.”

“Of course it’s not the same,” said Doug, squeezing Barbara’s hand. “But Janee’s all alone now. Someone’s got to take care of her. It might as well be us.”

Barbara searched his eyes. “Do you really think we can do it?”

“I don’t see where we have any other choice, Barb. We’ll make it work. We promised Nancy.”

“You were a terrific mother, Barb,” said Pam, her tone now sweet and cloying as honey. “And you’ll be a great mother again. Just give it a chance. You’ll see.”

Barbara had great misgivings as she and Doug drove to the hospital the next morning to pick up Janee. How do I do this? she wondered as they walked down the corridor to Janee’s room. How do I play Mommy to a child too young to understand what has happened, a child who wants only her own mother and father, the two people she can never have?

“It’ll be okay,” said Doug, slipping his arm around Barbara’s waist as they walked. “You know the old saying—All things work together for good.”

“That’s not just a saying. It’s from the Bible,” she said, thinking how long it had been since they had studied the Bible together.

“I know that,” said Doug. “I once knew the verse by heart.”

She looked up at him. “I’m scared, Doug. What if she doesn’t want to go with us? What if we’re all miserable together?”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Barbie. It’ll work out. Remember what you used to say—trust the Lord.”

“I did trust Him,” she murmured, “and look where it got us.”

He stopped and stared at her. “What’s gotten into you, Barb? You never used to talk like this.”

“You know the answer to that as well as I do.”

“It’s my fault,” he muttered. “Isn’t that what you’re really saying?”

“Of course not.” She turned her gaze away, not wanting him to see her pain. “It’s not you, Doug. It’s everything.”

“It’s Caitlin. Always Caitlin.”

“All right, yes. You’re right as always. I keep asking the same questions and there’s never an answer. Why would God take away the daughter we loved and give us a child we hardly know? Is He punishing us? Laughing at us? It’s such a terrible irony.”

“Maybe good will come of having Janee in our home, Barb. We have to give it a chance.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re gone all the time. I’ll be the one at home every day with Janee.”

“I’ll make time for her. For you. I promise.”

They had reached Janee’s room now. Barbara paused in the doorway and looked up at her husband, hoping his strength would sustain her, as well. They exchanged brief smiles and went inside.

Janee was sitting up in bed, cross-legged. A young nurse with rosy cheeks and French braids was helping her dress, pulling an undershirt over her head. “There you are, sweet pea. Now we have a pretty little dress for you to wear. Isn’t that the cutest thing? You’re going to look so pretty when you go home.”

Barbara crossed the room and stood at the foot of the bed. “Well, look at you, Janee,” she said in her most animated voice. She felt as if she were performing, or worse, auditioning, with her very life at stake. “Sweetheart, you look like Cinderella going to the ball.”

The child looked up guardedly, her face framed with silky flaxen curls, her large cerulean eyes filled with doubt. “I’m not Cinderella. I’m Janee. I’m going home.”

“Yes, you are,” Barbara said brightly. No sense in telling her whose home she would be going to. She would find out soon enough.

Doug joined Barbara at the foot of the bed and drummed his fingers on the metal rail. “You know what, Janee? You’re going to fly in a big airplane. Won’t that be fun?”

The nurse helped Janee into a pink taffeta dress with ruffles and lace. “Janee has been our favorite patient, Mrs. Logan,” she said as she buttoned the dress. “We’re going to hate to see her go.”

“We appreciate all you and the other doctors and nurses have done for her,” said Doug in his efficient, professional voice.

“It was the least we could do, Dr. Logan, considering what this poor child’s been through.” The young woman paused, a shadow darkening her attractive features. “Does she know?”

“Not everything,” said Barbara. “In time.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.