Praise for the work of Sandra Steffen

“Steffen is one of those authors whose characters and their emotions ring true, which makes each book a heartfelt treat.”

—Romantic Times

“Steffen’s characters are thoroughly and thoughtfully conceived…the charm of this tale lies in her lovely portrayal of complex family relationships.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Cottage

“Sandra Steffen is a veritable master at creating characters. On a scale of 1–10, a 15!”

—ReaderToReader.com

“Steffen knows exactly how hard to tug on readers’ heart-strings for maximum effect.”

—Booklist

“Warm, unforgettable characters come to life in Sandra’s small-town setting.”

—Round Table Reviews on Come Summer

“A compelling, heartwarming tale. Steffen is a talented author to watch.”

—Bestselling author Kat Martin on The Cottage

“A charming, intense story. High drama and gentle reflection—the perfect mix.”

—Bestselling author Stella Cameron on The Cottage

“A powerfully riveting story that pulls the reader from page one and doesn’t stop…one of the most original plots I’ve ever seen…flawless characterization.”

—Romance Reviews Today on Come Summer

Sandra Steffen

Sandra Steffen has always been a storyteller. She began nurturing this hidden talent by concocting adventures for her brothers and sisters, even though the boys were more interested in her ability to hit a baseball over the barn—an automatic home run. She didn’t begin her pursuit of publication until she was a young wife and mother of four sons. Since her thrilling debut as a published author in 1992, thirty-three of her novels have graced bookshelves across the country.

Professional reviewers have called Sandra a veritable master at creating characters, and her books well written, satisfying and intelligent. Her most cherished review came from her youngest son recently when he said, “Mom, I hear your voice as I’m reading your book.”

This winner of the RITA® Award, the Wish Award, and the National Readers Choice Award enjoys traveling with her husband. Usually their destinations are settings for her upcoming books. They are empty nesters these days. Who knew it could be so much fun? Please visit her at www.sandrasteffen.com.

Life Happens
Sandra Steffen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

From the Author

Dear Reader Friends,

I hope you enjoy Life Happens. I won’t apologize if this story makes you cry. If it does, I would have to apologize for making you smile, too. It’s human nature to feel as though laughter is somehow our due and tears our punishment, but aren’t both part of life?

The idea for Life Happens woke me from a deep sleep and came to me complete with a beginning, a middle and an end. It was the first time it had happened this way. From the moment of its conception, I knew I had to tell this poignant story, which began as a tribute to my beloved brother, who died on a blustery night in 1995. The details that led to that day aren’t unique: the diagnosis, the prayers, the bone-marrow transplant that failed, the hole his death left in our family. Just as losing Ron taught me more about life than death, Life Happens became a story about life, too, and the bond between a mother and child, and a man and a woman, a bond so strong it waited nearly two decades to spring up, so fierce it was painful and so full of hope and joy it became a power unto itself.

Like so many of life’s mysteries, Life Happens was a blessing in disguise, for it has led me down this path to this moment. I’ve been blessed many times over, with family and friends, laughter and luck, and with this gift I’ve been given that wakes me in the middle of the night with stories that insist upon being written. There is one more blessing I can’t fail to mention, and that blessing is you, dear reader friends.

Until next time and always…

Sandra

In loving memory of my brother, and all our brothers—

and sisters—who’ve fought life’s battles and lost,

and for all those who’ve won.

“The highest reward for your toil is not what you get for it but what you become of it.” —John Ruskin

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 1

M ya Donahue felt naked. And not in a good way.

What had she done?

Most of her hair, her beautiful, long, lustrous hair, was gone. What was left stuck out in four- and five-inch tufts, as if she’d gotten caught in some cosmic blender. She turned her head slightly. It was no use. It looked bad from every angle.

What had she been thinking?

She could have blamed it on the weather. For generations, the descendants of the Irishmen and Scotsmen who’d settled along this stretch of the rocky coast of Maine had insisted that days like this were at the root of all evil. The day was wet, windy and a little wild, but to blame? It wasn’t the weather. More likely it was the month. April was always a dangerous time for her.

“A trim?” Rolf had asked when she’d arrived at the trendy hair salon located directly above Brynn’s, her clothing boutique in Portland’s waterfront district.

For weeks she’d been watching Rolf’s clients traipse past her display windows, looking, if not gorgeous, at the very least fresh and totally transformed. During the lull after lunch today, Mya had flipped the Closed sign in the window and crept upstairs. Shutting the door on a gust of wind and the bawl of a far-off foghorn that sounded suspiciously like the voice of reason, she’d heard herself say, “Surprise me.”

Surprise me? Had she lost her mind?

Mya loved new trends: clunky-heeled shoes and boots of all kinds, low-slung pants and the latest jewelry. But other than an occasional trim, she never changed her hairstyle. Until today.

Even the window-shoppers and early tourists who’d never seen her before had watched her closely the rest of the day. Those who knew her were downright blunt.

“Whoa,” her after-school clerk exclaimed.

“You cut your hair!” the woman who owned the bookstore next door had said, in case Mya didn’t know.

Joe, the kindly deliveryman said, “Don’t worry. It’ll grow back.”

By the end of the afternoon, Mya had been ready to tell even the paying customers to stick their opinions. The old Mya would have. But the new Mya didn’t. The new and improved, cool, calm and collected Mya counted to ten and clenched so hard she nearly cracked a tooth.

Looking at her reflection in the safety of her own living room, she pulled at the wayward tresses. It was no use. She turned her back on the baroque mirror. Beseeching her two closest friends, she said, “What do you think?”

“Did you consult the personal emotional tides of the moon chart I gave you last Christmas?” Suzette Lewis asked.

Mya all but dropped her face into her hands. Until she’d met Suzette, the only thing she’d known about her astrological sign was that she was an Aries. “Do I look like I consulted anything?”

Suzette studied the uneven blond tendrils encircling Mya’s head. Petite and at times just a little too perky, Suzette said, “It isn’t that bad.”

Coming from Sunny Suzie, that meant it wasn’t that good, either. The accompanying smile was a bold-faced lie.

“Claire?” Mya asked the other woman.

As droll as Suzette was sunny, Claire O’Brien wore her dark hair long and loose, much the way she wore her clothes. Unlike Mya and Suzette, Claire wasn’t from Maine. Originally from upstate New York, there was something mysterious about her. Mya had never had a truer friend, or a more honest one, which Claire proved when she said, “In the future, I wouldn’t change your hairstyle the same week you become engaged.”

Suzette dropped into an overstuffed chair. “I still can’t believe you’re engaged.” Not many thirty-year-old women could pull off that whine. “I’m the one who’s always dreamed of marrying a doctor. It was my appendix that ruptured.”

Fighting queasiness, Mya muttered, “Don’t say ruptured.”

Pouting, Suzette said, “Fine. It was my appendix that expanded violently, and who was just coming off duty in E.R.? Only the best-looking doctor in the English-speaking world.”

Mya stopped tugging at her hair long enough to admit that Jeffrey was incredibly good-looking, although that wasn’t why she’d started seeing him.

“You’re right, Suzette,” Claire said from the sofa. “It was terribly inconsiderate of Mya to answer her phone in the dead of night when you called, sobbing. And it was thoughtless of her to throw on her clothes, brave a blinding snowstorm and her fear of hospitals and drive you to the Emergency Room, then wait not only until you came out of surgery, but until you were out of recovery, too.”

“Gosh, when you put it that way, maybe Mya does deserve that two-karat rock more than I do, even though I am the one who had emergency surgery. But Claire, she doesn’t even care about diamonds.”

Mya could only shrug, because it was true. Most of the time, she forgot the ring was there, which explained the fast little jolt she felt each time she caught the flash of it in her peripheral vision. She’d only been engaged for four days. Surely, she would get used to it.

“Where is the groom-to-be, anyway?” Suzette asked.

The door opened, and the three friends turned with varying degrees of interest. Mya was the only one who groaned, for it wasn’t Jeffrey at all.

“The cavalry to the rescue,” Claire said under her breath.

Never one to waste the spotlight, Mya’s mother lowered her umbrella and beamed all around. “Everyone I’ve talked to today has had it, HAD IT with this weather. That’s some dice-job, Mya.”

What little hair was left on the back of Mya’s neck stood on end. “This dice-job cost me eighty bucks.”

The older woman answered without missing a beat. “Which only proves what I’ve always said. Just because something’s more expensive doesn’t mean it’s better. Now let’s have a closer look.”

Mya had little choice but to succumb to the inspection that followed. After much tongue clicking and head shaking, her mother rummaged through her big, red purse for a pair of red-tipped scissors. Red was her mother’s favorite color. She wore red nail polish, red lipstick, red blush on her cheeks, red shoes, red everything. Even her ’95 Impala was red.

“Well? What do you think?” Mya asked.

“I think you paid too much. I only charge my customers twenty dollars for a shampoo, cut and blow job.”

Suzette gasped. Claire smirked. And Mya said, “I believe you mean blow-dry, Mom.”

“That’s what I said.”

Mya lifted her eyes heavenward. On her worst days, it behooved her to admit, with great lamentation, that it was still slightly, minutely, yet terrifyingly possible that she would become her mother.

Of course, that was her mother’s dream. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I think I can fix this.”

And the thing was, Mya was sure she could.

Millicent Donahue owned a hair salon, aptly named Millie’s Hair Salon. Despite the fact that the term had gone out of style in the eighties, she still called herself a beautician. For years the salon had been a bone of contention between mother and daughter. Eventually they’d called a truce of sorts. Now, Mya needn’t feel obligated to have her hair trimmed at her mother’s salon, and her mother needn’t feel obligated to shop at Mya’s store. Not that Mya carried red sweatshirts with glitter and sequins, anyway.

Mya pulled out a chair, her mother started clipping, Claire uncorked the wine and Suzette began unwrapping the trays of food she’d gotten from her favorite deli over on Market Street. The wind howled and rain pelted the windows. Sitting in her warm kitchen, surrounded by these quirky women who loved her, Mya relaxed. She liked her house. Built some eighty years ago of stone quarried from the area, it was a good house, Cape Cod in style, small and sturdy with a steep roof and a bay window overlooking the street. Oh, it wasn’t on Keepers Island, and it was old and drafty, but it had character and was close enough to the Atlantic to feel like home.

“I thought Jeffrey was going to be here,” Millicent said around the hair clip in her mouth.

“He had an emergency.”

“An E.R. doctor,” Suzette grumbled. “Do you have any idea how many women aspire to marry a doctor?”

“I didn’t aspire to marry anyone.”

“Go ahead. Rub it in.”

Mya smiled into her chest.

“I still say it isn’t fair,” Suzette said.

“What isn’t fair?” Millicent asked.

Pouring the wine, Claire said, “Don’t mind Suzette, Ms. Donahue. She’s just bitter because Jeffrey saw her naked first and still chose Mya.”

“My daughter is a goddess.”

Drolly, Mya said, “No goddess ever had this haircut.”

“Rolf’s an idiot.”

For once, Mya wasn’t even tempted to argue.

In seemingly no time at all, her mother stepped back and handed Mya a small mirror. Although still slightly shocking, evened up here and there, the tousled style looked pretty good on her, all things considered.

Her mother said, “You haven’t had hair this short—”

Their gazes locked.

With the barest lift of one penciled-on eyebrow, Millicent said, “—in a long, long time.”

Mya should have known she needn’t have worried.

Her mother was the first to look away, and Mya was left feeling a dozen emotions, none of them pleasant. So what else was new?

Oblivious, Suzette said, “What do you say we move this party out to the dining room and away from any airborne hair?” Taking a small tray in either hand, she headed for the door, disrupting Jeffrey’s three cats that had somehow wound up at Mya’s place.

“What do you have there?” Millicent asked.

“There’s crab dip with tofu and whole-wheat crackers, goat cheese and fruit and honey, and—” The door swung shut on the rest of the recitation.

Millie reached into the cabinet for the chips and into the refrigerator for the dip. “Forget the health food. I need all the preservatives I can get.” When she was certain Suzette was out of hearing range, she lowered her raspy voice and said, “If that girl gets any perkier, I’m going to bite through my tongue.” She followed Suzette to the dining room.

Mya’s thoughts exactly. It was no wonder she worried.

It was quiet in the kitchen suddenly. Too quiet. Finding Claire watching her, Mya handed over the other tray.

Claire put it right back down again. “You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?”

“Serve red wine with cheese? I’m living dangerously.”

Claire didn’t pretend to be amused.

And Mya said, “Not you, too.”

“I’ll say my piece, and then forever hold it. You’re going to get married.”

“I thought you’d be happier for me.”

“I am happy for you.” She must have read Mya’s expression, because she said, “This is my happy face.”

Another time Mya might have smiled.

Claire forged ahead. “You don’t find it at all unsettling that you accepted Jeffrey’s marriage proposal because of something Dr. Phil said on national television? Love is a decision. Where does he get this stuff? Will I take a cruise or climb Mount Everest? Shall I fix green beans for supper, or corn? Should I flunk the kid I caught cheating today or call him in and talk to him? Those are decisions. Trust me, love is not a decision.”

“You don’t believe I love Jeffrey?”

“I think you’re fond of Jeffrey, much the way you’re fond of your new living-room rug. Jeffrey is a nice guy. In fact, there should be a law against anybody being that nice, Suzette notwithstanding.”

“What’s wrong with nice?”

Claire gaped. “You chew up nice people for breakfast and spit them out before lunch.”

“How flattering.”

“Come on, Mya. A woman like you hasn’t remained single this long for lack of opportunities. Don’t even try to tell me Jeffrey’s marriage proposal was your first.”

Mya floundered for a moment. “Now I really am flattered, because the truth is, I haven’t had all that many marriage proposals.” She prayed Claire didn’t expect her to be more specific.

“That’s because you almost never let a man close.”

Relieved, Mya said, “Jeffrey is attentive, intelligent, ardent and imperturbable.”

Claire fanned herself with one hand. “You’re making me hot. Tell me something. Why is it that your every description of Jeffrey begins with a vowel?”

Leave it to a high-school English teacher to notice that.

The kitchen door opened, and Suzette stuck her head inside. “Did you talk to her?”

Mya threw up her hands. “You two planned this?” Looking at these women whose personalities were at opposite ends of the spectrum, she said, “Let’s just suspend my personal belief for a moment. Let’s say love isn’t a decision, and the fact that Jeffrey makes me think, makes me feel special and safe, and he’s a good kisser isn’t enough reason to marry him. How does a woman decide who to marry?”

With a flourish, Suzette took a sheaf of papers from her oversize purse. “I put that question to my second graders this morning. Claire, did you ask your class?”

“That was an assignment gone wrong. Trust me, you don’t want to hear the results.”

Suzette nodded. “My students’ answers were problematic, too.”

Now Mya was curious. “What did they say?”

“Nobody believes in true love anymore. Not even eight-year-olds.”

“Maybe they’re too young to make a decision,” Claire said.

New lease or not, Mya gave her the finger.

Waving as if at a bothersome insect, Suzette said, “I asked my students how they would decide who to marry. The smartest girl in the class said you wait until you’re old, at least twenty, and you go on a date, and if you believe half his lies, you go on another, and at the end of the summer you get married.”

Mya smiled.

Suzette didn’t. “Her best friend said you don’t decide. God does. You have to wait until you’re grown up and see who you’re stuck with. The boy who sits next to her stood up and declared that no age is a good age to get married. You got to be a fool to get married.”

“Nine will get you ten he’ll be sitting in the back of my class ten years from now,” Claire said. “If he’s still in school then.”

“That’s awfully judgmental!” Suzette admonished.

“You say judgmental, I say realistic. Potato, po-tah-to.”

It was like watching a tennis match. Times like these, Mya understood why she’d started watching Dr. Phil’s program every chance she had.

“Are you bringing more chips?” Millie called from the next room.

Suzette dashed toward the door with the bag of chips, practically tripping over one of Jeffrey’s cats. When the door stopped swinging, Claire said, “And that’s another thing, Mya. You’re a dog person. You don’t even like cats.”

Mya scooped two of the oversize fur balls off the kitchen counter before they sampled the crab dip. Depositing them, none too ceremoniously, in the back room, she closed the door and brushed at the cat hair they’d left on her green silk blouse. “You have it all wrong. Those sneaky, obese, flea-ridden creatures don’t like me.”

“What’s not to like?”

Back in control, Mya let that go.

Claire looked worried, but she said, “Listen. It sounds like Jeffrey’s here. We’d better get out there and save him from Suzette.”

Right behind her, Mya said, “You mean from my mother.”

Oh, sure. Now Claire laughed.

“You’re positive you don’t want something to drink?” Mya held up the bottle of wine.

Jeffrey put it back on the coffee table where she’d gotten it. “Booze and E.R. duty don’t mix.”

The man was just about perfect, no doubt about it. “You’re not hungry?” Mya asked. “Not even for apple slices dipped in honey?”

Everyone had gone, and Mya was trying to put things away. Uninterested in putting anything away, Jeff put his arms around her. “I’d rather have a different kind of honey.”

Claire was right. Jeff was so nice he was corny. Corny wasn’t all. Thirty-two years old, Jeffrey Anderson stood six feet three inches tall, had linebacker shoulders, a wash-board stomach, hands and feet like a Labrador puppy and the sex drive of a seventeen-year-old. The thought burned through Mya’s mind before sliding away to a place she didn’t go anymore.

Nuzzling her neck, Jeff said, “I have to be back at the hospital in thirty-eight minutes. We can spend the next half hour doing anything you want, anywhere you want.”

Now what kind of woman could complain about that? He knew all the moves, and she would have to be a fool to waste them. And yet she always had the feeling he was asking for permission. Jeff was a gentleman. There was nothing wrong with that. Still, sometimes she wished he would just take her, devour her, infuse her with passion and delight until she writhed in ecstasy.

He turned her gently into his arms and kissed her again. Holding her to him, molding and kneading until she groaned, he eased her backward toward the sofa, where they’d last made love. She’d had a crick in her neck for two days.

“I think what you have in mind is best suited to a bed, Doctor.”

His face lit up as she reached for his hand. He’d lit up this way when he’d first laid eyes on her earlier tonight, too, although he still hadn’t said anything about her hair. He would either say something nice, or he wouldn’t say anything at all, of that she was certain. Jeff was a nice guy. Mya’s relationship with him was the most calm and rational one in her life. Until recently, she and her mother had rarely missed an opportunity to argue. Claire was of the opinion that the Donahue women weren’t happy unless they were miserable. Claire should talk. She could learn a great deal from Dr. Phil, if only she would tune in.

There was no reason in the world to be thinking about this, especially when a virile, nearly naked man was undressing her, caressing her, kissing her. Where was her blouse, anyway? Jeff peeled away her bra and covered her breasts with his big hands. Pleasure surged through her.

Mya was five-four-and-a-half, and at times Jeff seemed as big as a house. He was her safe place in the storm of life. She’d discovered it that night in the emergency room. It was the first time she’d set foot inside a hospital in years. She wouldn’t have then if she’d had a choice. She’d managed to remain stoic through the harrowing drive to the hospital, Suzette whimpering in the seat next to her. And then she’d managed to get Suzette into a wheelchair and through the automatic doors. She’d given the night nurse all the pertinent information. After they’d wheeled Suzette away, and Mya was alone in the cold, austere hospital, panic had set in. She’d shaken with the effort to hold herself together. And there was Jeffrey coming off duty, bringing her a cup of steaming coffee and the offer of a broad shoulder to cry on.

Jeffrey Anderson was just about the nicest, kindest man she’d ever met, and she’d found herself wondering if she’d been holding the wrong kind of man at bay. He’d asked for her phone number. And she’d given it to him. She was sure he wouldn’t call, even more sure she wouldn’t go out with him if he did. She was wrong on both counts.

He’d called, and it had felt good to talk with him over dinner. And later, it had felt good to kiss him. After a few dates, it had felt good to make love with him. What was so wrong with feeling good? He didn’t curl her toes. So what?

The wind howled and rain ran in sheets down her bedroom window. The room was shadowy and drafty. Goose bumps rose on her skin as he lowered her to the bed and eased down next to her. Heat emanated from him, drawing her closer.

The mattress shifted and their breaths mingled. She was tangling her legs with his when she glanced at the foot of the bed. Two cats sat nearby in the oblong patch of light spilling from the hall. A third had stopped in the doorway. All three were watching.

“Jeffrey. The cats.”

He groaned when she stopped doing what she’d been doing and removed her hand, but he heaved himself away from her and gathered up his cats. “I swear you guys do this on purpose.” Shooing them all into the hall, he closed the door. “Now, where were you?”

She laughed, and it almost sounded wicked. It had been a long time since she’d been wicked. He returned to her, and she enjoyed it so much she couldn’t help laughing again. He kissed her, stroked her, caressed her, until a deep feeling of peace entered her being. She spoke his name on a whisper, and he came to her, the joining of man to woman pure and pleasurable. Those first delightful tremors were just beginning when one of the cats yowled in the hall. The other two took up the cry.

Feeling her stiffen, Jeff said, “Pretend we’re in the jungle.”

Mya laughed, and he smoothed one fingertip along her cheek, down the length of her neck, skimming the outer swell of her breast, her waist, until he found what he was after. He was an ardent lover, mindful of her needs, and vocal about his. And yet she was distracted. Who wouldn’t be distracted with three cats yowling outside the closed bedroom door?

A memory came, unbidden. Hazy and as if from a great distance, she glimpsed for but a moment, two lovers too young to know what they were doing, and a passion so consuming nothing could have kept them from doing it. She stopped the thought, her mind suddenly blank, her body and soul empty.

“I love your hair.”

Mya started. “What?”

“Your hair. I like it. Very sassy.”

He’d waited until it was pitch-dark to tell her. But it made her smile, and it brought her to him once again.

She moaned softly.

“Do you like that?” he asked, his voice low.

“I think you should do it again, just so I can be sure.”

This time he chuckled, but he acquiesced, and yes, she liked it. Maybe it wasn’t ecstasy. Accepting the weight of him, and the warmth of him, it was enough.

Ecstasy was overrated, anyway.

“I love you,” Jeff said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He sauntered to the foyer, bending to pet each cat on his way. He looked back at her from the door. Giving her a smile, he was gone, sated and content.

She envied him that contentment.

Where had that thought come from? Turning, she found all three cats staring at her, as if Jeff’s leaving was somehow her fault. Jeff worked long hours. And when he wasn’t working, he was at her place. It made sense that his cats were better off here.

“What? He has his house. I have mine.”

The white cat jumped onto the back of the sofa. The yellow two continued to stare at her from the easy chair.

“You heard him. He’ll call tomorrow.” And then, because she couldn’t be cold or cruel, even if she wasn’t a cat person, she added, “Don’t worry, he’ll be back.”

No swish of their tails. No meows. No purring. Nothing.

Why anybody bothered talking to cats, she didn’t know. Cinching the sash of her long silk robe, she padded to the kitchen. The moment she started the electric can opener, all three cats came running.

She doled out the bribe, and watched them enjoy it. The white one even let her pet him, and she had to admit, his fur was soft and warm. Leaving them to their late-night snack, she wandered through her little house. It was nearing the witching hour, and it had been an eventful day. Her hairstyle had been salvaged, she was learning to coexist with Jeff’s cats, and she’d avoided a blowup with her mother. Maybe she’d finally grown up—perish the thought—but she was thirty-six.

She looked out the kitchen window. The rain had let up and the wind had died down. Dark, damp and cold, it was a good night to brood. It was what the old Mya would have done. What good had it ever done? What good would it do tonight?

She did an about-face. Instead of brooding, she was going to leave this mess for tomorrow and go to bed. She hadn’t taken three steps when a knock sounded on her door. She paused at the lamp she’d just turned off. Her neighbors never stayed up this late. Jeff had a key, so it couldn’t be him. Maybe Claire or Suzette had returned for some reason. She doubted it was her mother.

The knock came again.

Turning the lamp back on, she went to the door and peered through the peephole. The room pitched, and one hand flew to her mouth.

A girl wearing faded blue jeans and no jacket stood on the porch. Mya felt frozen in time and in place, and yet she opened the door, a wild gust of wind hitting her in the face.

After looking Mya up and down, eyes the same brown as her own narrowed. “I would have knocked sooner but I was waiting for the Minute Man to leave.” With a snide curl of her lip, the girl said, “Hey, Mom. Long time no see.”

CHAPTER 2

M ya moved only enough to force a deep breath.

All these years she’d wondered what her child looked like. Here she was, technically no longer a child. Her pale blond hair was shorter than Mya’s, even after today’s fiasco. Brown eyes cold with fury, she was the spitting image of Mya at that age, anger, belligerence, bitterness and all.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to faint.”

Still holding perfectly still, Mya said, “I’ve never fainted in my life.”

“Lucky you.”

Although she’d tried not to, sometimes Mya had imagined a mother-daughter reunion. Some of the scenarios had been tearful, others awkward. None had depicted a nineteen-year-old girl skinny enough to be blown away on the ocean wind, glaring at Mya with eyes as cold as stone.

Mya glanced at her watch. “It’s after midnight.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Happy birthday.”

Elle Fletcher clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t the emotion burning her eyes and throat. Other than the funky hairstyle and the whisker burn on her neck, the woman looked pretty normal. It was disturbing, how much the brown eyes reminded Elle of her own, right down to the tears brimming in them.

The hell with that! This woman wanted to cry, let her. Elle wasn’t about to do the same.

She’d been parked down the street long enough to see two women get in a four-by-four and drive away. Not long after, an older woman had climbed behind the wheel of a red boat on wheels and left, too. The man stayed the longest, which wasn’t saying a lot, but he’d finally cleared out, too.

That left her.

Her name was Mya Donahue. She was single and thirty-six, and she owned this house as well as a clothing store called Brynn’s over on Market Street. Some of the information had been in the file at the adoption agency. Most of it had required a little digging to uncover. The rest would have to come from Mya, herself, if Elle decided to continue. She didn’t want to. She wanted to turn tail and run as far away as she could get.

It was as if Mya knew. Her expression still and serious, she took a backward step, and opened the door farther.

If she’d voiced the invitation, Elle wouldn’t have taken it. As it was, she glanced over her shoulder, torn. The night was dark, the street empty except for her rusty Mazda.

She’d come this far. Might as well see if any of it had been worth it. Drawing herself up, she went in.

Not about to allow her relief to show when she closed the door against the damp and the cold, she glanced around the small room, taking in the eclectic mix of furniture and color. There was a throw over the back of the sofa, the usual magazines and junk mail on the end tables, a pair of shoes on the floor next to an assortment of feather toys. “You have a cat?”

“They’re my fiancé’s.”

Elle snorted, then went and got caught looking at the open bag of potato chips and a plate of cheese. Her guard back up where it belonged, she glared at Mya, silently challenging her to make something of it.

“Would you like to sit down?”

Elle shook her head. And the woman, her birth mother—Elle welcomed back her anger—seemed to accept that.

“What’s your name?”

“Eleanor. If you want me to answer, call me Elle.”

“Hello, Elle. You’re shivering.”

“That’s my problem. You gave up all rights to my problems when you signed on the dotted line, didn’t you?”

Mya’s smile held a touch of sadness. Glancing away, Elle felt a wretchedness of mind she hadn’t planned to feel. Her stomach growled. Gritting her teeth, she would be damned if she would be embarrassed about being hungry.

“Could I get you something?”

“What? You wanna brew some sweetened tea and maybe make some toast for me?”

“And have you throw it in my face? Is that what you want to do?”

Elle hadn’t expected that. It was almost as if Mya knew her, or worse, understood her. Impossible.

“I didn’t come here to eat.”

It must have taken a lot to refrain from asking why the hell she did come then. Elle stifled the thread of respect trying to worm past her defenses. Mya Donahue hadn’t earned any respect. She was nothing to Elle, or almost nothing.

As nonchalantly as possible, Elle glanced out the window toward the street where her car sat, undisturbed. “I have to go.” She could feel Mya watching her, could sense the questions she wanted to ask. “What?” Elle asked, and dammit, she couldn’t keep her lip from curling snidely.

Mya shook her head. “Do what you have to do, but you’re welcome to come back.”

Elle took flight before she did something embarrassing, like sink to the sofa and rest her head for a minute, or worse, blurt out the reason she was here. She ran to her car and unlocked it. Mya didn’t follow her or call to her. But she stood in the open door in the cold damp wind. The sight burned the backs of Elle’s eyes.

Nobody said this would be easy, but the fact that it was this hard still ticked her off. The anger was fuel, and she used it to get the hell out of there. She drove carefully, though, for it wasn’t anger that had brought her to Maine. She was pretty sure Mya had picked up on that fact. Pulling into a parking space in the cheapest motel she’d found, Elle swallowed hard. When she was certain it was safe, she leaned over the backseat, unfastened the safety belt, and took the best thing she’d ever done into her arms. Ten-month-old Kaylie sighed in her sleep, comfortable and secure.

Her daughter’s warmth and weight girded Elle’s resolve and renewed her courage to do what she had to do. It was possible that all the courage in the world wouldn’t be enough.

“Geez, Mya, long time no see.”

Mya gasped at Claire’s terminology. She didn’t remember the drive to her friend’s loft on the waterfront, but Claire had been waiting for her, so she must have called ahead. Vaguely, Mya recalled pulling on the clothes she’d worn all day. Even Claire might have been put off if Mya had shown up in her bathrobe.

Claire said no more until Mya came to a stop at the huge windows overlooking island-studded Casco Bay. “What’s happened?”

Mya wasn’t certain how to answer. She wasn’t certain of anything. Had she come here to confide in Claire? Or did she need to see the lights dotting the ocean, the tanker on the horizon and the scattering of islands between here and there?

“Mya?”

She answered without turning. “I had a visitor after everyone else left tonight.”

“Who?”

Again, Mya didn’t know how to reply. Finally, she said, “My daughter.”

Claire’s silence finally drew her around. Poor Claire. She’d been awakened from a deep sleep. Still groggy, she blinked owlishly. “Your daughter?”

“I had a baby, Claire.”

“So that’s your secret. I always suspected you had one. Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

She started in the middle, but she reached the beginning quickly, ending with Elle’s surprise visit tonight. “Nobody here knows about my past. Except my mother. And now you.”

Normally Claire wore contacts, but after being awakened tonight, she’d donned a pair of glasses. A few years ago, Suzette had laser surgery to correct her vision, but not Claire. It wasn’t because she hated hospitals, like Mya. Claire wasn’t taking any chances with complications. Claire O’Brien was one of those people who looked at four ounces of liquid in an eight-ounce glass and saw the potential water stain on the table.

“Have you told Jeffrey?”

Jeffrey? Obviously Claire wasn’t the only one who was dazed. “No.”

“Are you worried about how he’ll feel and what he’ll say?”

How could she be worried when she hadn’t given it any thought?

“Do you care what he thinks, Mya?”

Mya went from listless to ticked in under three seconds. Perhaps that had been Claire’s intention. “What do you think?”

“I think that if you’re going to marry him, you should tell him.”

That if brought Mya up short.

“What’s she like?” Claire asked, sinking into a nearby chair.

“She looks like me at that age, well, except for the piercings and tattoos.”

“Sounds like half my students. How old is she?”

“She’s nineteen today.” Mya watched Claire’s gaze go to her wild new hairstyle.

“What did she say?” There was nothing syrupy about Claire’s voice. Steady and level, it invited trust. It always had.

Mya shrugged as she rose, inexplicably drawn to the window again. Or perhaps not so inexplicably. Unlike many of the islands in Casco Bay, Keepers Island was too far away to be visible from the mainland from this vantage point. It was out there as surely as she was standing here.

She hadn’t set foot on the island in years, and yet she could picture it so clearly in her mind, the little harbor where the islanders docked their sailboats and skiffs and trawlers, the ice-cream shop and summerhouses near the beach, and the larger, weathered houses of the year-round residents farther inland, the square, brick school, and the sandy cove where she’d first made love.

Staring out across the bay, goose bumps rose on her arms. She had the strangest feeling someone was looking back at her. It was impossible, not to mention irrational. She got the hell away from that window just the same.

“Her name is Elle,” Mya said, clasping her hands tightly together. “Short for Eleanor.” It occurred to her that she didn’t know the girl’s last name.

“She didn’t tell you why she came or what she wanted?”

Mya scrubbed a hand over her face.

Claire said, “If you want me to stop playing twenty questions, just say the word. We can sit here quietly all night if you want.”

And Mya was glad she’d come here tonight. She’d needed a dose of Claire’s drollery and calm acceptance. “She stood in my living room a total of two minutes.” And every second was permanently etched on her mind. “I don’t think it’s a matter of her wanting something. More than likely, it’s something she needs.”

“Money?”

Mya thought about the threadbare jeans, the missing coat and the rumble of Elle’s stomach. “Something else. What remains to be seen.”

“Then you believe she’ll be back.”

Mya found herself staring toward the window again. “She’ll be back. I’d stake my life on it.”

It was an hour past closing time, and Elle hadn’t come.

Mya was disappointed, and when she was disappointed, she tended to get a little snippy. This time, the recipient had been a large-boned woman browsing through the rack of sale items. In her own words, she’d been “just looking.” Translated, that meant she was killing time. Mya wanted her to kill time someplace else so she could go home and see if Elle was waiting there. Short of throwing the customer out, Mya had done everything she could think of to get rid of her. Turning out the lights hadn’t been nice, but it had been effective. Finally, Mya locked the front door. Peering past the display in the window, she wouldn’t blame the woman if she never returned. But at least she’d gone.

Thanks to the City of Portland’s innovative revitalization plan, the waterfront district would be bustling with tourists in a few short months. Weekend traffic was always good, but at dusk on this Wednesday in mid-April, the brick-and-stone streets and sidewalks were practically empty. Only a handful of people strolled by. None of them had short blond hair, an obvious bad attitude and visible tattoos.

Elle wasn’t coming. Mya had been so sure she would.

She hung up a garment that had fallen, but walked past the stacks of sweaters that needed to be refolded. Her boutique was a long, narrow space squeezed between a bookstore and a glass-and-art studio. What Brynn’s lacked in square footage, it made up for in style. The walls were original brick, the hardwood floors worn smooth more than a century ago when this entire building had been used as a warehouse for the shipping industry.

Much of her summer merchandise had arrived this morning. Normally, Mya would have stayed late to catalog everything. Her mind would have been racing to decide how to best display the trendy skirts and summer sweaters and nautical jackets, the beaded pants and espadrilles, scarves and jewelry. Normally, she would have stayed until the wee hours of the morning, steaming away wrinkles and arranging everything on racks and shelves, in trunks and inside open drawers of antique armoires. Normally, she couldn’t wait to get started. Today, she left everything in the cartons in the middle of the floor, switched on the night-lights, set the alarm and left, locking the back door behind her.

The alley was protected from the ocean wind. Taking a deep breath of air still warm from the sun, Mya reached into her pocket for her car keys. And stopped in her tracks.

Elle was leaning against her car.

A thrill ran through Mya as the girl sauntered toward her. Holding her explosion of pleasure to a small smile, Mya noticed that Elle positioned herself so that her car remained in plain sight, causing Mya to wonder if she was living out of it. The bottoms of her jeans were frayed, her plain black T-shirt tight. She looked less defiant, less confrontational. Her gaze was no less assessing.

Mya proceeded with caution. “There’s an Italian bistro across the street, an English pub around the corner and oyster shacks and fabulous seafood places within walking distance in every direction.”

She swore Elle looked tempted.

“And there’s a little pizzeria past the next alley, and—”

“Pizza?”

“The best pizza in the universe.” Hearing a noise, Mya looked overhead for seagulls. Seeing none, she said, “Care to grab a deluxe with me?”

“I can’t.” Elle was easing away.

Mya wanted to call her back, to beg.

Over her shoulder, Elle said, “Maybe one of those restaurants needs a waitress.”

“Are you looking for a job?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I could use a clerk at Brynn’s.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Elle was a dozen feet from her car when Mya called, “Do you hear a baby crying?”

“I’ve gotta go.”

“Elle, wait.” Mya practically ran to the car, only to freeze all over again, for the cries were coming from a baby in the backseat.

For a moment Elle looked as if she’d just been caught doing something bad. But her attitude returned, shoring up her chin. “She’s mine.”

Suzette claimed the most powerful sentences contained just two words. She’s mine was proof enough for Mya. Since she didn’t trust herself to speak, all she could do was watch as Elle put the seat ahead and squeezed into the back. Seconds later, she eased out again, the baby in her arms.

“Surprise.”

Mya reeled, which was undoubtedly Elle’s intention.

The baby stopped trying to drag her bonnet over her head, and stared at Mya as if the hat problem was her fault. Mya hadn’t spent much time around babies, so she couldn’t say how old the child was. Her cheeks were round, her eyes blue. What Mya could see of her wispy hair was blond. She wore pink overalls and tennis shoes, one lace trailing. The little Harley-Davidson T-shirt seemed at odds with the delicate bonnet.

“She’s had an earache,” Elle said.

Later, Mya would marvel at how in tune Elle was with what Mya was thinking, but now she said the only thing that came into her mind. “She’s beautiful. I sensed you were hiding something.”

Elle made no comment, leaving Mya to wonder what else the girl was hiding.

“What’s her name?”

“Kaylie. She’s almost ten months old.”

Hearing her name, the baby looked up at her mother, who smiled at her. Instantly, Kaylie’s chubby little face spread into an adoring grin.

“Kaylie what?” Mya asked around the sudden lump in her throat.

“Kaylie Renee Fletcher. I was going to name her Harley, but in the end, I couldn’t. Couldn’t picture an old lady named Harley. I figure if she doesn’t like Kaylie when she’s thirty, she can shorten it to Kay.”

The “old” reference wasn’t lost on Mya. “And her middle name?”

“Renee was my mom’s name. It’s my middle name, too.”

Mya absorbed every last implication, from the quiet reverence in Elle’s voice, to her use of the past tense. “Where did you grow up?” she asked.

Elle’s eyes narrowed.

And Mya said, “Yours isn’t a Down Easterner’s accent.”

“My parents moved to Pennsylvania when I was about Kaylie’s age.” Suddenly, Elle didn’t seem to know where to look.

The girl inspired a curious urgency in Mya, a sense that time was spinning too fast. She wanted to ask her a hundred questions about where Elle had been and what kind of life she’d had, but she settled for asking only one. “Are you going to stay in Portland for a while?”

“I’m thinking about it. It’s not like we have anyplace better to be.”

“Kaylie could come with us to grab that pizza.”

“She already ate.” With that, Elle returned the baby to the car seat. Before she was through, she loosened the ribbon beneath Kaylie’s chin. Immediately, the baby stopped fussing and began the arduous task of trying to remove the bonnet.

Elle left without saying goodbye. After she drove away in her noisy little car, Mya got in her shiny, midsize model and drove away, too.

Time, she thought as she stopped at the light, was an amazing thing. Sometimes an hour seemed to last forever, and then one day you discovered that an entire lifetime has passed. Elle was young and still believed thirty was old. Mya had spent the last nineteen years trying not to remember how it felt to be that young.

Jeffrey was scribbling on a chart when Mya arrived at the hospital. He smiled when he saw her. It did little to relieve the knot in her stomach. Motioning to a small lounge, he held up five fingers. She knew from experience that although his intentions were good, he would be at least ten minutes, probably fifteen.

The staff lounge was deserted. Decorated in shades of purple and gray, the room was aesthetically pleasing enough, if one liked hospitals. They happened to terrify Mya.

Perhaps she should have waited for Jeffrey at his condo. Conveniently located a few blocks from the hospital, his place had high ceilings and tall windows that made the most of their southern exposure. For all the building’s wonderful character, the furnishings were early bachelor pad. She’d told him that nobody had a water bed anymore. With a shrug, he’d given her free rein to change the decor as soon as she moved in. Mya wanted them to live in her house after the wedding.

One hurdle at a time.

Claire was right. People who were engaged needed to be honest with each other. She had to tell Jeff about Elle.

She paced, leafed through a magazine, then paced again. Her mind wandered, and she found herself wondering where the labor and delivery rooms were in this hospital. They’d been on the second floor in the hospital up in Brunswick, where she’d—

The sound of laughter drew Mya around. The young nurse entering the lounge stopped laughing when she saw Mya.

“Tammy,” Jeffrey said behind her, “Would you mind using the other lounge?”

Although Tammy left, it was apparent to Mya that she did mind.

Jeffrey paused just inside the door, right after he smiled. And Mya wondered what he saw in her. He obviously had plenty of opportunities. Why her?

“Still trying to figure me out?” he asked. “I told you. Men are simple. Sex and supper pretty much covers our needs.”

“So you say. Do you realize I’ve never seen you angry?”

“Why would I be angry? You’re here. Life just got better.”

“You’re very smooth, Doctor.” When he grinned, she was reminded of the first time she’d seen him in this very hospital. The man looked good in scrubs, no doubt about that. She wished she melted at the sight of him.

Where had that come from? What was wrong with her? She was afraid she knew the answer.

“You want to see smooth?” he asked. “Come here.”

She remained where she was. “I have something to tell you.”

He went to her and kissed her. “It must be important to bring you here.”

“It is.”

“If you don’t want to keep my cats at your house, I can move them back to my place.”

“And here I was getting used to all the cat hair.”

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

“You always call me gorgeous when you’re trying to get me out of my blouse.”

“I like the way you think.”

She grasped his wrist when he reached for her top button.

“I’m teasing, Mya. What is it?”

“Perhaps we should sit down.”

He studied her in a manner that caused her to understand why he was so well liked and respected and appreciated in E.R. “In my experience,” he said, “there are three things a woman might say when she looks at a man the way you’re looking at me. One, she’s married. Two, she’s gay. And C, she was once a man.”

Mya couldn’t help smiling a little. “Prepare to add one more possibility.”

She’d suggested they be seated, yet he was the one who drew her to a vinyl sofa on the other side of the room. “Okay,” he said when he’d taken the adjacent chair. “What is it?”

She’d practiced her speech during the drive over. Unfortunately, there was no way to soften the bluntness of what she had to say. Forcing her gaze on his, she said, “I had a baby.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t flinch.

“When I was seventeen. I held her once, and then handed her to the social worker.” She kept her voice even, her memories locked up. “I never heard from her again.”

He continued to watch her closely.

“Until last night.”

“She called?” he asked.

“No. She came by.”

“So she looked you up. That’s common, isn’t it?” Jeffrey said. “They’re curious. Justifiably so.”

Mya fought an unholy desire to stomp on his foot. “Elle doesn’t strike me as the curious type.”

“Elle?”

“Eleanor. There’s more.” Mya tucked her short hair behind her ears. She missed her long hair, missed the weight of it and the warmth of it. More stable now, she said, “She has a ten-month-old baby girl named Kaylie. I know this must come as a shock.”

For what seemed like forever, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall behind her. Finally, Jeff spoke. “What’s shocking is that all these months I’ve been sleeping with a grandmother.”

Now, she did nudge him.

“Honey, the sounds you make when we’re making love give the word new meaning.”

She jumped to her feet. And as he had dozens of times before, he went to her and put his arms around her. “This doesn’t change the way I feel about you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He slid his hands down her back, drawing her against him. “You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’re sexy as hell. Something that happened to you when you were a kid doesn’t change any of that.”

“It wasn’t something that happened to me. I wasn’t run over by an 18-wheeler or struck by lightning. It was something I did, a portion of my life I lived.”

“Potato, po-tah-to.”

“Now you sound like Claire.”

“That hurts. My parents want to meet you.”

She blinked. “They do?”

“I think you’d better find out what Eleanor’s after. She probably just wants to know her medical history, now that she has a kid of her own. No sense getting bent out of shape until we know what we’re dealing with, right?”

Bent out of shape?

For some reason, Mya couldn’t get comfortable in his arms. She couldn’t find that safe place, that warm sense of being home. He kissed a path along her neck. Normally, she responded to the sensation. Tonight, she wondered what he would look like bent out of shape and thoroughly ticked off. She reminded herself of the anger-management classes she’d taken, and the self-help books she’d read. Jeffrey was sane and rational, and this was how sane and rational people dealt with life’s issues. Sanely and rationally.

“Jeff.” She stepped out of his arms. “Someone could come in.”

He released a long sigh, but he followed her toward the door. “What are you going to do?”

Until that moment, she hadn’t a clue. Bending down for her purse and jacket, she said, “I’m going to pick up a pizza.” The statement was delivered in a tone of voice that encouraged him to go ahead and make something of it.

He didn’t, of course.

As she left the building, Mya wondered what Dr. Phil would say about the fact that she was disappointed. In the pit of her stomach she knew it wasn’t sane or rational.

Maybe she hadn’t come so far after all.

CHAPTER 3

E lle entered Brynn’s through the front door the following morning. Mya was busy with a customer who kept commenting on her hair. Elle didn’t know what that was all about, but she hiked Kaylie higher on her hip and waited. Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long. Mya rang up the sale, placed the purchases in a lime-green bag, then followed the customer to the front of the store. The fact that the woman looked wealthy didn’t keep her from staring openly at Elle.

The moment the door closed, Elle said, “The rumors will be flying now.”

Mya’s eyebrows rose a fraction, but her voice was level as she said, “I can handle rumors. How was the pizza?”

“I’m not a charity case. Is everyone who comes in here full of herself?”

Mya’s gaze was direct, her pause palpable. “Evidently.”

The woman didn’t take much crap. To Elle’s annoyance, she respected that. She didn’t know why she was dishing it out in the first place. She’d been surprised when she’d heard the knock on her door last night. “Pizza delivery for Elle Fletcher.”

She’d opened the door but not the chain, and saw a boy who was probably still in high school start to smile. Wearing a baseball cap and a jacket bearing the pizza store’s logo, he held the flat box out to her.

“I didn’t order any pizza.”

He’d fumbled in his pocket for the order pad then checked the address. Pizza delivery guys were always nerds. It was probably in the job description.

“It’s bought and paid for,” he’d said. “My job was to deliver it.” A nerd with a bad attitude, he put the pizza on the step and left without another word.

She may have been belligerent and too broke to give him a tip, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d taken it inside. While Kaylie used a crust for a teething ring, Elle sank her teeth into a thick slice of lukewarm pizza loaded with cheese, mushrooms, onions and pepperoni. She’d wolfed down three pieces before she thought about the example she was setting. Hopefully, Kaylie was too little to pick up bad table manners. The thought seared the back of her mind, bringing a sense of dread and sadness she refused to give in to.

“The only reason it tastes so good is because I haven’t sprung for pizza in a while,” she’d told Kaylie as she started on her fourth slice. “That doesn’t mean it’s the best pizza in the universe.”

Kaylie drooled solemnly from the middle of the bed. Elle had gone to sleep with a full stomach. And then she’d finished the pizza for breakfast while she fed Kaylie her oatmeal.

She knew she should thank Mya. Instead, she eased Kaylie out of reach of a rack of sunglasses and said, “What did you do? Follow me?”

“If you’re asking how I knew where to have the pizza delivered, I called the nearby motels and asked to speak to you.”

“I should sue them for breach of confidentiality. That’s a big thing these days.”

“Lawsuits or confidentiality?”

“You tell me.” For some strange reason, Elle was glad Mya could hold her own with her. Not many people could. Elle didn’t know why she was dishing it out in the first place. She looked Mya up and down. Her skirt had an uneven hem, her top a knit number with pink and green stripes. There were bangles on her wrists and dangles in her ears. Elle found herself looking at the diamond ring on Mya’s left hand. “What do you think the Minute Man is going to do when he finds out about me?”

“His name is Jeffrey. And I told him last night.”

Elle blinked, and Kaylie strained to get down. She’d been fussing a lot lately. Mya seemed to be having a hard time taking her eyes off her.

“Ever since she learned to crawl, it’s all she wants to do. I haven’t been letting her crawl around much in our motel room.”

“How long have you two been on the road?”

“We left Pennsylvania a week ago, but we’ve pretty much been on our own since before she was born.”

Kaylie was getting worked up. Elle tried moving her to her other hip, but it didn’t help. When Kaylie got something in her head, there was no changing her mind.

Elle saw Mya reach her hand toward them, but it took a few seconds to notice the key held between her thumb and forefinger. “What’s that for?”

“You can let her crawl on the floor at my house.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll make off with the good silver?”

Kaylie was crying in earnest now, so they practically had to yell.

“I don’t believe you drove all the way to Maine to rip me off.”

Their gazes locked.

It was the perfect opening, but Elle couldn’t bring herself to take it, so instead she said, “What would we do all day?”

“Do whatever you want. Play with the cats.”

“I don’t like cats.”

For some reason, that made Mya smile. It took everything Elle had to tear her gaze away.

Mya continued to hold out the key. Relying on instinct, Elle took it and turned quickly, only to stop. Kaylie quieted, and in a meek voice Elle barely recognized as her own, she said, “Thank you.”

And then she got the hell out of there.

The bell had stopped jangling before Mya remembered to breathe. She had no idea what that had been about, and yet she’d won that round. The fact that Elle hadn’t put up more of a fight made her uneasy.

Elle inspired a curious urgency in her. It was similar to the way she used to feel the last week before school started when she’d been a child, when the sun was still scorching and the days still felt endless, but she knew the end lurked like an alligator under the bed. Back then, she’d never wanted school to start, not because she didn’t like school, but because she hated endings. She used to cram every summer experience into that last week, from ice-cream cones, to lobster bakes on the beach, to catching fireflies in Mason jars.

She felt that same sense of urgency now. She wanted to get to know Elle. She wanted to flip the Closed sign in the window and spend the day at home. With her daughter. She didn’t know whether to be shocked about that or worried. Somehow she doubted Elle would appreciate being smothered. Mya knew the feeling. For years, she’d backed away whenever her mother tried to hover.

Oh, no. Her mother. Claire and Jeffrey knew about Elle. She had to tell her mom.

In Elle’s words, the house was rocking.

Mya didn’t remember the last time it had been this noisy in her living room. The television was on, Claire and Suzette were engaged in a heated debate over the president’s foreign policy, Jeffrey was refereeing, and Elle was changing the baby.

“Mom,” Mya said into the phone. “Would you listen?”

“What’s all that noise?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What are all these cars doing in front of your place?” Millicent asked.

“You’re on my street?”

“Are you having a party?”

Mya had to plug one ear in order to hear. “Mom, don’t come inside yet.”

“Just a sec. I need two hands to park.”

“Mom, wait. Listen.”

Static. Great, she’d laid the phone down.

“Mom?”

Silence.

“Mother!”

The line went dead mere seconds before Millicent burst into the house, smiling all around. “Why, it is a party.” She beamed at Jeffrey, and didn’t seem to notice that everyone except Kaylie had quieted. Talking to anyone who was listening, she said, “Who does Mya know who has a baby?”

Her gaze found Elle, and her mouth dropped open.

Suzette closed the door. And Claire caught the oversize red purse before it hit the floor.

Somebody turned down the television, and Millicent traipsed forward, stopping a few feet in front of Elle, who looked shy suddenly.

Mya said, “Mom, as I was trying to tell you—”

“It’s you,” Millicent said.

Looking from Elle to her mother, Mya said, “This is Elle Fletcher and Kaylie. Elle, this is—”

“I’m your grandma. I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you properly.” Millicent’s voice shook with emotion. “And this is Kaylie, you said? Hi, sweet thing!” Ducking down slightly in order to be at the baby’s eye level, she said, “It looks like somebody’s having a bad day.”

Jeffrey said, “I checked her over. I think she’s cutting teeth.”

Millicent straightened again, patting Elle’s arm. In a whisper loud enough to penetrate steel, she said, “Teething’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

She let Jeffrey take her coat. Speaking to Mya on the way to retrieve her purse from Claire, she said, “A little forewarning would have been nice.”

The chaos resumed while Mya was still holding the phone.

“The last time I kissed a girl goodbye on the front porch, I was in the tenth grade.”

Mya had to tip her head back in order to look into Jeff’s eyes. “At least this brings back fond memories.”

“Not that fond. Any idea how long Eleanor plans to stay with you?”

He called Elle by her full name. Not five minutes ago, Elle had referred to him as Minute Man, and Mya was pretty sure he’d overheard. Either he didn’t mind, or he wasn’t letting on. It was hard to tell with him.

Mya’s mind was spinning. Claire and Suzette were two of the best friends Mya could ask for. Both had come over as soon as she’d called to tell them her daughter was here. Keeping the conversation lively, Suzette had gone off on one of her favorite tangents, insisting there was a reason all this was happening in Mya’s life at precisely this time. Evidently, it all had to do with Mercury conjoining Uranus, and not one but two black holes. Or did she say Pluto was retrograde and the moon was in Taurus? Which didn’t explain anything to Mya. She didn’t even know why she was thinking about Suzette, except that Suzette had been even livelier than usual tonight, sharing a plethora of knowledge of everything trivial all evening.

“Did you know,” she’d asked Jeffrey, “that rubber bands last longer when refrigerated?”

While poor Jeff was still struggling to find the relevance in that fascinating information, Elle had reached into her pocket and brought out a rubber band she’d found on the floor. Handing it to Suzette, she’d said, “Better put this in the fridge so we’re prepared for the imminent shortage.”

Suzette wasn’t amused, but Claire, Millicent and Mya couldn’t help laughing. Jeffrey had looked at them as if they’d lost their minds. Maybe they had. Or maybe the moon really was responsible.

“Mya?”

What? she thought, feeling irritable suddenly.

Oh. His question. “I get the feeling Elle isn’t planning to stay in Maine for long,” she said. “I’m surprised she accepted my invitation at all.”

Jeff squeezed her hand. Although she knew he would have preferred a different scenario for his night off, he’d been a good sport, all things considered. He really was a nice guy. Loneliness twisted and turned inside her. There was no reason for this. The man who wanted to marry her was standing right here. Closing her eyes, she felt guilty and selfish, two of her least favorite emotions.

“Tired?” Jeff asked.

“I guess.”

“It’s been a rough few days. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. Instead of leaving, he transferred the contents of his right hand to hers. “My contribution to the cause.”

Mya found herself staring at more rubber bands, and surprised herself by laughing. Watching him walk away, she thought that maybe, just maybe, everything would be all right.

The moment Mya stepped inside, three generations of Donahue females stared at her. Millicent was perched in the rocking chair, Kaylie on her lap. Elle sat cross-legged on the floor where she’d been trying to coax the white cat out of hiding.

Hanging up her jacket, Mya asked, “Any luck?”

Elle shrugged in a manner Mya was coming to recognize. “This cat’s come the farthest. The other two haven’t ventured out from under your bed since Kaylie discovered their tails before lunch. The Minute Man looked a little put out.”

Mya didn’t waste her breath telling Elle that all three cats had names, and so did Jeffrey. “He was just surprised, that’s all.”

The rocking chair creaked as Millicent offered Kaylie her bottle. “You’re going to have to do a little pampering to keep him happy, Mya, if you know what I mean.”

“There are greater tragedies than going without sex, Mom.”

“For God’s sakes, don’t let him hear you say that,” her mother said without looking up.

“Don’t you know anything about men?” Elle asked.

It was so nice to see that her mother and daughter had bonded.

Everyone was relieved that Kaylie didn’t have an ear infection. Unfortunately, she was still fussy. Mya felt a little like chewing glass, herself.

“There, there, sweet thing.” Millicent patted the baby’s back as she rose.

“She’s not deaf, Mom.”

“Now you’re an expert?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Here. You take her.”

Before Mya could protest, her mother dumped the baby into her arms. Mya had no choice but to hold her.

“Relax,” her mother said. “You’re stiff as a board. Babies are like dogs. They sense when you’re nervous.”

Mya glanced at Elle. “You don’t mind that comparison?”

Shrugging, Elle said, “It looks like Kaylie thinks you’re doing okay.”

Miraculously, it was true. Pink cheeked, her eyelashes matted from her tears, the baby stared solemnly up at Mya as if trying to figure out something important. But she didn’t look particularly worried. Mya was nervous enough for both of them. “You know, kid,” she said, “you’re heavier than you look.”

“How much did she weigh at birth?” Millicent asked.

“Six-and-a-half pounds. It seemed like a lot at the time. How much did I weigh?”

Millicent looked to Mya to answer.

In a quiet voice, Mya said, “You weighed six pounds, fourteen ounces.” There was absolutely no reason for her throat to close up, and yet it did.

The room was silent. While everyone was trying to decide where to look, Kaylie figured out what it was she’d been pondering, and tried to stick her finger up Mya’s nose.

She was quick. But Mya was quicker.

“Good dodge,” Elle said. “She’s had a thing for noses lately.”

“When Mya was two, I had to take her to the emergency room because she put a button up her nose,” Millicent said, very matter-of-fact. “I guess it’s not surprising she’s marrying a doctor. Isn’t he as close to perfect as a man can get?”

Mya’s diamond ring glinted beneath the lamplight. Another brittle silence ensued while she told herself there was nothing wrong with her diamond ring or with Jeffrey. Maybe that was the problem. Or maybe the flaw lay within her. Struggling with her uncertainty, she began to walk slowly around the room, the way she’d seen her mother do earlier. With a sigh, the baby rested her head on Mya’s shoulder.

“Kaylie resembles you, Elle,” Millicent said.

“Except for her eyes,” Elle said. “They’re blue like her father’s.”

Mya found her mother watching her. Something powerful passed between their gazes. Elle’s father had blue eyes, too.

A flash of grief ripped through Mya. Part of it was guilt for depriving her mom of her only grandchild, but that was far from all of it, for her mother wasn’t the only one Mya’s decision had deprived. At the time, she’d been so certain she was doing the right thing.

“Well looky there,” Millicent said when Kaylie’s eyes fluttered. “I’ve heard it often skips a generation.” There was reverence in her mother’s voice.

“What does?” Mya asked cautiously.

“That connection. It’s instinctive. She knows you all right. You two fit.”

Mya was peering down at the baby, therefore she didn’t see Elle’s expression still and grow serious. Millicent saw it, and it brought a dull sense of foreboding. The girl was keeping secrets. And Millicent knew from experience that when girls Elle’s age kept secrets, there was usually hell to pay.

Mya knocked softly on Elle’s closed door.

A quiet “Yeah?” came from within.

Poking her head in, Mya whispered, “Is Kaylie asleep?”

Elle nodded. A dim lamp illuminated one corner of the small room. Elle had pushed the double bed against the wall. The baby slept on her tummy on the far side, a small bump beneath the blanket.

“Be prepared for my mother to arrive with a crib tomorrow. I told her to talk to you about it first. Did she?”

Elle shook her head, but didn’t seem to know where to look. And Mya found that the earlier belligerence had been easier to deal with than this reticence. She would have preferred to have this conversation later, when Elle felt more comfortable here, but Millicent was convinced that the girl was hiding something, and insisted this couldn’t wait until morning.

“Are you coming in or what?” So much for Elle’s reticence.

“Won’t Kaylie wake up?”

“Once she’s out, she stays out.” Elle sat near the head-board in baggy flannel bottoms and a stretchy tank top that bared a small tattoo of a musical note that seemed at odds with the barbed wire tattoo encircling her other arm. “I had a good mom,” she blurted. “The best.”

Perching carefully at the foot of the bed, Mya said, “Did she and your—do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Elle sat cross-legged, her elbows propped on the pillows she piled in her lap. “She said I was all she needed. Well, me and Dad.”

Kaylie hummed in her sleep.

“My mom was an attorney,” Elle said. “My dad still is, but she quit when they got me. Sometimes she helped him with wills and paperwork, but most of the time she cooked and planned trips and dinner parties and carpooled and took me to soccer practice and music lessons and friends’ houses.”

Mya could picture that. “What was she like?”

“She was very intelligent and tall and kind of ordinary. She played the piano, and she laughed a lot.”

Mya didn’t know what to respond to first, the sense that it was exactly the kind of life she’d wanted for her baby, or the puncture wound that giving her up had left in Mya’s insides. “It sounds as if she took very good care of you.”

“Too good.” The sound Elle made had a lot in common with a snort. “She spoiled my dad and me rotten. After she died, laundry piled up and the cupboards went empty. Dad and I didn’t have a clue what to do about it. He remarried a year later. I guess desperate situations call for desperate measures, huh?”

Mya studied Elle’s features, one by one. She was extremely thin, her face pale in the dim light. Her short blond hair was tousled, her brown eyes expressive. “So you have a stepmother.”

“You’d recognize her relatives from the movies. They wore pointy hats, kept flying monkeys for pets, and one of her sisters perished when a house fell on her somewhere above Kansas.”

Mya bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Not a lot of love lost there, I take it.”

“I despise my stepmother.”

“Despising people comes naturally to the Donahue women.”

They shared their first genuine smile. A moment later Elle looked away.

“She and my dad have two kids of their own now. He spends a lot of time at the office. I would, too, if I were him.”

Why, Mya thought, couldn’t life ever be easy, or at least fair? Since she knew firsthand that wishing was a worthless pastime, she prepared for the inevitable questions.

“When you and Jeffrey get married, it’ll be your first time?” Elle asked.

Mya answered cautiously, for it wasn’t the question she’d been expecting. “It will be the first marriage for both of us, yes.”

Running her finger along the edge of the pillow, Elle said, “He’s not bad-looking, if you like jocks. And he’ll probably pull in good money.”

The white cat pushed the door open with his head then sat near the wall, judiciously surveying the scene. Of the three cats, he was the friendliest. Although Elle hadn’t admitted it, she enjoyed his company. She slid one hand along the bedspread, wiggling a finger. He took the bait, jumping onto the bed as if all four feet had springs. It took only a few sniffs to make an assessment and deem her trustworthy before he curled into a ball at her knees.

“Casper likes you,” Mya said.

“Casper.” Elle snorted, but she petted the overweight cat. “Don’t you think it’s weird for a man to have three cats?”

“They were strays.” Mya couldn’t help wondering if that was how Jeffrey saw her.

“He doesn’t seem like your type.”

Tucking her dressing gown around her legs, Mya said, “You’re as bad as Claire. Jeff’s made me see reason so many times. I don’t smoke anymore. I rarely swear. I haven’t even given other drivers the finger in ages.”

“So you’re marrying him because he makes you see reason?”

“Of course that’s not why I’m marrying him.”

“Then you’re madly in love with him?”

Mya wished it was easier to nod.

Elle looked over at Kaylie. “I thought I was in love with Kaylie’s father, but he cleared out as soon as the wand turned blue. Good riddance.”

“He sounds like a fool.”

“Yeah,” Elle said. “Your mother said the Donahue women don’t make good choices when it comes to men.”

Their gazes met, held.

“Is that what my birth father was?” Elle whispered. “A bad choice?”

Outside, a branch scraped against the siding. Somewhere in the house, a clock ticked. A few feet away, Kaylie made noises in her sleep. Elle didn’t move a muscle, and looked as if she could wait all night if she had to. Mya knew she’d waited long enough.

They both had.

CHAPTER 4

“H is name was Dean Laker.” His name rolled off Mya’s tongue as if it hadn’t been nineteen years since every other word had been Dean.

“Was?” Elle whispered.

“Is. His name is Dean Laker.” Time obscured many things, but it hadn’t dulled her memory of him, tall and lanky, stubborn and proud, impatient with life but not with her, cocky and arrogant, except the day he’d gone to see her when it was all over. It wasn’t the first time he’d told her to go to hell, but it was the first time she’d seen him cry.

“I met Dean when my mother and I moved to Keepers Island when I was nine. His was the first face I saw when I walked into that little classroom of strangers. He stuck his tongue out at me, and when I didn’t flinch, he sat back, studying me closer, and I knew I’d passed some secret, unspoken test.”

Elle stopped petting the cat, focusing completely on Mya. “If you knew his name, why did you leave the box blank on my birth certificate?”

Mya didn’t even have to close her eyes to relive the moment when, sitting on the edge of the bed, pen in hand, she’d hesitated over that space on the form. Her mother had gone out for a smoke and probably another good cry, so Mya was alone in her hospital room. In an effort to make things easier for her, she’d been given a room away from the other mothers. Mya felt isolated and scared and, God, she’d wished—never mind what she’d wished. She’d grasped her right hand to stop the shaking, and had wound up staring at her left hand. Her ring finger was bare by then.

Nineteen years later, she sat in a quiet bedroom searching for words that still wouldn’t come. “When I look back on my life, it’s as if the decisions I made and the events that led to them are lined up like dominoes a moment before the first one topples. So many times I’ve wondered what might have happened if I’d done one thing differently. Just one. Any one. But that day, I left the box blank because I was seventeen and I’d gone through twenty-three hours of labor, and I’d just spoken with a social worker, and my mother had done almost nothing but cry and I refused to give in and cry again, too.”

“You and Dean Laker, my birth father weren’t still together then?” Elle asked.

Of everything she’d said, Mya was surprised Elle had chosen that to question. “Dean and I broke up three weeks before you were born.”

“Does he still live around Maine somewhere?”

“Yes.”

“Do you ever see him?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“The last time I saw him was eight years ago when I went back to Keepers Island to attend his father’s funeral.”

Elle seemed to be putting everything Mya said to memory. “Did you talk to him that day?”

“With the whole town looking on?” Mya made an unbecoming sound. “He took his dad’s death hard, and besides, he was surrounded by his family.”

“So he had a wife and a couple of kids by then?”

Mya shook her head.

“He isn’t married, either?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Elle spoke more loudly than before, then glanced at Kaylie, who slept on.

Puzzled by the question, Mya said, “I’m sure, Elle. My mother would have told me.”

“How would she know?”

“She goes back to visit friends every summer.”

“But you don’t?”

Again, Mya shook her head. Some things were just too painful.

After taking a moment to absorb that, Elle said, “What does he look like?”

She studied Elle, feature by feature. Her pupils were dilated in the semidarkness, so that only thin a ring of brown encircled them. The diamond stud in her nose looked real. Even at her young age, there was a slight furrow in her brow. Mya had been on the receiving end of the girl’s attitude, and yet it was apparent that Elle hadn’t had an easy life these past few years. The heaviness that so often lurked deep in Mya’s chest moved front and center. “A few minutes ago,” she said, “when you smiled, I caught a glimpse of him. His hair is dark, though, and his eyes are blue, like Kaylie’s. His nose has a little bump right here.” She pointed to a spot on her own nose.

“Did he break it in a bar fight or something?” Elle asked.

“He caught a kick ball in the face at recess when we were in the fifth grade. They called an honorary out, due to all the blood. It cost me my home run, and my team the game.”

Elle’s eyes widened with humor. “Did he blame you?”

The double meaning drained the smile out of both of them. Mya didn’t even try to answer.

Interestingly, Elle didn’t pursue it. “What does he do?”

“He’s a builder. He got his start doing odd jobs like shoring up porches and cleaning gutters and pointing brick. Word spread, and before long he had orders from the summer people who wanted decks and family rooms, additions and new kitchens. His brother works with him now. To hear my mother tell it, they’re extremely successful.”

“He has a brother?”

The question gave Mya pause. “He has two. And five nephews.”

“Then I have cousins, on that side at least. What about on the Donahue family tree?”

Mya shook her head, confused. “I’m an only child and so was my mother.”

“Where is your father?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never met the man.” When Elle looked at Kaylie again, Mya knew she was seeing a pattern.

Elle said, “Your mother told me she buried two husbands.”

“And divorced another.”

“She was married three times?” Elle asked, surprised.

“She gets lonely.”

Elle’s left eyebrow rose a fraction. “You just defended her.”

“I’ll be more careful in the future.”

They both smiled, but instead of bringing a feeling of closeness, it brought an end to Elle’s questions. The girl stretched and yawned. Taking the hint, Mya started for the door.

At the last minute, Elle said, “Mya?”

“Yes?” she asked without turning.

“What would you have named me?”

There was a sourness in the pit of Mya’s stomach as she looked back at Elle. Swallowing the lump that had come out of nowhere, she said, “I would have called you Brynn.”

Elle tried the name out on her tongue. “Like your store.”

“Yes.”

“Does anyone else know that?”

Mya’s answer was a barely perceptible nod.

“Your mother?” Elle asked quietly.

“No.”

“Your friends?” Before Mya shook her head again, Elle said, “You told him, didn’t you? Dean Laker. My birth father knows.”

“Yes, Dean knows. Good night, Elle.” Somehow, Mya managed to leave Elle’s room without stumbling.

Back in her own bedroom, she turned out the light and closed her eyes. But her eyes wouldn’t stay closed. She thought about the day Elle was born. Whenever she recalled that period of her life, it was always with a sense of great physical and emotional pain. Her labor had hurt so bad she’d cried and begged just to let it be over. And when it was finally over, she’d felt so empty.

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