changed. He hadn’t changed.
A car honked, and he discovered he’d stepped into the street. Jack waved at an angry Santa behind the wheel of a vintage VW van, and hurried to catch up with Sophie.
Santa ground his gears and honked again as he passed them. Sophie looked up, as startled to see Jack as she was to be harassed by Santa’s clown horn.
“What do you want?” She tugged at her mittens. “Need these, too? Maybe you don’t feel I should dress warmly, but you can hand out my clothing to your Christmas Town neighbors. I hope they’re not all hypocrites like you.”
“Hardly any of them,” he said. “Except Santa. Will you slow down?”
“I’m cold.”
“You’re pregnant. You might fall.”
She turned her face to his, rage sparkling like ice in her eyes.
Jack held up both hands. “Given the current...situation, the last thing I want to do is take toys to children, but it’s tradition. I can either do it or invite my brother and sister to diagnose me like you’re trying to.”
“That does make me feel like one of the community.” Sophie edged away from him. “I didn’t ask for your company, and I don’t want your help. Go back to putting on a show for the people here—they obviously don’t know the real you.”
“You don’t know me, either,” he said.
“Which works out for both of us, since you want to be alone.” Without another word, she whirled into a store and turned back to close the door in his face.
Sophie was wrong. When he was alone, memories crowded in, sharp-edged, growing ever more dangerous.
* * *
“ARE YOU SURE you’ll make it home for Christmas?” Marisa Palmer asked. Her concern was the first real warmth Sophie had enjoyed all day.
“I’m positive, Mom. There wasn’t that much damage.”
“But you’re sure you and the baby are all right?”
“Absolutely no sign of a problem.”
“You could always ask Jack to drive you home. A few hours in the confines of a car, and you might be able to extract the truth from him.”
“He’ll never explain,” Sophie said, “and I’ve spent too much time trying to understand. Maybe he was just the wrong guy for me, but I’m starting to think he’s definitely the wrong father for my baby.”
“I don’t want to believe that’s true,” her mother said. “He’s been a good man, but something’s happened. Well, keep me updated on when you plan to return, and drive carefully in the snow, okay? We don’t want another accident.”
“Uh-huh.” Sophie stood as a clatter and loud swearing outside dragged her to the window. A man was dusting himself off as someone else righted a fallen ladder. Bystanders were checking on another man, who seemed to be wearing one of the metal-framed Christmas stars that were going up on light poles all over town.
“Everything’s going to be all right. I raised you on my own. You never felt you were missing a father.”
The truth quivered on the tip of Sophie’s tongue, but she held it in. Her mom couldn’t change anything now, and admitting she’d felt abandoned—how much she’d envied her friends who’d casually talked about their dads—wouldn’t help anyone. “I’ll have you, too, Mom. We’re all going to be fine.”
“The three musketeers,” Marisa said, relief in her tone. “Don’t forget your seat belt. I have some research I need to do, honey. I’ll talk to you later. Or tomorrow.”
Her mother was head of the psychology department at Gaudy University, one of Harvard’s sister schools. In Sophie’s elementary school days, her mom had always been working and didn’t have time to join the class trips or show up bearing baskets of cupcakes. But she’d tried to make Sophie understand she could count on herself. She’d reminded Sophie she was loved.
And she would always find time for Sophie’s daughter. Better to be one of a group of musketeers than a lone ranger.
Sophie turned back to the dressing table and tucked her new cell phone and her electronic reader into her purse. She wanted to check on Tessie Blaylock.
* * *
SINCE JACK HAD arrived at the hospital, he’d performed one surgery on a collapsed lung and another to relieve pressure from a subarachnoid hematoma. After consulting with the physicians who’d be taking over his cases when they reached the treatment floors, Jack showered and started his rounds.
He was eager to check on Tessie. She’d be going home the next day, as long as her blood work improved.
Outside her room, Jack heard a familiar voice—light, sweet, melodic. A voice that refused to vacate his mind.
Sophie was asking Tessie a question, and the young woman responded.
“I think I remember you,” Tessie said. “You’re the lady I ran into. You’re a nurse.”
“I should have introduced myself when I came in. I’m Sophie Palmer.” She sounded different. More certain.
“My parents tell me I owe you my life.”
“We don’t need to go that far. Dr. Banning did the real work.”
“But you were there first, because of me, and you saved me anyway.”
Tessie’s tearful voice made Jack pause in the doorway. He couldn’t un-hear Sophie’s estimate of him. She had every reason to hate him, but she’d been professional.
Sophie sat beside Tessie’s bed. She was just pregnant enough that the chair forced her to sit at an uncomfortable angle. Funny, they expected patients’ family members to sleep in those chairs. She pushed one hand behind her back to brace herself, but her attention was on the girl, who was finally regaining her natural, healthy color.
Tessie reached out and Sophie put the girl’s palm in her own. “You don’t have to thank me. Just say you won’t ever text and drive again. Promise you’ll leave your phone in your purse.”
Tessie’s bandage was stark white against her skin, a reminder that she and Sophie had escaped serious consequences. Despite himself, Jack felt the tug of fear.
“I promise I will never touch my phone while I’m driving. I’ve been lying here wishing I could take back that one second when I picked it up, and thought I could type a quick text.”
For a moment, Jack returned to the heat of his own personal hell—possessing only one pair of hands, which couldn’t do half enough work in time to save his friends and soldier comrades.
Sophie let go, and he saw empathy in her eyes. He’d always admired the caring she brought to her work, to her life. “I’m glad you realize how bad it could have been, Tessie.”
His patient nodded, her gaze more somber than any seventeen-year-old’s
