weeks and months of her pregnancy seemed so fresh and vivid in her mind. In her head she had known that giving up the baby for adoption to a settled, established couple who loved each other deeply would have been the best thing for Sage, but she had been selfish, she supposed. She couldn’t even bear the idea of losing this part of Jack that she already loved so much.
She could also admit to herself now that, at the time, she had been so angry at her father for leaving and at Jack for repeating the pattern that she had managed to convince herself her baby didn’t need a father in her life, except to donate half the DNA. She could certainly raise this baby by herself without help from anyone.
Yeah, it had been immature and shortsighted—but then she had only been seventeen. Younger than her daughter was now.
Sage had always been a restless sleeper, even as a baby, but her exhaustion over finals must have tired her out. She didn’t move when Maura stepped forward to click off the lights on the little tree or when Maura smoothed the blankets and tucked them more securely, then walked quietly from the room.
She paused outside the next bedroom and almost didn’t go inside but finally forced herself to move. She switched on the little tree beside the empty bed and watched the colors reflected on the pale lavender walls, cheerful yellows and blues and reds and greens.
Angie, Mary Ella and Alex had insisted on coming over Thanksgiving weekend to help her put up the rest of the decorations, but she had placed this little tree here herself, as well as the little solar-powered tree on the gravesite. She had decorated it with all Layla’s favorite ornaments—little beaded snowflakes Layla had made at String Fever, a glass snowman she had received from one of her good friends, a few small, pearlescent balls that seemed to shimmer in the glow from the lights.
She hadn’t changed anything in here yet. It still looked like a fifteen-year-old girl’s room, with a couple of lava lamps, a big, plump purple beanbag where Layla had loved to study, and huge posters of bands on the wall—most notably, Pendragon, her father’s acoustic rock band. Though he was twice her age, Layla had had a bit of a crush on Chris’s drummer.
Some day she would do something with the room. Maybe turn it into a home office, since most of the bookstore paperwork she brought home ended up spread out on a desk in her bedroom.
Not yet, though. She couldn’t bring herself to change anything yet, so she left it untouched and only came in occasionally to dust.
After a few minutes of watching the lights, Maura cleared her throat and turned off the lights before she walked back into the quiet hallway.
As much as she ached with pain for Layla and the life that had been cut short by a whole chain of stupid decisions by a bunch of teenagers, Maura couldn’t stop living. She had another daughter who needed her, now more than ever.
CHAPTER FOUR
DESPITE THE RADICAL CHANGES to the rest of the town, the Center of Hope Café had changed very little in the twenty years since Jack had been here.
That might be new wallpaper on the wall, something brighter to replace the old wood paneling he remembered, but the booths were covered in the same red vinyl and the ceiling was still the old-fashioned tin-stamped sort favored around the turn of the century.
Even the owner, Dermot Caine, still stood behind the U-shaped bar. He had to be in his mid-sixties, but he had the familiar shock of white hair he’d worn as long as Jack could remember and the same piercing blue eyes that seemed capable of ferreting out any secret.
Despite the calorie-heavy comfort food the café was famous for, Dermot had stayed in shape and looked as if he could beat any comers in an arm-wrestling contest, probably from years of working the grill.
Just now he was busy talking to a couple of guys in Stetsons. Jack looked around for Maura and Sage but couldn’t spot them. He didn’t see anyone else he recognized either. It looked as if the Center of Hope was popular with both locals and tourists, at least judging by the odd mix of high-dollar ski gear and ranch coats.
He stood waiting to be seated for just a moment before Dermot walked over, no trace of recognition in his gaze. No surprise there. Jack had been gone twenty years. He probably looked markedly different than that kid who used to come into the café to study after the library had closed for the night.
It sure as hell had beat going home.
“Hello there and welcome to the Center of Hope Café.” Dermot had a trace of Ireland in his voice. Jack could easily have pictured him running a corner pub in a little town in County Galway somewhere, surrounded by mossy-green fields and stone fences. “You’ve got a couple of choices this lovely morning. You can find yourself a vacant spot at the counter, or I can fix you up with a booth or a table. Your preference.”
“I’m actually waiting for two more. A booth would be fine.”
“I’ve got a prime spot right here by the window. Will that suit you?”
“Perfectly. Thank you.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a convenient hook made from a portion of an elk antler on the wall beside the booth. As he slid into the booth, Dermot set out a trio of menus and opened one for him.
“Here. You can have a little sneak peek at the menu before the rest of your party comes. We also have made-to-order omelets, if that suits your fancy. The breakfast special this morning is our eggs Benedict, famous in three counties. Can I get you some coffee or juice while you’re waiting?”
Ordinarily, he would have liked to extend the courtesy of at least ordering beverages for Sage and Maura. Since he had no idea what they would like, he opted to play it safe and order only for himself. “I’ll have both. Regular coffee and a small grapefruit juice. Thank you.”
Dermot nodded. “Coming right up.” He paused for just a moment, his blue eyes narrowed. “Have you been in before? I usually have a good eye for my customers. I keep thinking I should know you, but I’m afraid my memory’s not what it once was and I can’t quite place you. Sorry, I am, for that.”
“Don’t apologize. I would have been surprised if you had recognized me. It’s been twenty years. You used to serve me chocolate malts from the fountain with extra whipped cream while I did my homework in the corner.” It was a surprisingly pleasant memory, especially considering he didn’t think he had many of this town. That hadn’t involved Maura, anyway.
“Jackson Lange,” Dermot exclaimed. “Lordy, it’s been an age, it has. How have you been, son?”
How did a man encapsulate his journey over the past two decades? Hard work, ambition, amazing good fortune in his chosen field and not such good fortune in his painfully short-lived marriage. “I can’t complain. How about you? How’s Mrs. Caine?”
His cheerful smile slipped a little. “I lost her some fifteen years back. The cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Aye. So am I. I miss her every single day. But we had seven beautiful children together, and her memory lives on in them and our eight grandchildren.”
He gestured to the other two menus. “And what about you? Are you meeting your family here, then?”
He thought of Sage, the daughter he hadn’t known existed a handful of days ago. “Something like that.”
“I’ll
