do now. Her name is Maisey Lazarow.”
Wrinkling her nose, the girl rolled her head back; she seemed to be looking at the sky instead of at Maisey. “She doesn’t sound like Mrs. Lazarow.”
“Because she’s not,” he said. “This is her daughter.”
“Silly!” she said with a laugh. “She doesn’t have a daughter.”
He adjusted the pack. “Maisey moved away a while ago. And now she’s back.”
Curiosity lit her face as she sobered. “How old is she?”
The way they were talking—as if Maisey wasn’t right in front of them—seemed odd. If those sunglasses made it difficult for the child to see, why didn’t she remove them?
“Thirty-four,” Maisey volunteered, but that was an unexpected question. Generally, to a child of that age, an adult was an adult. But this girl acted as though she had no frame of reference. “How old are you?” Maisey asked.
“Five and three-quarters.”
Almost six. Maisey had guessed correctly; this wasn’t a toddler. “Nice to meet you. What’s your name?”
“Laney,” she announced, and wrapped her arms around her father’s neck in an impulsive and exuberant hug.
Maisey shifted her eyes to Rafe.
“I would’ve told you,” he said. “You didn’t let me get that far.”
“I see. Well, you certainly don’t owe me any explanations. Congratulations on having such a beautiful daughter.” That wasn’t an empty compliment. Although the girl acted a little...different from other kids her age, she was exceptionally pretty. Maisey could see a lot of her father in her. Her hair was lighter than Rafe’s, but she had his smile and bone structure.
It wasn’t until Maisey noticed the collapsible cane dangling from the child carrier that she realized the sunglasses weren’t the reason Laney couldn’t see. The girl was blind, which explained why Rafe was carrying her, even on a run. He probably couldn’t leave her alone when he worked out.
“Are you exercising, too?” Laney asked.
Out of habit, Maisey shook her head. Then, feeling silly since the child wouldn’t be able to tell she’d responded, she followed up with, “No. I—I was sleeping.”
“On the beach?” She giggled. “Daddy, I want to sleep on the beach!”
Rafe’s gaze swept over Maisey. “I’m pretty sure it’s too cold this time of year.”
“It wouldn’t be if you had some blankets,” Maisey said.
Laney swung her legs to show her enthusiasm for the idea. “We have blankets. We could take them from our beds!”
Feeling awkward and self-conscious, Maisey rubbed her arms, even though the adrenaline that had shot through her at being startled awake had done a great deal to ward off the chill. “How long will you be visiting, Laney?”
Laney rolled her head back again. “Visiting who?”
“How long will you be staying with your—”
Rafe broke in. “She lives with me.”
“Oh.” Maisey combed her fingers through her hair and encountered several tangles that told her she must look as unkempt as she feared. “Then you should have plenty of chances to camp on the beach.”
“With our blankets,” Laney added.
“You wouldn’t want to go without them unless you had to,” Maisey said.
“Why did you have to?” Rafe asked.
“I ran into a little...trouble last night, but I’ll get everything worked out today.” She started to back away, toward the road that led around to their units. “See you later. Have fun, Laney.”
Raphael’s daughter waved. “I like your voice. You seem nice. She’s a nice lady, isn’t she, Daddy? Do you like our new neighbor?”
Maisey spoke before he could respond. “There’s no question that you’re nice,” she said, then turned and ran.
MAISEY TRIED CALLING Keith as soon as she got back to the house. He didn’t answer, so she left another voice mail and sent another text.
Seriously? You won’t answer my calls? Are you okay? I’m not mad. I swear it. I just want to know that you’re safe.
She stared at her phone for several seconds. Then she called Coldiron House.
Clarissa answered again.
“Is Keith there?”
This time she didn’t need to identify herself. Clarissa recognized her voice. “No, Miss Lazarow. We haven’t seen him since yesterday.”
“Really, you can call me Maisey,” she said.
“Yes, Miss... Maisey.”
“There you go. No formality required when dealing with me.” She left all that to her mother, who loved her lofty station in life. “Keith hasn’t called?”
“Not that I know of. Maybe Mrs. Lazarow has heard from him. Would you like to speak to her?”
Maisey considered that, but decided against it. If Keith and Josephine had argued, Josephine would be the last person to know where he was. And Maisey didn’t want to hear their mother blame this latest setback on her. Josephine would undoubtedly claim it happened because she’d walked out on their tea yesterday and “upset” everyone. “No, thanks,” she said, and disconnected.
After that, she wandered from empty room to empty room, trying to figure out if she’d be smarter to grab her suitcase and ask Rafe to drive her to the ferry so she could return to New York. Maybe yesterday when Keith had suggested she go back, he’d done it because he knew he wouldn’t be capable of maintaining the relationship she expected them to have...
In light of his recent actions, that made sense. But it was too late to bail. She’d seen it that way on the ferry, and she saw it that way now. Coming to Fairham had been a last-ditch effort to save herself as well as Keith.
Besides, it wasn’t possible—financially or emotionally—to undo everything she’d done to get here. And there were so many memories in Manhattan, memories she’d rather forget. She didn’t have work to go back to, anyway, not if she couldn’t write or illustrate. Even if she was capable of creating more children’s books, she could do that here, as her mother had pointed out. There was nothing to bring her back to New York. The life she’d lived there felt as if it had burned to the ground. Only ashes remained.
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to stop her frenzied pacing and thought of her father. His kindness. His smile. His comfort. She liked it on this side
