spoke in whispers these days. Finally, there was Timmy. Three months old and as sweet and warm as a ray of sunshine, and never once held in the arms of his mother, Daphne.
Amelia stared out the window, weeks beyond tears now. She’d shed plenty in the past few months. First, when she’d stood in the hospital emergency room to hear that her sister had suffered a stroke during labor. Next during the three weeks it had taken before Daphne regained consciousness. It soon became clear that she didn’t recognize her own children, much less her only sister. Amelia had cried at night when she knew the children were asleep because for as long as she could remember it had just been her and Daphne against the world.
She ought to have been able to protect Daphne against what had happened.
She should have come to Seattle earlier when Daphne had admitted she’d gotten pregnant during her ill-fated and not-brief-enough affair with Grayson Hunt. Particularly once he’d made it clear to Daphne that he was not going to acknowledge their child.
Amelia had wanted Daphne to take the matter to court, but Daphne wouldn’t do so then—and couldn’t now.
She could hardly blame her, though, considering the way they’d grown up. Their father had only grudgingly acknowledged them because the courts had forced him to pay child support to their mother, not because he’d loved them.
Daphne had grown up always searching for love and the kind of family she’d wished they’d been.
Amelia, on the other hand, had resisted those very same things. Oh, she’d had a marriage planned, certainly. To a man who’d seemed to be on the same career-oriented, nonbaby track that she’d chosen.
“This the grocery store you meant?”
She realized the cab had stopped at the curb alongside the small neighborhood store. “Yes, it is. Thanks. You really will wait?”
“Told your fella I would.”
“He’s not—” She shook her head, dropping that battle just as she dropped most battles. “I appreciate it.”
She reached for the door and laboriously climbed out. Much as she’d have preferred to head straight to the apartment, she knew there wasn’t much there in the way of first aid supplies, except plastic bandage strips decorated with Molly’s favorite cartoon character and the baby Tylenol that had come home from the hospital with Timmy. And whether or not she wanted to admit it, the only cash she had to her name was tucked in her purse back at the apartment and it had Food for the Children written all over it.
Grayson Hunt had given her more than enough to cover her needs for now and her pride would just have to suffer using it.
Her pride had taken quite a few lumps since she’d moved to Seattle. Priorities in her life had been dramatically reordered to focus on the children. On Daphne’s care.
Inside the shop, there was one miserly shelf filled with bandages and ointments. Mindful of the prices that were as ridiculously high as she’d remembered, she selected the bare minimum, and added a loaf of fortified bread and an enormous jar of peanut butter—Jack never seemed to get enough of the stuff. She left the store with her bag and change that would be better used at her usual shopping center.
The cabbie was still waiting, and she must have made a pretty pathetic sight, for he actually met her on the sidewalk to take her purchases from her.
He helped her into the backseat of the cab again, tsking under his breath. “Girls these days,” he said. “Taking all kinds of treatment.”
Amelia flushed. “I fell while I was running.”
He looked skeptical as he closed the door on her and got back behind the wheel. “Your fella rich?”
“He’s not my…yes. I guess he’s rich.” She held the bulging sack on her lap.
The cabbie shrugged. “Lotta rich guys here. You can do better. Find yourself a nice young man that does an honest day’s work.”
Despite herself, Amelia felt a sharp pang. She’d had a nice young man who did an honest day’s work.
He just hadn’t wanted to keep her. Not when her coworker Pamela had offered more tempting treats.
Passion.
Kids.
She pushed aside the thoughts. John had fallen way down the list of things she needed to be worrying about.
She left the cab a short time later when the driver stopped in front of her building, and she figured there was one bright side to the events of the morning. She obviously didn’t have to worry about the cabbie having recognized Grayson Hunt’s face. The man would probably have said something if he had.
She pushed through the squeaking door of the building, only to come face-to-face with the Out of Order placard affixed to the center of the dented elevator doors. She’d gotten so used to seeing it that she’d stopped noticing it.
But now, with her entire body feeling like one big, scraped-up bruise, she looked from the inoperable elevator to the narrow staircase on the opposite side of the small vestibule. Sighing, she put her foot on the first step.
Only six more flights to go.
By the time she made it to her floor, her stomach was pitching with nausea and the thin plastic loops of the grocery bag were cutting into her wrist. Three doors down, she stopped and leaned her forehead wearily against the doorjamb. Jack would be waiting inside, she knew. Capably in charge of Molly and the baby, even though Amelia always had her neighbor, Paula, on alert to watch out for the children, too. Not that Jack appreciated that. He considered himself too old for such supervision. She finally lifted her free hand and tapped her knuckles against the woefully thin wood.
Sure enough, Jack must have been waiting and watching through the peephole, because she immediately heard the slide of locks and he yanked the door open almost before she’d stopped knocking.
His eyes, as dark a brown as his mother’s and already on a level with Amelia’s, took in her disheveled appearance without expression. “What happened?” He didn’t comment on the lateness of her return. She was ordinarily back an hour earlier.
“I tripped. I’m fine.” It was easier than explaining what had really happened. He just believed that she was an avid runner. Not that she’d been staking out that park, hoping for an opportunity to run into Grayson Hunt.
He stepped back and took the bag when she handed it to him. He looked inside. “Bread’s kinda squashed.”
“I’ll make bread pudding out of the worst of it,” she told him. The dessert would be a treat, for once.
Now that she was inside the apartment, she realized how cold she’d gotten outside, and she pulled an aging cardigan off the coatrack by the door and swung it around her shoulders. “Timmy?”
“He’s still asleep.”
It was a small miracle. The baby had only recently begun sleeping through the night, though she’d have to get him up quickly enough when she went to work. “And Molly? Is she ready for school yet?” Jack was already dressed in his uniform of tan chinos and navy-blue sweater, though his feet were bare.
He
