to clean her room, to practice the piano.
The saying had been Diana’s first coherent thought upon awakening in her hotel bed. Possibly because Diana was geographically closer to her mother than she’d been since running away to her aunt’s house as a pregnant teenager.
Or maybe because there was no time like the present—to tell Tyler Benton about Jaye.
The realization that she had to come clean with Tyler had dawned on her slowly, the same way she’d accepted her need to rectify the mess she’d made of her life.
It had gradually become clear that the future she planned to build for her daughter should include more than a better-educated mother with a higher-paying job. Diana had never been close to her own father, but that didn’t justify her in keeping Tyler and Jaye apart. She supposed that, deep in her heart, she’d always recognized that father and daughter deserved to know each other.
Especially because the very valid reason she’d had for keeping Jaye a secret from Tyler no longer applied.
“No time like the present,” she said aloud in a scratchy morning voice that no one besides her could hear.
She had nothing else on her agenda. She couldn’t start her waitressing job at the Gaithersburg location of the national chain she’d worked for in Nashville until Tuesday, the same day classes began. The apartment building where she planned to live wouldn’t have a unit available until Friday.
Today was Saturday, the official start of the Labor Day weekend.
Nothing was stopping her from getting in the car and making the short drive through the Maryland countryside to the town where she’d grown up and Tyler still lived.
Nothing except cowardice.
A memory of the unhappiness she’d glimpse on Jaye’s face in the last few months they’d spent together flashed in Diana’s mind. To be worthy of reuniting with her daughter, she needed to start somewhere.
She sat up and swung her legs off the bed.
As she drove over rolling hills and past lush, green fields inexorably closer to Bentonsville a short time later, she reassured herself that this was the right thing to do. Just as she’d been right years ago when she’d lied to Tyler about her sexual history and left town without telling him she was pregnant.
He’d been such a good friend, sticking steadfastly by her after her brother J.D. died—even after she’d sunk into a dark place where none of the other students at Bentonsville High had dared follow.
He’d kept her company on the black nights when the thought of going home to the house with the empty bedroom her brother would never occupy again had been too painful.
He’d rubbed her back the night she’d gotten so wasted she’d spent half of it emptying the contents of her stomach.
And he’d held her when she cried.
How could she have let him take responsibility for her pregnancy when it would have tarnished his excellent prospects for a bright future? Especially after he’d gushed about being accepted at Harvard?
He hadn’t been just any seventeen-year-old, but along with her brother J.D., he was one of the golden boys of Bentonsville High. Everybody knew Tyler Benton, honor student and all-around great guy, was destined for great things. The town had been named for his great-grandfather, his father was the Laurel County state’s attorney and the senior class had voted Tyler Most Likely to Succeed.
Everybody also knew Diana had gone off the deep end after her brother died: skipping school, shoplifting, drinking. Before Tyler, she’d also made out with a few boys who’d greatly embellished how far they’d gotten with her.
She still remembered the hurt in his eyes when she’d confirmed the false rumors about her loose reputation, the utter look of betrayal on his face the night before she’d left Bentonsville for good.
She blocked out the image, replacing it with the beauty of the countryside. The deep, rich green of the grass hinted at a summer generous with its rain. Wildflowers in purple and yellow added splashes of color. Horses grazed near white-framed homesteads and cool, blue ponds.
The transformation from rural to urban happened gradually, with a gas station and a convenience store announcing the small town ahead. She drove the lightly traveled street past the timeless brick beauty of the town hall, what looked like a newly built fire station and a quaint shopping area where not much had changed.
Cutaway, where her mother had taken her and her brothers for haircuts, still occupied a corner building. She also recognized Bentonsville Butchers, the local dry cleaner and the convenience store where she’d been caught shoplifting cigarettes and beer.
At a red light, she glanced down at the piece of paper lying on the passenger seat. The address she’d gotten from the white pages of an Internet search engine jumped out at her in black, bold letters: 276 Farragut Street.
She’d mapped the location, again on the computer, to help her remember how to get there. Tyler’s neighborhood was grander than the one where she’d grown up, but the suggested route took her through her old haunts.
The cut-through street was long and winding, the houses spaced a fair distance apart. If she turned right at the next corner, she’d reach the house where the mother she hadn’t seen in more than ten years still lived.
She braked at the stop sign, but then continued straight ahead on a road that transported her back in time. For there was the playground where she and her brother J.D. used to compete to see who could swing the highest. Heavy wooden equipment with plastic toddler swings had replaced the metal swing set, but the weeping willow nearby was the same.
Diana remembered sitting motionless on one of the swings after J.D. had been stabbed to death by another teen during his senior year of high school. She’d stared at the tree, wondering how she could feel so miserable without actually weeping. The playground had later become the place she met Tyler when she snuck out of her house.
Not that her parents, consumed by their own grief, would have noticed had she strolled out the front door. Later, her mother had all but pushed her out, screaming that she’d shamed the family instead of recognizing that what her pregnant daughter needed most was support.
She stepped on the gas pedal, driving faster than she should past the playground with its collection of memories, some sad, some merely bittersweet. Within moments, the tenor of the neighborhood changed. The yards became more spacious, the houses bigger, the very feel of her surroundings more exclusive.
She would have known Tyler had fulfilled his early promise even if she hadn’t researched him on the Internet. A third-generation graduate of Harvard Law, he worked as an assistant state’s attorney in the same Laurel County office as his father before him. Tyler had already distinguished himself by winning a number of high-profile cases.
She rolled her car to a stop in front of an impressive two-story Colonial she thought was his, except another man hosed down his golden BMW in the driveway.
Spotting her parked in front of his house, the man turned off his hose and approached her car. Trim, gray-haired and wearing tailored shorts and a polo shirt, he looked like someone who would have his car washed for him. She hit the automatic control that rolled down the window and breathed in the scent of freshly cut grass.
“Can
