“You can’t fire me.” He had to speak slowly to get the words out, because his mouth was still operating independently of the part of him that wasn’t participating in this.
She shrugged. “I probably should talk to Craig, true. But once I explain everything to him, he’ll back me up.”
“Really.”
“Absolutely.”
“Then maybe you could explain it to me. Because I sure as hell don’t know where this came from.”
“Sure.” She grabbed her marker and rubbed it back and forth between her palms, the way she always did when she was leading a seminar or a class. “Let me lay it out for you. Craig and I are the executive officers of this foundation. We have the final say in all employee matters. Your work has not been up to par since you came back. You’re distant and snappish and not doing your job the way it needs to be done. Therefore, your employment is being terminated.”
“That’s bullshit.” Bullshit was good. It meant he could argue his way back in, and everything would be right again, and he could stop watching himself from a distance. “You have some crazy idea that I don’t want to be here and I need to go back to Canada to be with Kate and Jamie, because you’re sure that we’re really a happy family that just needs time to work things out. So you think that if you fire me, I’ll have to go back there.”
“Oh, is that what I’m thinking? Good of you to tell me. I had no idea.”
A thin line of sweat broke out along his upper lip. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. “Jill, come on. Look, I...okay...yeah. I haven’t been up to snuff since I got back. I admit it. But that’s...you can’t just fire me. You wouldn’t. I know you. If you really had a problem with my work, you would talk to me about it, the same way you have God knows how many times in the past.”
“Maybe I’ve given you all the chances I can give.” The marker clacked against her rings as she rolled it. “Maybe I’ve reached my limit.”
“That is so—”
“You weren’t supposed to come back here.”
He stepped back. “What does that mean?”
“It means, Boone, that you’re messing up big-time.” She looked toward the ceiling, beseeching the heavens for guidance, no doubt, before leveling that teacher-gaze at him once more. “You don’t need us anymore. We love you. God knows you’re like my own son. But Boone, sometimes your skull is thicker than the rocks in the ruins. You shouldn’t be here. You should be back home—”
“This is home.”
The words burst out of him. He didn’t mean to say it, didn’t mean to feel it, but as soon as the words were out there, he knew it was true. This was home. He had known it but never admitted it, because he knew what would happen if he did. It was the same thing that had happened every goddamned time.
Home was the place that sucked you in and then spit you out. Home was the place you had to leave.
“Oh, Boone.” Jill’s voice did a 180—almost mocking one second, total sympathy the next. “Boone, having you here—having you with Craig and me—it saved us. I know you think that we were trying to help you, and yeah, that was part of it. But you...you gave us a new focus. You gave us new hope. We wanted to build this community and make this place work, and we probably would have done it anyway, but when you came to live with us...it gave us a new reason to be here. We knew that you had so much promise. That all you needed was a fresh start in a place where nobody had hung any labels on you, where you didn’t have a past that sucked. But we needed that new beginning just as much as you did.” She paused. “Probably even more.”
He closed his eyes, reliving Jamie’s wide, confused eyes; the guttural sound Kate had made as she’d flipped Jamie onto her knee; the hot fist of fear that had grabbed his own gut and twisted it as he’d grasped what was happening and then the crippling assault of what-ifs.
He couldn’t begin to comprehend what Craig and Jill had gone through when their daughter died. But if those two or three seconds of terror were any clue, then his wonder at their ability to go on had become limitless.
“But, Boone, you’re wrong about something. This isn’t your home. It was, for a long time, and I can understand, a bit, how hard it would be for you of all people to have to leave the only real home you’ve known. But nobody is kicking you out this time. Nobody is dragging you away. It’s your own heart that’s leading you away, because it isn’t here anymore.”
That kick in his gut? Yeah. Recognition.
“Oh, I know a part of you will always live here. But the biggest piece is precisely where it should be. In Canada. And that’s where you should be, as a father to your son and maybe even, God willing, building something with his mother, because it’s obvious to everyone that you’re in love with her.”
Well, so much for thinking he’d kept that hidden.
“You’re not going to leave me with any illusions about privacy or keeping things to myself, are you?”
“Of course not. Mothers never do.” She tipped her head, her eyes twinkling. “You might as well tell me what was in that email. You know I’m going to worm it out of you anyway.”
Since it seemed he was no longer allowed to hold on to any of his delusions, he didn’t bother answering. He simply pulled up the email, pulled out the chair and gestured for her to sit.
She read it.
She sat back.
She folded her hands primly in her lap.
“You want to tell me why you’re wasting time pacing like an idiot when you should be polishing up your résumé?”
“Because I—”
“And if your excuses have anything to do with Craig and me, or Project Sonqo, or any idiotic notion that you’re not qualified for the job, you can stop right there.”
And there went his dignity, too.
“There’s no guarantee that I’d get it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. But if the head of the foundation is encouraging you to apply, your chances are definitely up there.” The chair squeaked as she leaned forward. “If you’re looking for guarantees, Boone—in jobs, or life, or especially in love—well, I’d say you picked the wrong planet to live on. The brutal truth is that none of us get out of this unhurt. Some of us get slapped around a lot more than the rest. But the only alternative is to spend the rest of your days living the way you are now. Running. Hiding. Terrified. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather take the chance and see what happens. Because you could get hurt, yeah. Or you could end up in the middle of the messiest, happiest kind of life that you could ever imagine.”
He didn’t need to imagine it. He knew.
Just as he knew precisely why he didn’t dare grab what had been offered.
“But what if I’m the one doing the hurting?”
She sat up so straight and so fast that the chair scooted backward. “What the—where on earth did that—”
Then she got it.
“You think that history is doomed to repeat itself.”
He couldn’t answer. Not with words, not even with a nod. It was too shameful, too terrifying to admit to this woman who had never been anything but an amazing mother and had lost her child anyway.
But Jill wasn’t having any part of that.
“Is this a hypothetical fear? Or did something happen?”
It took him three tries before he could get the answer out there. “Yeah. Something...”
It was like a faucet had been opened. No, more like a fire hydrant. Once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. He told Jill everything, from the worries that had gripped him the minute he’d stepped off the plane until that moment when he could have killed his kid without even trying. By the time he was done he was back in his chair, slumped in the seat, staring at the floor so he wouldn’t have to see Jill’s reaction.
When he finally finished, he made himself sit straight, though he still couldn’t look at her.
Done. Yeah, that was the word of the moment.
“Guess so.”
“I have a question for you. How did you spend the months before you went back home? Not here at work, but when you were off duty.”
“I—the same as always, I guess. Cooking. Hanging out. Reading.”
“I saw what you were reading, Boone. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m asking. There were so many books about parenting and childcare in your place that you could have stocked your own aisle in a major city bookstore.”
He didn’t have to look at her to know she was rolling her eyes.
“Next question. How the hell do you think Kate knew what to do when Jamie was choking?”
“She had training. Right. But Jill, I—”
“You think it’s different with you. You think you can’t learn anything that really matters, like how to take care of your own son. You think you’re not smart enough or strong enough to do the things everyone else can do, or that there’s no way you’ll ever do it right so there’s no point in even trying.” Her voice hardened. “In other words, you think everything your mother ever said about you is true.”
Good God. If Jill didn’t stop driving the breath out of his lungs, he was going to hit the floor at any moment.
“Parenting isn’t something you’re born knowing, Boone. It’s learned. Some people have more of a natural inclination, true, just like some weavers have a better eye than others. But it’s a skill. It can be learned. And if you were taught wrong by your first teacher, then guess what? You can learn new skills.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Who said it was?” She leaned forward, one finger leveled at him. “But you know damned well that it would be more than worth the work.”
She was missing the point. “For me, it would be worth it. But what about Jamie? Say I got this job and went back. Say I tell Kate, hey, I want to give this a shot after all. How does Jamie play into that? He’s the one who’s going to pay the price when I mess up. He’s the one whose happiness is on the line, Jill, and there’s no way I’m going to risk—”
He stopped. Not because he was out of words, but because of the silly, goofy smile on Jill’s face.
“Do you hear yourself, you idiot? You’re not worried about you. You’re worried about Jamie. You’re putting him first. That right there tells me everything I need to know about your ability to be a good father.”
“But—” he started, then stopped as her words sunk into him.
“Good.” She nodded. “You’ve stopped talking and started listening. Best move you’ve made all day.”
He wanted to glare, but he couldn’t quite pull it off. Probably because he was too busy listening to the small whisper of hope her words had fired inside him.
Jill rose from her chair with a groan, shuffling over to him and bending so her face was level with his. “Keep listening, Boone. And while you’re at it, polish up your résumé and apply for that job. It’s time for you to find your own Project Sonqo.”
What the—
Oh. Right. How could he have forgotten?
In Quechua, sonqo meant heart.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KATE HAD COME to hate Friday nights.
Most nights she was so wiped out that her only sleep issues were courtesy of little Mr. Jameson. But Fridays were the night before her call with Boone, which meant that she spent half the night making lists of what she needed to tell him, and then the other half making lists of what she couldn’t tell him. When she wasn’t reminding herself what she could and couldn’t say, she was giving herself the pep talk she delivered every week.
Come on, girl. You can do it. You survived last week, even though Boone needed a haircut and you spent the whole call wanting to push his bangs back. You’ll make it through this one.
There were times when she felt she should really get a dog. Because, heaven knew, she was talking to herself exactly the way she would address a pup. At least if she had a dog, she would have someone else to talk to while she spent the night in the rocking chair, cursing herself for wasting precious sleep hours.
And then Saturday nights were almost worse. She had survived, yes, but she also had a whole conversation’s worth of fresh reminders of how much she missed him. And how angry she was at him. And how much joy he was stealing from all of them, just because he was—what? Too scared of the past to give them all a shot at happiness?
On the one hand, her heart ached for him.
On the other hand, if he were to walk in the door she couldn’t decide if she would kiss him or give him holy hell.
It was probably a good thing that she was still nursing. If she could drink, she would be developing a bottle-a-night habit, and who could afford that? Thank God Allie had both moved in and was in the habit of bringing home leftovers. There was something decadent and cozy about wandering the empty house, distracting herself from the memories and hurts by nibbling on a slice or forking up a little spaghetti.
On the third Friday after Boone’s departure—well, technically, it was a little after one on Saturday morning—she was sacked out on the living room sofa, sitting in the dark and snacking on garlic bread while she watched the tree branches swaying in the moonlight, when she became aware of a sound from upstairs. It was a sound she hadn’t heard in years, but it was one she had lived so many times in the aftermath of Neil’s death that there was no mistaking it.
Allie was crying.
Big sister instincts kicked in immediately. Kate grabbed the monitor, threw it in the pocket of her robe, and made it up the stairs in record time.
“Allie?” She knocked on the door. “Allie, what’s wrong?”
Allie’s response was muffled but there was no doubt that the words she had just uttered would have earned her a swipe of soap across the tongue when they were kids.
Kate had a moment of panic. She’d been so intent on getting up here quickly that she hadn’t even thought that Allie might not be alone. Much as Kate liked Cash, she wasn’t prepared to see him while she was in her jammies. Especially because she was ashamed to admit that her so-called nightshirt was really one of Boone’s T-shirts that she’d pilfered while they were still in Ottawa.
But if there was one thing she’d learned after years of working with little kids, it was that an air of confidence compensated for a multitude of sins.
“Allie.” She knocked again. “Come on. Open up.”
She heard the rustling of covers, the shuffle of feet, the rattle of the doorknob.
“Go back to bed.” Allie crossed her arms. “I’m fine.”
“Really.”
“Yes. Really.”
“That’s interesting, seeing as how you were crying loud enough that I heard you all the way downstairs.”
“Maybe I wasn’t crying.”
Kate peeked over Allie’s shoulder. The bed was empty, Allie was in pajamas, and her eyes and cheeks were puffy and wet.
With one finger, Kate teased a tear from her sister’s cheek. “You want to tell me about what’s not wrong?”
Allie’s lips clamped together.
Silence.
“Did something happen at work?”
“No. Kate—”
“With Cash?”
Allie’s face crumpled. “No.”
She never could lie for beans.
“What did he do, Al?”
“Nothing. Don’t you have a baby who’ll be waking you up soon?”
“I’ve spent a lot of time with preschoolers. I know how to use distraction, and let me tell you, that didn’t cut it.”
“It wasn’t a distraction. It was the truth.”
“Oh, good. How about spilling a few more truth bombs, okay?” She ran through possibilities in her mind. Maggie was in fav
or of the sisters living together, so it wasn’t that... Cash had joined them for dinner on Wednesday and everything had seemed fine then, though Kate was painfully aware of how quickly relationships could shift... She and Allie had adjusted to each other’s schedules, Allie was totally unpacked, her check for the utilities hadn’t bounced...
“Is Cash having a hard time with you living here?”
The night light in the hall cast enough illumination for Kate to see the way Allie’s gaze dropped.
“Okay, kiddo.” Kate took her sister’s arm and guided her back into the room, seating both of them on the edge of the bed. “Out with it. What’s his problem? Is he—I mean, this is kind of awkward, but is it, you know, not private enough for you guys? Because I know it’s not the same as having your own place, but we could maybe put a door at the top of the stairs, or put a minifridge and a microwave in Boone—I mean, in the other room, so you don’t have to feel like you’re in a dorm, or—”
Allie stared at her for a second before bursting into an odd mix of laughter and tears, punctuated by some serious hiccups. Kate reached for her. Old habits died hard. But Allie shook her head and raised a hand to stop her.
“It’s not that, Kate. Cash hasn’t said a word, I swear on Nana’s grave, and I’m at his place half the time anyway, so it’s not like we’re teenagers trying to find a way to sneak off together.” She grinned, hiccupped once more and stared down at her hands knotted in her lap.
Kate put on her thinking cap. Whatever it was, Allie obviously didn’t want to tell her. So, that meant...crap, she wasn’t awake enough for logic... It had to be something Allie was afraid would upset Kate. Something that would make her worried or angry or sad or...
Oh.
“It’s not Cash who has the problem with you living here, is it, Allie Cat?”
Allie tried. She really did. She shook her head, all wide-eyed innocence, but the half sob in her throat betrayed her. “This made so much sense,” she wailed. “And I was so excited to move in and play with Jamie, and help you the way you always help me. But—”
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