The lamp was on in the corner, and Elle lay on her side on the double bed, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling evenly. Kaylie stood clutching the rails of her new crib like a miniature prisoner intent upon making a break for freedom.
“I thought babies were supposed to sleep all the time,” Mya whispered.
Normally a serious baby, Kaylie up and grinned. She looked adorable in white cotton pajamas with a row of pink bunnies on the collar and cuffs. Mya couldn’t resist moving closer. “What do you need?” she whispered.
Kaylie lifted her hands to Mya.
Suddenly, Mya couldn’t even manage shallow breathing. Carefully, she grasped Kaylie beneath both arms, painstakingly lifting her from the crib. “If you had any sense at all you would be put off by my lack of efficiency.”
Kaylie saw everything, and often wanted what she saw. For now, she seemed utterly content to rest her head on Mya’s shoulder.
Mya inhaled the scent of baby shampoo and something as pure and indescribable as the scent of morning dew. A lingering sadness crowded into her chest, and with it, a persistent, haunting, clawing question. What had she missed?
Closing her eyes on an old sorrow, she rested her hand upon Kaylie’s back. Spreading her fingers wide, she held the baby close. She swore Kaylie sighed. Emotion swelled, bringing the question again. Dear God, what had she missed?
Folding Kaylie’s blanket over one arm, she eased away from the crib. Across the room, Elle shifted in her sleep, drawing their attention. Mya could only wonder what the baby was thinking as she studied her young mother’s face. Mya noted the mussed blond hair and the shadow Elle’s eyelashes cast on her pale cheeks. Her full mouth was soft in sleep, and completely lacked the usual smirk.
What had she missed?
Mya squeezed her eyes shut, aching, because she’d missed everything, every ordinary day, every milestone, every breath, every memory, every moment. The lack of it, of all of it, haunted her to the center of her soul.
“Da,” Kaylie said, pointing a chubby finger at Elle.
“Not Da,” Mya said softly. “Mama.” It slipped out on a gentle breath, uncurling in the air like wisps of fog.
She said the word again, to herself this time. Reaching down tentatively with the tips of her fingers, she smoothed the hair off Elle’s brow, her touch so light the girl didn’t stir. She’d held Elle once, briefly. Only hours old, she’d been crying, and Mya had been terrified. That hadn’t changed.
Mya’s chest heaved, but it wasn’t a monster that reared up after all. It was far more powerful and so strong it was as if something made of steel inside her was bending. And then, with a final, forceful heave, the steel broke, and emotion surged over her like a tidal wave, dousing her with something fierce, something instinctive, something protective. Something maternal.
Love.
A lone tear ran down her cheek. She loved her daughter. She always had.
“Da,” Kaylie said.
For absolutely no reason at all, Mya chuckled. “We’re going to have to work on your vocabulary,” she whispered.
Kaylie smiled at her own cleverness, showing all seven of her teeth.
“For now, what do you say we go find a cat for you to terrorize? Better yet, how about a bottle?”
“Da,” Kaylie said as Mya carried her from the room.
Elle waited until they left to open her eyes. She lay in the drowsy warmth of her bed for a long time, listening and thinking. And planning.
This was it. The moment Mya had feared.
It had been an emotionally charged week. She and her mother had come the moment Jeffrey called to say the results from Mya’s bone-marrow compatibility test were back. Millicent waited in the outer lounge while Mya went to Jeff’s office. The room was the size of a broom closet and smelled of latex and medicine. Mya felt the walls closing in on her as she read the test results.
There it was spelled out in black and white. It might as well have been Greek.
Jeffrey explained what it all meant, using terms she’d never heard, such as HLA haplotypes and phenotypes, genotypes and Locus A and B. One line contained Elle’s information, one Mya’s. The two were poles apart.
The excruciating wait was over. Mya didn’t match. She wasn’t even close.
“But Elle looks so much like me. Everyone says so.”
“The intricate components that make up bone marrow have little to do with hair color,” he said, his voice quiet, calm, compassionate.
She wanted to crush the paper into a ball and fling it against the wall. She wanted to rail, to rant, to stomp her feet and shake her fists. And all she could do was stand there, blank and shaken, fighting for self-control.
Elle’s adoptive father had called several times this past week. His concern for Elle was palpable. Sadly, he wasn’t a close enough match, either. That wasn’t surprising since he wasn’t blood related. But Mya was!
“What now?” she implored.
Jeffrey came around from the other side of his cluttered desk. He reached for her hand, saying nothing at first. When he finally spoke, his voice was filled with compassion. “I know how difficult this is for you, sweetheart.”
That monster inside her reared up again, because he didn’t know. No one did.
“This isn’t fair,” she said, rigidly holding her tears in check.
“No, it isn’t.”
“I can’t lose her again.”
He didn’t say that she might not have a choice, but it hung in the air between them. It seemed like a long time before either of them continued, and then they did so simultaneously.
“Jeffrey, you—”
“Mya, I—”
They stared at each other.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I suppose Eleanor will be returning to Pennsylvania now.”
He’d just come off a twelve-hour shift, and Mya tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. “And do what?”
“And continue her treatment at home with her family.”
“What am I?” She realized her tone of voice hadn’t been nice. She didn’t have it in her to care.
“Mya, I’m not the enemy here. You don’t have to open Brynn’s for another hour. Let’s get out of here.”
She wound up staring at him.
He continued speaking in soothing tones. “You’re worried, sad and upset. We don’t even know what Eleanor’s condition is for sure, let alone her prognosis. She could live for years. Hopefully longer. Everything doesn’t have to change.”
Staring at him, she wondered how he could not see that everything had already changed. Suddenly, she knew exactly what she had to do. She slipped her engagement ring over her knuckle.
“Mya, what are you doing?”
She shook her head.
“You win,” he said. “We can take Kaylie. If the need arises.”
She blinked, refocusing on Jeff. His hair had been cut recently. He looked urban and professional, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous.
“I didn’t know you wanted children. But we probably would have had a couple of kids eventually anyway, right?” he said. Obviously he’d been perplexed about having a ready-made family, justifiably so. And yet he’d sanely and rationally agreed to one. “It would be nice if we knew Kaylie’s father wasn’t a drug addict.”
“This isn’t about Kaylie!” Everyone in the surrounding offices probably heard that.
She’d surprised them both, and yet it was all so clear suddenly. The relationship had been destined to fail from the beginning. Jeffrey was intelligent and kind and would undoubtedly make some woman a wonderful husband. But not her. He wasn’t her type. He was too sane, too rational, too nice, at least for her.
She finished removing her ring.
“Don’t do this, Mya. I love you. No other woman has ever excited me the way you do.”
“I’m not the right woman for you.”
He grasped both her hands. “We’re good together, you and I.”
He looked so earnest
just then, that she smiled, albeit sadly. “The person you’ve known these past six months isn’t really me. Believe me, you wouldn’t like the real Mya Donahue.”
He had little choice but to take the expensive, though uninspiring diamond ring.
“Besides,” she said, “I hate hospitals. What was I thinking?”
“That you loved me?” There was a long, brittle silence.
With a dawning look of realization, he said, “Oh, no. I know that look. And I know what you’re thinking. You love me but you’re not in love with me, right?”
She shook her head.
And he said, “That’s my best breakup line.”
“It’s a good one.”
A look of innate sadness entered his eyes. If she’d been in his shoes, she would have been spitting mad, more proof that they were completely wrong for each other. Not that she needed more proof.
“I believe you have more experience at this sort of thing, Jeff. The last time I broke an engagement was nineteen years ago. Has the protocol changed? Never mind. I think I should be going.”
“That last engagement. Was it to Eleanor’s father?”
“Yes. And her name is Elle!” More shaken than she cared to admit, she walked to the door.
“I’ll be here if you change your mind, Mya.”
“No you won’t. I give Tammy or one of the other night nurses two shifts, and they’ll have you snapped up.”
She left him with his ring, and whether he realized it yet or not, with his pride.
Millicent stood as soon as Mya entered the outer waiting area. “Well?”
Mya shook her head.
“Oh, no. I was so sure you’d match.” The bout of scarlet fever Millie had lived through when she’d been a girl ruled her out as a potential donor. “What did Jeffrey say?”
Mya didn’t reply until they’d reached the elevators. “What could he say?” She pressed the down button. If she’d been thinking, she would have used her right hand.
“Where’s your diamond engagement ring?”
The three other women waiting for the elevator looked at Mya’s bare hand as she said, “I believe Jeff put it in his pocket.”
“Mya, what are you doing?”
The doors slid open. The three strangers got in. Before following them, Mya said, “I’ve already done it.”
“You’re under a lot of stress. You’re sad and worried. This isn’t a good time to be making life-altering decisions.”
The elevator started to move. Feeling several pairs of eyes on her, Mya said, “That’s the only time people make life-altering decisions, Mom.”
“That explains why so many of them turn out badly.”
The remainder of their descent was steeped in silence. That silence followed them through the lobby. Out in the parking lot, the sun shone gloriously, the air a balmy seventy-five degrees. It was warm for April in Maine. Everyone knew it could turn around and snow tomorrow out of spite. There was nothing spiteful in the breeze, or in the scent it carried. It was the scent of the ocean, and of homesickness.
“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” Millicent said.
Mya stared straight ahead.
“You’re going to call Dean.”
“I’m going to do better than that, Mom.”
She was going to Keepers Island to see him. And her mind was made up.
CHAPTER 6
D ean Laker spread the large blueprints out on his makeshift workstation. When the wind whipped up a corner of the top page, he slammed a brick down on one edge, then groped his shirt pocket for the cigarettes he hadn’t smoked in ten years.
Stinking April wind, anyway.
April.
He scowled. April showers, April wind. April fool.
From the corner of his eye, he saw his foreman, who also happened to be his brother Grady speak to their newest employee. Great. Grady was ambling this way.
Stopping directly in Dean’s line of vision, Grady removed his Red Sox cap, ran a hand through his hair, then replaced the cap precisely where it had been. “Next time you decide to give one of the guys a good reaming, run it by me first.”
The least Grady could do was pretend to show a little respect and maybe attempt to hide his open disapproval. “Last I looked,” Dean said, holding the rustling print down with both hands, “I owned this company.”
“Last I looked, Jeremy was doing a good job.”
Dean folded the blueprint to the next page. This project was an intricate building restoration that incorporated an open-beamed addition and included a major renovation of the rest of the house. It was exactly the type of work Laker Construction was known for, a reputation he’d worked damn hard to build. “Jeremy’s hungover.”
“He turned twenty-one yesterday,” Grady said. “What? Now you don’t remember how it felt to be young?”
Dean scowled again, because truth be told, he couldn’t think of anything else today.
But Grady was on a roll. That was the problem with employing family. They didn’t know when to shut up.
“The kid wasn’t late for work. So he’s moving a little slow. I’ll keep him off a ladder and work him into the ground and he’ll think twice before doing it again. Good help’s hard to find, Dean.”
“You’re telling me?”
“Why don’t you tell me? What’s going on?”
Dean took out his calculator and refigured the truss system for the addition. “Who says anything’s going on?”
“I do. You’re ornery as sin from time to time, but you’re rarely unfair.”
Dean recalled the look on that poor kid’s face. Oh, hell, he was going to have to apologize. And Dean Laker was even worse at asking for forgiveness than he was at asking for permission.
His brother squared off opposite him, hands on his tool belt, his back to the Atlantic. “April’s almost over, Dean.”
Dean tensed. That didn’t mean he had to admit how close Grady was to a nerve and to the truth.
“You’ve been acting strange ever since you got back from lunch at Mom’s. What did she say that set you off?”
“Leave it, Grady.”
A change came over his brother. No longer looking at Dean, the younger Laker stared at a place over Dean’s left shoulder. His quietly spoken “You’ve got company, bro,” was completely unnecessary, because five seconds earlier the air had become so charged with electricity it raised the hair on Dean’s arms. He knew without turning what he would find. Or who.
He turned anyway, doing a slow one-eighty. His mother had heard right. Mya Donahue was here on Keepers Island.
“You okay?” Grady asked quietly.
Since any answer was pointless, Dean said, “I’ll make it right with Jeremy.”
“You do that. Hey, Mya.”
“Hello, Grady.” Her gaze didn’t leave Dean’s face for long.
Dean knew, because his didn’t leave hers at all. Evidently, Grady noticed, too. He took the blueprints from Dean and made noises about going to see a man about a sawhorse. On a good day, Dean would have told him it was a lame joke. But Dean wasn’t having a good day.
Mya didn’t look real happy, either. The incessant wind dragged at her short blond hair. It had been long the last time he’d seen her four or five years ago. Who was he kidding? The last time she’d been to the island was four and a half years ago, exactly. Before that, it had been three years. She came for funerals and weddings. She’d never bothered to look him up, and that was fine with Dean. It was better that way, because looking at her brought out feelings he wasn’t proud of, and memories better left in the past.
Why couldn’t Mya Donahue be like other women whose bodies thickened and whose complexions grew ruddy over time? Her clothes looked soft, trendy, upscale. Her face was thinner than he remembered, her brown eyes dark and appraising. As if realizing she’d been caught staring, her chin came up, her shoulders back.
Why the hell that rankled, he didn’t know, but he said, “It looks like you’re still pissed of
f at the world.”
For an instant, her glance sharpened, but she kept her voice quiet as she said, “I’ve narrowed the field down to an even thousand. What about you?”
“I’m only pissed at you.” He cringed a little inside, for he couldn’t have proven that to the twenty-one-year-old kid he’d laid into earlier.
Mya stood six feet away, breathing between parted lips. Potential rejoinders flashed through her mind at break-neck speed. And yet she didn’t know what to say. Dean didn’t seem terribly surprised to see her. Ticked and slightly put out, but not surprised. Which meant word was out. She’d expected as much, for she hadn’t been the only passenger on the ferry to Keepers Island. The handful of islanders who’d accompanied her on the three-mile jaunt out to sea hadn’t joined her on the upper deck. She was thankful for that, for small talk would have been beyond her capabilities today. Still, the fact that she was here would have been too great a discovery to keep to themselves. And when had anyone on the island kept anything to themselves? Mya wasn’t certain who’d told Dean, but he’d been duly warned that she was here. She wished there was an easy way to tell him the rest.
Either the years had been good to him, or the ravages of time were apparent only on the inside. Unless he’d changed, it was more than likely the latter, for as a kid he’d internalized everything, his thoughts, his dreams, his emotions.
Today he wore his dark hair shorter, his faded jeans a little looser, his emotions every bit as hidden from view. He’d always reminded her of a geyser, calm until the steam started rolling. He’d been furious when she’d flung his engagement ring at him the day she’d told him once and for all that she was placing their baby for adoption. For the life of her, she hadn’t known of a decent alternative. He hadn’t seen it that way. She wasn’t naive enough to believe he’d gotten over it. After all, he was the only person she knew who held a grudge longer than she did.
She sighed anyway. “Nineteen years is a long time, Dean.”
His eyes narrowed, as blue and changeable as the Atlantic behind him. Before he blurted something he would regret and she would react to, she said, “Would you care to go someplace and maybe grab a cup of coffee?”
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