“Is there anything you need from us?” Claire asked.
A little spiked cider would be a good start. “I’d like to get
back to the party. You have all found time in your holiday-crazed lives for
this, and I don’t want to ruin everything with more drama. Can we just forget
about Jackson Lange for now?”
Everybody seemed to agree, to her great relief. Katherine
Thorne asked Janie a question about one of her children who had broken an arm
sledding off the hill at Miner’s Park, and the conversation turned.
She loved these women. Sometimes their idiosyncrasies and their
smothering concern drove her crazy, but she didn’t know how she would have
survived these past months without them. She had a feeling she would be leaning
on them more than ever with this new twist on her life’s journey.
* * *
H
ER
HOUSE
WAS
QUIET
when she returned after the
party finally wrapped up. She’d become used to it over the past few months since
Sage had returned to Boulder and school. After she opened the door and found
only the whoosh of the furnace, she finally admitted to herself that some part
of her had been looking forward to Sage’s return to fill the empty space with
sound—her endless chatter about grades and her classes and current events, the
television set she always had on, usually to HGTV, her local friends who went to
other schools or had stuck around town to work and who always seemed to find
excuses to drop in when Sage was in town.
She was destined for another quiet night, she realized.
“Sage? Honey?” she called, but received no answer. Maura knew
she was home. Her purse was hanging on the hook by the door, and her cell phone
was on the console table. She walked through the house to Sage’s bedroom. The
door was ajar and she rapped on it a few times softly, then pushed it open.
Sage was curled up in her bed with only her face sticking out
of the cocoon of blankets. The lights of one of the little individual Christmas
trees Maura had always set up in her girls’ bedrooms twinkled and glowed,
sending brightly colored reflections over Sage’s face.
She rubbed a hand over her chest at the sudden ache there. She
loved her daughter fiercely, had from the very first moment she’d realized she
was pregnant. Yes, she had been afraid. What seventeen-year-old girl wouldn’t
have been? But she had also been eager for this unexpected adventure.
Those weeks and months of her pregnancy seemed so fresh and
vivid in her mind. In her head she had known that giving up the baby for
adoption to a settled, established couple who loved each other deeply would have
been the best thing for Sage, but she had been selfish, she supposed. She
couldn’t even bear the idea of losing this part of Jack that she already loved
so much.
She could also admit to herself now that, at the time, she had
been so angry at her father for leaving and at Jack for repeating the pattern
that she had managed to convince herself her baby didn’t need a father in her
life, except to donate half the DNA. She could certainly raise this baby by
herself without help from anyone.
Yeah, it had been immature and shortsighted—but then she had
only been seventeen. Younger than her daughter was now.
Sage had always been a restless sleeper, even as a baby, but
her exhaustion over finals must have tired her out. She didn’t move when Maura
stepped forward to click off the lights on the little tree or when Maura
smoothed the blankets and tucked them more securely, then walked quietly from
the room.
She paused outside the next bedroom and almost didn’t go inside
but finally forced herself to move. She switched on the little tree beside the
empty bed and watched the colors reflected on the pale lavender walls, cheerful
yellows and blues and reds and greens.
Angie, Mary Ella and Alex had insisted on coming over
Thanksgiving weekend to help her put up the rest of the decorations, but she had
placed this little tree here herself, as well as the little solar-powered tree
on the gravesite. She had decorated it with all Layla’s favorite
ornaments—little beaded snowflakes Layla had made at String Fever, a glass
snowman she had received from one of her good friends, a few small, pearlescent
balls that seemed to shimmer in the glow from the lights.
She hadn’t changed anything in here yet. It still looked like a
fifteen-year-old girl’s room, with a couple of lava lamps, a big, plump purple
beanbag where Layla had loved to study, and huge posters of bands on the
wall—most notably, Pendragon, her father’s acoustic rock band. Though he was
twice her age, Layla had had a bit of a crush on Chris’s drummer.
Some day she would do something with the room. Maybe turn it
into a home office, since most of the bookstore paperwork she brought home ended
up spread out on a desk in her bedroom.
Not yet, though. She couldn’t bring herself to change anything
yet, so she left it untouched and only came in occasionally to dust.
After a few minutes of watching the lights, Maura cleared her
throat and turned off the lights before she walked back into the quiet
hallway.
As much as she ached with pain for Layla and the life that had
been cut short by a whole chain of stupid decisions by a bunch of teenagers,
Maura couldn’t stop living. She had another daughter who needed her, now more
than ever.
CHAPTER FOUR
D
ESPITE
THE
RADICAL
CHANGES
to the rest
of the town, the Center of Hope Café had changed very little in the twenty years
since Jack had been here.
That might be new wallpaper on the wall, something brighter to
replace the old wood paneling he remembered, but the booths were covered in the
same red vinyl and the ceiling was still the old-fashioned tin-stamped sort
favored around the turn of the century.
Even the owner, Dermot Caine, still stood behind the U-shaped
bar. He had to be in his mid-sixties, but he had the familiar shock of white
hair he’d worn as long as Jack could remember and the same piercing blue eyes
that seemed capable of ferreting out any secret.
Despite the calorie-heavy comfort food the café was famous for,
Dermot had stayed in shape and looked as if he could beat any comers in an
arm-wrestling contest, probably from years of working the grill.
Just now he was busy talking to a couple of guys in Stetsons.
Jack looked around for Maura and Sage but couldn’t spot them. He didn’t see
anyone else he recognized either. It looked as if the Center of Hope was popular
with both locals and tourists, at least judging by the odd mix of high-dollar
ski gear and ranch coats.
He stood waiting to be seated for just a moment before Dermot
walked over, no trace of recognition in his gaze. No surprise there. Jack had
been gone twenty years. He probably looked markedly different than that kid who
used to come into the café to study after the library had closed for the
night.
It sure as hell had beat going home.
“Hello there and welcome to the Center of Hope Café.” Dermot
had a trace of Ireland in his voice. Jack could easily have pictured him running
a corner pub in a little town in County Galway somewhere, surrounded by
mossy-green fields and stone fences. “You’ve got a couple of choices this lovely
morning. You can find yourself a vacant spot at the counter, or I can fix you up
with a booth or a table. Your preference.”
“I’m actually waiting for two more. A booth would be fine.”
“I’ve got a prime spot right here by the window. Will that suit
you?”
“Perfectly. Thank you.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung
it on a convenient hook made from a portion of an elk antler on the wall beside
the booth. As he slid into the booth, Dermot set out a trio of menus and opened
one for him.
“Here. You can have a little sneak peek at the menu before the
rest of your party comes. We also have made-to-order omelets, if that suits your
fancy. The breakfast special this morning is our eggs Benedict, famous in three
counties. Can I get you some coffee or juice while you’re waiting?”
Ordinarily, he would have liked to extend the courtesy of at
least ordering beverages for Sage and Maura. Since he had no idea what they
would like, he opted to play it safe and order only for himself. “I’ll have
both. Regular coffee and a small grapefruit juice. Thank you.”
Dermot nodded. “Coming right up.” He paused for just a moment,
his blue eyes narrowed. “Have you been in before? I usually have a good eye for
my customers. I keep thinking I should know you, but I’m afraid my memory’s not
what it once was and I can’t quite place you. Sorry, I am, for that.”
“Don’t apologize. I would have been surprised if you
had
recognized me. It’s been twenty years. You used to
serve me chocolate malts from the fountain with extra whipped cream while I did
my homework in the corner.” It was a surprisingly pleasant memory, especially
considering he didn’t think he had many of this town. That hadn’t involved
Maura, anyway.
“Jackson Lange,” Dermot exclaimed. “Lordy, it’s been an age, it
has. How have you been, son?”
How did a man encapsulate his journey over the past two
decades? Hard work, ambition, amazing good fortune in his chosen field and not
such good fortune in his painfully short-lived marriage. “I can’t complain. How
about you? How’s Mrs. Caine?”
His cheerful smile slipped a little. “I lost her some fifteen
years back. The cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Aye. So am I. I miss her every single day. But we had seven
beautiful children together, and her memory lives on in them and our eight
grandchildren.”
He gestured to the other two menus. “And what about you? Are
you meeting your family here, then?”
He thought of Sage, the daughter he hadn’t known existed a
handful of days ago. “Something like that.”
“I’ll treat you right. Don’t you worry. Our French toast is
still legendary around these parts. We still cover it in toasted almonds and
dust it with powdered sugar.”
He usually was a coffee-and-toast kind of guy, but he had fond
memories of that French toast. An indulgence once in a while probably wouldn’t
kill him. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Dermot smiled at him and headed to the kitchen, probably for
his juice. Through the window, Jack watched Main Street bustle to life. The
woman who was trying to change the marquee on the little two-theater cinema up
the road had to stop about five times to return the wave of someone driving
past, and a couple of women in winter workout gear who had dogs on leashes
paused at just about every storefront to talk to somebody.
The scene reminded him of a small village outside Milan where
he had rented an apartment for two months during the construction of a hotel and
regional conference center a few miles from town. He used to love to grab a
cappuccino and sit on the square with a sketchbook and pencil, watching the town
wake up to greet the day.
In his career, Jack had worked on projects across the world,
from Riyadh to Rio de Janeiro. He loved the excitement and vitality of a large
city. The streets outside his loft in San Francisco bustled with life, and he
enjoyed sitting out on the terrace and watching it from time to time, but he had
to admit, he always found something appealing about the slower pace of a small
town, where neighbors took time to stop their own lives to chat and care about
each other.
Dermot walked out with his juice and a coffeepot. “Still
waiting?” he asked as he flipped a cup over and expertly poured.
“I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”
“I’ll keep an eye out, unless you would like me to take your
order now.”
“No. I’ll wait.”
A few moments later, while he was watching the dog walkers grab
a shovel out of an elderly man’s hands in front of a jewelry store and start
clearing snow off his store entrance, Maura and Sage came in. Their faces were
both flushed from the cold, but he was struck for the first time how alike they
looked. Sage was an interesting mix of the both of them, but in the morning
light and with her darker, curlier hair covered by a beanie, she looked very
much like her mother.
The women spotted him instantly and hurried over to the
booth.
“Sorry we’re late,” Maura said without explanation, but Sage
gave a heavy sigh.
“It’s my fault,” Sage said. “I was
so
tired and had a hard time getting moving this morning.”
“You’re here now. That’s the important thing.” He rose and
helped them out of their coats. Sage wore a bulky red sweater under hers, while
Maura wore a pale blue turtleneck and a long spill of silver-and-blue beads that
reminded him of a waterfall.
He was struck by how thin she appeared. The shirt bagged at her
wrists, and he wondered if she had lost weight in the months since her daughter
died.
“I’ve been enjoying the café,” he said after they slid into the
other side of the booth together, with Sage on the inside. “It hasn’t changed
much in twenty years.”
“The food’s still just as good,” Maura said. “Unfortunately,
the tourists have figured that out too.”
“I noticed that. It’s been hopping since I got here.”
The conversation lagged, and to cover the awkwardness, he
picked up their menus from the table and opened them, then handed them to the
women. He hadn’t worked his way through college tending bar at a little dive
near the Gourmet Ghetto for nothing.
“So Mr. Caine recommended the French toast.”
“That’s what I always get when we come here for breakfast,”
Sage told him. “It’s
sooo
good. Like having dessert
for breakfast. Mom usually has a poached egg and whole wheat toast. That’s like
driving all the way to Disneyland and not riding Space Mountain!”
“Maybe I’ll try the French toast this morning too,” Maura said,
a hint of rebellion in her tone.
She seemed to be in a prickly mood, probably unhappy at the
prospect of sharing a booth and a meal with him.
“Sorry I didn’t order coffee for either of you. I wasn’t sure
of your preferences.”
“I usually like coffee in the morning,” Sage told him, “but I’m
not sure my stomach can handle it today. I’d better go for tea.”
As if on cue, Dermot Caine headed toward their booth and did an
almost comical double take when he saw Maura and Sage sitting with him. Jack
wondered at it, until he remembered his comment about waiting for his family, in
a manner of speaking.
Well, if the word wasn’t out around town that he was Sage’s
father after the scene at the bookstore the night before, he imagined it
wouldn’t take long for the Hope’s Crossing grapevine to start humming.
“Sage, my darlin’. Home for the holidays, are you?”
“That’s the plan, Mr. C.” She beamed at the older man, who
plainly adored her.
“And how is school going for you?”
Sage made a face. “Meh. I had a chemistry
and
biology class in the same semester. I don’t know what I was
thinking.”
“Well, you’re such a smarty, I’m sure you’ll do fine.” He
turned to face Maura. Somehow Jack wasn’t surprised when he reached out and
covered her hand with his. “And how are you, my dear?”
“I’m fine, Dermot. Thanks.” She gave him a smile, but Jack
didn’t miss the way she moved her hand back to her lap as soon as Dermot lifted
his away, as if she couldn’t bear to hold even a trace of sympathy.
“I’m guessing you’ll be wanting water for tea.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Make that two,” Sage said.
“Sure thing. And what else can I bring you? Have you had time
to decide?”
They all settled on French toast, which seemed to delight
Dermot Caine to no end. “I’ll add an extra dollop of fresh cream on the side for
you. No charge,” he promised.
After he left, awkwardness returned to the booth. What strange
dynamics between the three of them, he thought. Twenty years ago, Maura had been
his best friend. They could never seem to stop talking—about politics, about
religion, about their hopes and dreams for the future.
Over the past few days, he had seen Sage several times, and
their conversation had been easy and wide-changing. He had years of her life to
catch up on, and she seemed fascinated with his career, asking him questions
nonstop about his life since he’d left Hope’s Crossing and about some of the
projects he had designed.
Maura and Sage seemed very close as mother and daughter, and he
would have expected them to have plenty to talk about.
So why did these jerky silences seem to strangle the
conversation when the three of them were together?
“I guess you found a hotel room,” Sage finally said after
Dermot returned with cups of hot water and the two women busied themselves
selecting their tea bags.
“It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “I ended up stopping at a couple
different places and finally found a room at the Blue Columbine.”
“That’s a really nice place,” Sage said. “My mom’s friend Lucy
owns it.”
Good to know. He would have to take a careful look at the
basket of muffins that had been left outside his door that morning to make sure
nobody had slipped rat poison into it. “The bed was comfortable. That’s usually
what matters most to me.”
“You didn’t want to stay up at the Silver Strike?” Maura asked
with a sharp smile that seemed at odds with her lovely features. “I’ve never
seen the rooms there, but I’ve heard they’re spectacular. Fodor’s gives the
place a glowing review.”
His mouth tightened. She really thought she had the right to
taunt him about that damn ski resort, after everything? Did she not understand
she was on shaky ground here? He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to forgive
her for keeping Sage from him all these years. He certainly wasn’t in the mood
to deal with her prickly mood or veiled taunts about his father’s ski
resort.
“I’ll pass. A B and B in town is fine with me for now.”
“For now? How long are you planning to stay in Hope’s
Crossing?” she asked bluntly.
Sage sat forward, eyes focused on him with bright intensity as
she awaited his answer. He chose his words carefully. “I’m not sure yet. I was
thinking about sticking around for a week or two, until after the holidays.”
For all their surface resemblance, the two women had completely
disparate reactions. Sage grinned at him with delight, while Maura looked as if
Dermot had just fed her a teaspoon full of alum with her tea.
“That’s great. Really great!” Sage enthused. “I was afraid you
were leaving today.”
“How can you spare the time?” Maura asked woodenly. “You’re a
big-shot architect, just as you always dreamed.”
“It’s a slow time of year for me, which is why I was able to
accept the lecture invitation. After the holidays, things will heat up. I’ve got
a couple of projects in the region, actually, one in Denver and one in Montana,
and a big one overseas in Singapore coming up, but my schedule is a little
looser than normal this month.”
Maura stirred her tea, then took a cautious sip before speaking
in a polite tone that belied the shadow of dismay he could see in her eyes. “Do
you really want to spend that much time in Hope’s Crossing?”
He shrugged. No doubt she was thinking his presence would ruin
her whole holiday. He didn’t care. He wasn’t really in the mood to play nice,
not after she had kept his daughter from him for nineteen Christmases. “I was
thinking maybe Sage and I could take off for a few days to Denver to study some
of the architectural styles.”