Actually it wasn’t just bragging. Marcela did have a knack for homing in on the truth. She’d been the one to wisely tell Maya not to date Harry Klammer in high school; to definitely buy the pink lace dress for prom that still made Maya feel like a princess just thinking about it; and to quickly marry Sal, before some other woman grabbed him first.

  “Yank that door all the way open, Maya, and close all the other doors you may still have open. Commit to this and see what happens. Gotta go. Bye.”

  Maya got in her car and sat there, letting her sister’s wisdom settle in around her. Her old job had required her to work fifty to sixty hours a week. She and Sal had talked about her quitting while the baby was young, so the fact she had been forced to leave the job early . . .

  Close all the other doors you may still have open.

  What did that mean? What doors were still open, letting her peek into her past, keeping her from fully facing the new door that was opening?

  And then she knew, and marveled at how God had given her wisdom—through her dear sister.

  She started the car.

  | | | | | | | | | | |

  Maya walked toward the office building, trying to keep her courage intact.

  I have to do this. I have to do this. I have to . . .

  Fueled by a deep breath, she entered the building and headed to the elevators and pushed the Up button. She noticed that one of the four elevators had a red sign taped to its doors. But instead of saying Out of Order, the sign was blank. Maya shook her head at the sight of it. Not another one. If only God would give her a bit of wisdom about these stupid signs . . .

  A man came close, pushed the Down button, and began to wait. She saw him glance at the elevator’s sign, then look away, as if it was nothing.

  Does he see words? Or a blank— “Excuse me,” she said. “What does that sign say?”

  He looked at the sign, then at her. “What do you mean, what does it say?”

  “The red sign. On the elevator.”

  “Can’t you read?”

  The bell of an elevator dinged, and the doors opened. “Never mind,” she said. She went inside with her question still unanswered.

  But as the doors closed and the elevator ascended to the third floor, she realized it had been answered.

  “Can’t you read?” he’d asked.

  Which meant there were words on the sign. Other people saw words.

  Which didn’t explain why she did not.

  The doors opened on three. Blank sign or not, the time had come for Maya to wipe her past clean and close all its doors.

  As best she could.

  | | | | | | | | | | |

  Maya’s nerves stood at attention. People looked up from their desks when she passed. A few said hello, though most looked back to their work as if they hadn’t spotted her. She thought about leaving but forced herself to keep going. She had to finish this—and finish it right.

  She approached her boss’s office, hoping Roman was back at work. Upon seeing her, his secretary, Millie, looked up and blinked as if Maya were an apparition, then said, “Maya.”

  “Is he in?”

  “Mr. Paulson?”

  Of course, Mr. Paulson. “I know about his son. I’ll only take a minute, I promise. I just want to leave him some—”

  “He’s not here. He doesn’t work here anymore. He resigned.”

  “Because of me?” The words spilled out before she could stop them.

  Millie made no attempt to deny it. “I think it was a lot of things. We’re all hoping he comes back. Eventually.”

  Maya reached into her purse and retrieved the plaque that had lived in her briefcase since the day she’d been fired. “I’d like to leave this here.”

  Millie studied the award. “It’s got your name on it.”

  “But I didn’t deserve it.”

  “Why don’t you just throw it away?”

  “I . . . I need to return it. If you want to throw it away, that’s fine. But please let me leave it here. Please.”

  Millie set it on the credenza behind her—facedown. “Anything else?” she asked.

  “No. I think that’s it.”

  Millie picked up her pen and went back to work. Maya turned away, but before she could take two steps, Millie said, “I’m sorry about the baby, Maya. I do understand—at least that part of it.”

  It was something.

  Next.

  | | | | | | | | | | |

  Maya approached Brian’s cubicle, feeling like a felon walking a gauntlet. Once again some of her old coworkers looked at her with open curiosity, some looked away, and some put their heads together and whispered. No one approached her with a friendly hello. Not even Susan—who wasn’t at her desk.

  Brian was at his desk. He was busy at the computer with his back to her.

  “Hi, Brian,” she said.

  He whipped his chair around, his eyes wide. “Maya.”

  “Yeah. It’s me.”

  “Are you back? I mean, were you rehired or—?”

  “No, no. I’m still persona non grata. Still guilty as charged. Which is why I’m here.” She took a step closer, hoping the entire office wouldn’t overhear. Though she noticed the noise level of the main room had lessened since she’d passed through.

  So be it. Let them listen.

  “I came to tell you how sorry I am for what I did. I was wrong. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  His eyebrows formed two awnings above his eyes. “Uh . . . I guess so.”

  That’s all she needed.

  Let the gossip mill begin.

  Yet there was still one more door to close. . . .

  | | | | | | | | | | |

  Maya felt more nervous standing at Roman’s front door than she’d been entering the lion’s den of her old workplace. She’d considered going home after apologizing to Brian but knew if she was going to do this right . . .

  She rang the doorbell. Her heart pounded a double rhythm. Maybe he’s not home.

  The door opened. “Maya.”

  “Hi, Mr. Paulson. I don’t mean to bother you, but can I come in?”

  He hesitated—but only for a moment. “Sure.”

  She entered the house and sat in the chair he offered. Roman had lost weight and not in a healthy way. His face was drawn. He had circles under his eyes. He seemed less than he was before.

  One son less.

  “What . . . why . . . ?” He stumbled, obviously not knowing what to ask.

  “I’ve come to apologize, both for my unethical behavior and for damaging the reputation of the company. I was wrong and . . .” She placed her hands on top of the purse in her lap. “I’m so sorry for that, and for your son.”

  “I saw you at the funeral. Thanks for coming.”

  “Sal always spoke highly of William.”

  “Sal?”

  “My husband. William worked in his lawn-care business all summer.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know. Small world.”

  Maya suddenly didn’t know what else to say, so she stood. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to do, to say, so I’ll be—”

  “Wait. Sit. I’ve got something to say to you too.”

  Maya wasn’t certain she wanted to hear it and braced herself.

  Roman folded his hands on top of his knees. “You were wrong in your methods, Maya, but I was also wrong because I pushed too hard, stressed sales above all else, and perhaps gave you the impression that anything goes.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He shook his head, looking as though the weight of the world had made a dent upon his shoulders. “Sometimes it’s hard learning a person isn’t always right, doesn’t know everything, and there are other ways of thinking and doing things. Other ways to live.” His gaze was far away. He may have been talking about work—partially—but it was obvious his son’s death had caused the biggest change in him.

  He stood. “Anyway, I appreciate your apology, I accept it, and I wish you all the best. Perhaps if I had been a different sort of boss none of this would have happened. Both of us are good people who made bad choices.”

  Roman saw her out, and as she heard the door shut behind her . . .

  She smiled.

  She was free—finally free to look ahead.

  | | | | | | | | | | |

  Velvet turned into the airport parking lot, found a place, and shut off the car. She sat a moment in the sudden silence. “This is weird.”

  “I vote for bizarre,” Lianne said from the passenger seat. “What are we going to do with John when he gets here?”

  Velvet hadn’t thought of that. The last time John was in town he’d stayed at a fancy hotel and had book signings and speaking engagements and work to occupy his time. For him to return for personal reasons . . .

  For her. For Lianne.

  They headed into the terminal and up the escalators to the bridge that spanned the building. It was five thirty. His plane had landed. In just a few minutes he’d be there.

  Lianne broke the silence that had accompanied them all the way from the car. “Is he going to stay at your place?”

  “No, of course not,” Velvet said—although she had no idea where John was planning to stay.

  “Do you regret me?”

  A man ran past them, obviously late for a flight. The sound of his footfalls and the wheels of his roller bag intruded loudly, then faded away. But the question would not fade away. Its intent and its desire for the truth shouted.

  Velvet adjusted the purse on her shoulder, needing to do something, anything, to stall.

  Lianne looked up at the antique biplane that hung from the ceiling. “You don’t have to answer that.”

  Good. A way out.

  And yet . . . didn’t her daughter deserve some explanation? Lianne, who was facing the same sort of situation with her own baby? Lianne, who had lived the consequences of Velvet’s decision?

  Velvet said, “You deserve an answer although I’m not sure I can express it well or even know exactly what to say.”

  “Anything.” Lianne’s voice was soft.

  “I do not regret you. A life was created. Your life. It’s not up to me to question that. And I don’t think I regret giving you up, but maybe I do—” Velvet angled toward her daughter—“and yes, I wish John and I would have married and raised you and lived happy ever after. But I’m not sure that would have happened. And yet . . . look at me. I’m still working at the stadium. I have no impact on anyone’s life other than to make sure they get their popcorn and nachos. I’m unmarried. I never had any other children, never . . .” She sighed, not able to go there. “I work, go home to an empty house, and go to work again. I have friends, I have hobbies, and I am . . . some sort of happy. But happy isn’t the same as fulfilled, is it?”

  Lianne’s face was serious. “I don’t think it is.”

  Velvet nodded, just once. “Yet if I’d done things differently, who’s to say John and I wouldn’t have gotten divorced. And then, instead of living with two loving parents you would have had to go through that pain. And maybe with John being around me all the time—a woman who’s never been into God or faith—would John have become who he is? Would you have become who you are?” She twisted the handles of her purse. “Regret you? No, I don’t regret you. But I do wonder, ‘What if?’ I regret not being better. Not being more.”

  They looked at each other, so close, shoulder to shoulder. Then Lianne said, “Maybe this is more. You and me here, now. Maybe this is more.”

  Velvet’s eyes filled with tears. She reached out and tentatively moved a hand toward Lianne’s face. To Velvet’s relief, the girl did not jerk away but let Velvet’s fingers touch her cheek. I haven’t touched this cheek since the day she was born. Lianne placed her fingers on Velvet’s and for a moment the time between then and now was erased.

  Then a commotion drew their attention as a new group of travelers entered the area.

  Velvet withdrew her hand. “He’s here.”

  Lianne stood. “He’s here.”

  Velvet’s stomach clenched. John wanted to see Lianne, and she, him. All was right with the world.

  And yet . . . Velvet sensed the world was changing for all of them. Forever. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for it. She’d done nothing to prepare herself for such a change. Her life had been all about beating back change, beating back memories, not accepting change or embracing the past.

  Lianne grabbed Velvet’s arm. “There he is!”

  John saw them and waved, and there was no time for more nervous what-ifs. When he was close, he hugged Velvet but hesitated with Lianne. He extended a hand. “Hi again.” Then he laughed. “Can you tell I make my living with words?”

  “I’m not sure there are any words for this situation,” Lianne said.

  “Or perhaps there are thousands.”

  “What do you think?” Velvet asked Lianne.

  “I think I’m not prepared for this.”

  Velvet slipped a hand around her arm. “None of us are, Lianne. None of us.”

  “So,” John said. He pointed at his rolling suitcase. “This is all I’ve got.”

  “So,” Velvet repeated. “Are we ready to do this?”

  “First things first,” John said. “Food. We need food and lots of it. I’m buying.”

  That would work.

  | | | | | | | | | | |

  John dipped another chip in the salsa and ate it. Lianne did the same. Then Velvet. Dip, crunch, chew. Dip, crunch, chew.

  Going to a Mexican restaurant was a good idea. The free chips served before their meals gave them something to do. They’d already devoured one bowlful.

  Yet something had to stop the rhythm. Someone.

  Velvet pushed the bowl of salsa away. “No more. If this keeps up I won’t have any room for my real food.”

  John raised his hands in surrender. “You’re right. Self-control.”

  Lianne sat back in the booth, also relenting. “‘My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.’” She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “You said that. In your book.”

  “Wow. Good memory,” Velvet said.

  “Great memory,” John said, “but actually, that’s a quote from Jack Kerouac. I used it in my book because I believe it’s true. I was not a role model for self-control.”

  “Are you now?” Lianne asked.

  “Is anyone? Completely?”

  Lianne straightened her silverware.

  Velvet thought of another quote. “Didn’t Shaw say, ‘Youth is wasted on the young’?”

  “It doesn’t have to be, does it?” Lianne asked. “We can get it right. It’s not inevitable we make stupid choices.”

  Considering Lianne was pregnant and unmarried, Velvet thought the statement revealed one of the main problems of youth—cockiness. Or the false sense of invincibility. She couldn’t let Lianne get away with it. “Are you implying you chose to get pregnant? that you think it’s a good idea?”

  To her credit, Lianne blushed. “It just happened.”

  “By magic?” John asked.

  The way Lianne rolled her eyes made her appear even younger than her years.

  “So you knew what you were doing.”

  Lianne hesitated. “That’s a trick question.”

  “How so?” John sat up straighter and Velvet remembered this particular glimmer in his eyes, his I’ve-got-you-now look.

  Lianne curved her hair behind her ears, readying for battle. “If I say I didn’t know what I was doing by having sex, then I come off as an ignorant youth, but if I say I did know but chose to ignore the possible consequences, then . . .”

  John lowered the flat of a hand to the table, quietly, but firmly. “Then you reveal your lack of self-control.”

  Not wanting a conflict to come between them so early in their knowledge of one another, Velvet stepped in. “That happens a lot. We know what could happen but choose to go ahead anyway.”

  John nodded. “We lose our self-control and we mistakenly believe—even for a minute—that we are immune from the consequences.”

  Lianne pulled her hands into her lap. “So my birth was a consequence, evidence of a lack of self-control on both your parts.”

  John moved his hand toward her, as if he wanted hers. But she made no move to take it. “Consequences are inevitable. No one is immune. And for my mistakes, I am sorry, and for the mistake I share with Velvet, just know I suffered consequences having nothing to do with you.” He looked at Velvet. “I was weak and didn’t do the right thing; I left your mother alone to deal with everything. It was a cowardly thing to do.”

  Velvet was touched. “But we might not have ended up married anyway.”

  “We’ll never know, will we? Maybe that’s the biggest consequence of any action: wiping out what could have been with what must be.”

  Lianne’s hands became mobile again, as did her face. “I know a solution. Marry her now. Make up for lost time.”

  Velvet drew in a breath.

  “Isn’t that why you’re here?” Lianne asked. “Because the flame is still smoldering?”

  Velvet cleared her throat. “Lianne, you’re jumping to conclusions. John came back for you, not me.”

  “Don’t you jump to conclusions,” he said quietly. To Velvet. Directly to Velvet.

  A warmth surged through her—and their food came.

  Good timing.

  ELEVEN

  No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him.

  1 CORINTHIANS 2:9

  “Good morning, sunshine.”

  Maya opened her eyes and saw Sal coming toward her with a breakfast tray.

  “Sit, sit,” he said. “Breakfast is served.”

  She pushed herself to a sitting position, rearranging the pillows against the headboard. Sal placed the legs of the wooden tray around her own. There were pancakes and syrup, a bowl of cantaloupe, a glass of orange juice, and a carafe of coffee.

  She rubbed her eyes, trying to force herself to full wakefulness. “I love pancakes.”

  He drew a cloth napkin off his arm and into her lap, then stepped aside like a butler with a completed mission. “Au contraire, madame, you love syrup.” He waved a hand over the food. “Eat, eat. Don’t let it get cold.”