“You never say much about the other two boarders. Do you see them often?”

  “No,” she said. “We pass in the hall sometimes, but we keep different schedules and neither of them has meals with Mrs. Howard.”

  He should order room service. Probably would if he had any appetite. Maybe later.

  “You’ve been in town, what, a couple of months, and you hardly know anyone,” John said, trying not to feel guilty about how much time she spent alone in that little room of hers.

  Not that he had any reason to feel responsible for any of her choices.

  “My studies are the most important thing right now,” she said. “I didn’t finish high school, John. The last class I attended was almost eighteen years ago. Going to lectures and taking notes, figuring out what’ll be on a test, classroom technology—that’s all new to me. Besides, I spend my days with kids my son’s age. I don’t have a lot in common with them.”

  Good. He felt better.

  “And I’m pregnant,” she continued, her voice softer, more vulnerable. “Until we decide how we’re going to present this to the world, or until I’m showing so much I can no longer hide the truth, it’s kind of necessary for me to keep my distance.”

  The guilt was back. In force.

  “You can present whatever you want to present. It’s your body.”

  “And your baby. What if people ask about the baby’s father? Like, is he still alive? Will he be helping me? What do you want me to tell them?”

  Nothing. He had no idea. That he was the father. No…nothing. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s what I thought.” There was no recrimination in her voice. “We’ve got a little more time. Maybe it’ll become clearer to you.”

  And in the meantime, his indecision, his issues and struggles, were holding her hostage.

  “I’m not all that eager for people to know, either, to be honest.” Could the woman read his mind? “It’s hard enough being new to town, new to school, without having everyone know right off that I’m also pregnant—with no husband in sight.”

  “Does Ellen know?”

  “Yes, although not who the father is. And for now, she’s keeping quiet about the baby.”

  Ellen would. She might be young, but she’d be a good friend to Caroline.

  “How did things go for her in court today?”

  She sighed, and John wondered where she was. Sitting at her desk? Propped up against pillows on her bed? It was almost five in Shelter Valley; she’d be having dinner soon.

  “Good, I guess, although how you define something like that as good, I don’t know. The best thing was there was no press. She cried once, but she got through it. Only the prosecution’s questioned her so far. She’ll have to go back for the defense.”

  And that would be much harder. They weren’t on her side.

  “Thank God she has Aaron.”

  “And a loving family,” Caroline added. “And an entire town that adores her.”

  Support that John hadn’t had when he lost Meredith. Once he’d married her, he hadn’t thought he needed anyone else.

  And then something else occurred to him.

  “If you went to court, you met some of my friends today.”

  He would’ve liked to be there, and yet he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if he could be open about his association with Caroline Prater. He had Lauren to think about.

  Or so he told himself.

  “Not really,” she said. “Most of them couldn’t be there. I saw Martha and David, of course. Ellen introduced me to them. But I didn’t hang around.”

  “What did you think of Martha?”

  “I liked her. She doesn’t put on any airs. Or pull any punches. If I were in a battle, I’d want her on my side.”

  John nodded. “You’re a good judge of character.”

  “Probably comes from being silent for so many years,” Caroline said with a dry chuckle. “Keeping my eyes open and my mouth shut.” It was an uncharacteristic response, but he figured it was the kind of acerbic observation she made often—silently.

  He liked it.

  Which brought back the day he’d just had, the fear he’d experienced, the reason he’d picked up the phone and called her when he’d told himself he wasn’t going to.

  Night had fallen, wiping out any sight of the water or the ships passing by. Wiping out most evidence of people and life down on the streets. His universe had become this elegantly appointed room looking out over a world of darkness and lights.

  “I visited Meredith’s grave today.”

  “She’s buried in Chicago?”

  Green lights rimmed a skyscraper in the distance. John stared at it, planning to sit down soon. Take off his tie and his shoes. Maybe have a drink.

  Just one.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is that where you two lived or where she was from?”

  “Both.”

  “So you’re home.”

  Technically, maybe.

  “I grew up here,” he said, “but I don’t have family here anymore. I have a small office and the people I work with, but Shelter Valley is home, now.”

  The tightening in his stomach eased, as though saying the words validated something inside him.

  “So how’d it go?”

  “How’d what go?” But he knew. And as he’d discovered, he wasn’t ready to talk about it. He shouldn’t have called.

  “The visit with Meredith.”

  Unexpected tears stung his eyes. He had visited his wife, not her grave, not the headstone and the few feet of land beneath which her remains lay. But he hadn’t needed to go to a cemetery to do that. It was all in his head, anyway.

  “I told her about you.”

  She was silent. If he was going to tell her, he should’ve waited to do it in person, when he could see her face. Although Caroline’s expression didn’t give away any more than her silence did.

  And suddenly, he was sitting in the armchair in a room lit only by one dim lamp, talking. About Meredith. His life with her. And without her. About how he used to talk to her all the time, and hardly talked to her at all anymore. About how he knew he was really just talking to himself, thinking things through. About how much he missed her.

  “I told her about the baby.”

  “And did you tell her how guilty you feel that she’s not the one carrying it?”

  “I don—”

  “John, it’s okay.” If it was possible to send compassion through a phone line, she’d just done it. “Really.”

  “That’s not the only thing I feel guilty about,” he muttered.

  “What else?” Her voice had a soft quality to it that he hadn’t heard before—but he suspected that her son, Jesse, would recognize it.

  “You,” he said. “I feel guilty because of us.”

  “There is no us.”

  “Not in a romantic sense,” he agreed. “But there’s still an us. Because there’s a you.”

  “What does that mean?” Her tone had grown thin.

  “I don’t know.” Yet maybe he did. Where he used to talk to Meredith, he now looked to Caroline; where he used to trust Meredith’s judgment, he now trusted Caroline’s. It wasn’t something he could talk about, wasn’t something he felt comfortable with.

  “I meant it when I said I don’t ever want to get married again,” she told him, her voice growing stronger with conviction.

  John stared up at the shadowy ceiling. “I understand,” he assured her. “I feel the same way.”

  He wanted to break the silence that fell then. Searched for the right words, some statement that would let them back out of this door he’d just opened.

  “I’m pretty stretched to my limit right now, John.” Her voice startled him. It came slowly, with obvious difficulty. “I can’t handle any more complications.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “So let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

  He hadn’t heard anything so good in a long time.

  Unless he considered the sound of that little heart beating so rapidly in his ears a couple of weeks before.

  THE THIRD TUESDAY in March, while walking to her English class, Caroline was pretty sure she felt the baby move. It was too early—she was only fifteen weeks—but she was pretty sure, anyway.

  And for the first time, she really started to think about the little life inside her as more than a responsibility.

  Who are you, my baby? With one hand on her belly as she walked, her bag slung over her shoulder, she spoke silently to her child. What shall I call you?

  Would it be a boy or a girl? Another boy would be perfect—her years with Jesse had been the best of her life. She had boy clothes and had saved a lot of boy toys. She knew all about raising boys.

  The strange butterflies in her stomach continued and Caroline smiled, until a young guy dressed all in black leather with purple hair and silver chains adorning his body passed by and gave her a strange look.

  She’d love to have a little girl, too. Someone she could dress in pretty clothes. Someone who wouldn’t have to be ashamed of her mother’s tears or embarrassed by her joy.

  She could name her Sara. She’d always loved that name. Her one and only doll had been named Sara.

  And if it was a boy, Jacob. It was solid-sounding. Successful.

  She felt another little flurry of movement inside of her. And remembered that this baby had a father.

  Who might want to name him John.

  ON THE THIRD TUESDAY of every month, the “Shelter Valley Heroines”—whoever was available—met for lunch at Montford, sometimes in the faculty lounge, often outside at a picnic table. On this particular Tuesday, they met in Martha Moore’s office. Martha’s students had a big film production coming up and she’d missed more work than she’d have liked due to Ellen’s trial. She wanted to be available to her crew if they needed her.

  Phyllis offered to pick up salads for everyone on her way over.

  Beth, head of the Music Department at Montford, was dressed as usual in professionally casual clothes, her straight blond hair loose and falling around her shoulders. She was already there when Phyllis arrived. As was Tory.

  “How’s the mama?” Phyllis asked, smiling as she approached.

  Tory jumped up to help her with the plastic containers full of salads, handing the tuna to Martha, the Caesar to Beth, egg for herself and a garden salad for Phyllis. It was a small group today. Becca was at a one-day conference in Phoenix, Randi was supervising an intramural tennis match, and Cassie had emergency surgery at the veterinary clinic.

  “Fine at the moment.” Beth smiled. “But you better get that to me fast while I’m enjoying my fifteen minutes of appetite.”

  “Morning sickness got you bad, huh?” Martha asked, her brow creased with sympathy.

  Beth nodded, but was wearing a huge grin all the same.

  Phyllis felt an uncharacteristic moment of envy. She had her hands full with the twins—had two more children than she’d ever thought she’d have. There was no reason for her to want more.

  “I was that way with Shelley,” Martha said. “And as it turned out, of the four, she was my easiest baby. Hardly ever cried, slept through the night almost right away.”

  “How’s she doing?” Beth asked softly.

  “Okay.” Martha, sitting with them at the round table in a deserted corner of the studio, took a bite of tuna, chewing slowly. “Good, really. She’s completely cleaned up her act and she’s getting all As.”

  “How’d the doctor’s visit go?” Phyllis asked. They’d all encouraged Martha to get Shelley checked out after her association with a less-than-reputable crowd the year before.

  “Fine,” Martha said, her eyes more peaceful than Phyllis had ever seen them. “All clean.”

  “Thank God,” Tory whispered as she scooped up some egg salad.

  Beth nodded. She put down her plastic salad fork after only a couple of bites. “And the trial?”

  “Prosecution rests at the end of the week,” Martha said, fork suspended as her focus turned inward. “She’ll probably be called in Monday or Tuesday so the defense can question her.”

  Phyllis laid a hand over Martha’s on the table. “It’ll be okay,” she said. “She’s ready. She’ll do fine.”

  Martha’s eyes filled with tears, which caused all three of the other women present to exchange glances. Martha was their staunch heroine. “I’m not going to let them make it look as if what happened was her fault,” she said. “She already struggles with enough guilt.”

  “I know.” Phyllis said. Although Ellen had a therapist in Phoenix, Phyllis had talked to her enough to be well aware that the girl was struggling. Not that she would’ve needed to talk to Ellen to know that. A young woman didn’t go through a rape and not struggle with it.

  “Ellen’s on her way to recovery,” Phyllis said. “She’s had that trial looming over her for months and once it’s over…”

  Martha’s smile was slow in coming, but genuine. “She’s made a new friend,” she reported to her friends.

  Phyllis’s heart lightened even more. “There you go, then,” she said. “That’s a sure sign that she’s back with us. She’s reaching out—maybe ready to trust again.”

  Martha nodded, frowning, but not with disapproval. “I think she really does trust her,” she said softly, glancing over Phyllis’s shoulder to the cavernous room behind them. Turning, Phyllis saw that Martha’s crew was gathered around a sound board in a little glassed-in room across from them.

  “She asked her to attend the trial last week,” Martha continued.

  “Did she go?” Tory asked, eyes wide with apprehension. Someday Tory was automatically going to expect the best out of people, out of life. Phyllis was determined to see that happen.

  “Yeah,” Martha said.

  Beth picked up her fork, speared some greens and held them a couple of inches from her mouth. “So you’ve met her?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “And?” Phyllis wondered at the hesitation in her friend’s demeanor. Surely Ellen, who was so careful, wouldn’t choose her friends unwisely.

  “She’s older.”

  “How much older?”

  “I don’t know. Our age.”

  Phyllis grinned. “That could be anywhere from mid-twenties to late forties!”

  “Your age, then,” Martha said with a chuckle. “Maybe a year or two younger. And she usually dresses in a way that’s, I don’t know, out of it.”

  “Out of it how?”

  “Oh, polyester stretch pants that my grandmother might wear and an old button-down calico shirt that looked like someone’s kitchen curtains. And she had on cowboy boots.”

  Phyllis felt the look Tory was giving her. “Her name wouldn’t happen to be Caroline, would it?” Phyllis asked.

  Martha turned toward her. “Yes, why?”

  “She was watching Phyllis and me one day when we were sitting on campus talking,” Tory said. “It was the day I found out about Alex.”

  “She’s one of my students,” Phyllis quickly added. “I don’t know a lot about her, other than that she appears to have a new wardrobe. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Is she a good student?” Beth asked, chewing slowly. At the rate she was going, she’d be through with her salad by dinnertime.

  And still, Phyllis was envious.

  “In my class, she is.”

  “I’m sure she’s okay,” Martha said. “It’s just kind of…weird.”

  “Did Ellen say where they met?”

  “No,” Martha said, frowning again, and then her expression cleared. “But since she’s a student here, I’d guess they met on campus. It would make sense. Ellen doesn’t feel she has a lot in common with the kids her own age.”

  They all nodded, gave a moment to their salads, and then moved on. To Tory, and the imminent court date that would make her Alex’s official mom.

  HAVING SPLURGED on a tuna sandwich for lunch, to celebrate Sara/Jacob’s movement that morning, Caroline was feeling almost peaceful as she enjoyed the balmy March weather on her way to Psychology class Tuesday afternoon. She could have eaten the peanut-butter crackers and banana she picked up at the bargain-priced grocery outlet in Phoenix over the weekend. She now had an entire case of crackers in her closet at Mrs. Howard’s. They were high in protein. She had fruit cups, too.

  But just for today she’d spoiled herself.

  And Sara/Jacob.

  The sun was shining, and the eighty-degree heat felt glorious on her skin, as though she was being gently held, caressed. Contentment bubbled up inside her. Coming to Shelter Valley had been the right decision.

  Sara/Jacob would have a safe, secure place to grow up. Caroline had a friend now and would eventually make more. As soon as she got settled, figured out how she was going to explain her baby, got her first set of grades…

  Jesse would eventually come around, too.

  She was holding her own in school. And John lived nearby.

  She could be happy here.

  Drawing herself up, Caroline glanced around, as though someone in the vicinity could have read her thoughts. Her happiness had nothing to do with John. Shelter Valley was a good choice where he was concerned only because her baby deserved to know its father.

  A couple of girls brushed past her on the walk. They were both wearing low-cut jeans and tops that didn’t quite cover their bellies. One of them was swearing.

  It could work, living with Sara/Jacob in Shelter Valley. Cutting across the lawn, past one of many latticework gazebos, toward the Psychology building, Caroline wove one of her stories….

  She’s dropping Sara/Jacob off at Little Spirits Day Care. Bonnie Nielson is there, dressed in a colorful sundress and flat sandals. She asks Caroline about a social at church. All the women who associate with Phyllis are involved. Caroline is organizing the food. Becca Parsons is helping her.

  Caroline had to wait for a cyclist with a backpack to pass and then crossed to the opposite side.

  She flipped ahead to the social itself. Everyone is there. The kids are all playing together. Sara/Jacob is about one and toddling around, being watched over by some of the older kids in town. John is speaking with a group of men across the room. He laughs and hearing his voice, she looks up from behind a table where she’s arranging some gourmet something that she’s made.