He smiled. “Of course you don’t.”

“What have you been doing these last three years?”

“So you’ve been counting down how long it’s been since you saw me last?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Max felt his body light up on the inside. “You sure about that? You sure you didn’t miss me even a little.”

“Maxwell Baldwine, you are just not that big a deal in my life.”

“Don’t make me call you a liar twice today, come on.” As he stared at her through low lids, she looked like she wanted to wrap that stethoscope around his neck and cut off his air supply—and how hot was that? “And as for what I was doing? Just driving around. Working odd jobs for petty cash. Seeing the country.”

“I was surprised you left without saying good-bye.”

“I had to.” He shrugged. “If I’d looked into your eyes one last time, I might have had to stay.”

She blinked. “Now, why have you got to be like that.”

“It’s the truth.”

They stared at each other for the longest time. And then he whispered, “For what it’s worth, which is not much, I know . . . the one constant on the road for me was lying back, every night, and picturing you as I fell asleep. You’re kind of like my northern star, you know? You followed me wherever I went—and you’re going to continue to do that.”

There was a tight silence. And then she said, “You know what I hate most about you?”

“The beard, I know.”

“Well, that’s my number two, actually.” She came over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. Then she brushed his hair back. “I really hate most how you always say exactly the right thing . . . at the wrong time—”

“Lane?”

At the sound of the croaked name, both of them looked at Miss Aurora. Her eyes were open and focused, and shockingly clear.

“I need Lane,” the woman said. “My boy . . .”

“Miss Aurora?”

“Miss Toms?”

With quick moves, Max jumped off the bed, and Tanesha scrambled for the nurse’s call button—but Miss Aurora wasn’t going to wait to start talking.

“I killed William,” she said. “I killed that sorry excuse for a husband and a father. I cut his finger off with m’ kitchen knife and then I put him in the back of my car and drove him down to the river.”

As Max froze, and so did Tanesha, Miss Aurora repeated everything she said, word for word. And then she added, “He got my boy’s wife pregnant. That Chantal woman. I couldn’t let it go on anymore. So I saw my chance and I took it. That man never belonged in that house, and he never should have been let stay that long. I need one of y’all to tell the police—Edward said he was putting himself in jail for me, and I didn’t want that. I don’t want that. Get him out and get me my boy before I die.”

THIRTY-FOUR

As Lane stood against her, Lizzie was stiff as a board. Of all the ways she had hoped this would go, his total shutdown was not it.

Heading over the Big Five Bridge from Indiana, she had alternated between daydreams: In one, Lane had felt an instant joy that wiped away all of his misgivings and disinterest, and in the other, he experienced nothing but a happy giddiness as they shared a special secret between only them.

Ah, rose-colored glasses.

Yup, there was a reason people enjoyed fantasies. They turned the buffet of life into an à la carte plate with nothing spoiled, slimy, or overcooked on it. It was mac and cheese, the perfect short rib, and fresh corn on the cob, every time. With chocolate cake for dessert. And a glass of ice-cold milk.

God . . . she had never thought she’d feel the need to put a stake in the I’m-keeping-this-baby territory.

When Lane eased back, she braced herself for him to hit her with all kinds of This will be fine, we’ll get through this together, blah blah blah—in other words, the stated position of a nice guy in a bad spot who was prepared to make the best of things.

Because he happened to love the woman he’d knocked up by mistake.

But that was not going to be enough for her. Not with something like this.

“Look, Lane—”

“What if I hurt it.”

The bleak words were such a surprise, she recoiled. And then she was shocked as he held his hands out, his eyes locked on them as if he were trying to read his future actions in them.

In that moment, the true extent of what he’d been through as a child crystallized in Lizzie’s mind. She had always known that William Baldwine was a bad man who’d been mean to his children—and if Lane had come from a poor background, her sympathy and understanding, her anticipation of what might be a trigger for him, would have been much more finely tuned.

Somehow, in her mind, the luxury of Easterly and the privilege afforded to him and his siblings had buffered the contours of the abuse.

This moment stripped all that away.

As his terrified eyes lifted to hers, he was practically begging for a life raft out of his past. “What if I’m my father?”

Lizzie grabbed on to his hands. “You’re not. Good God, Lane, you’re nothing like him. At all. You’re going to be a wonderful—”

“What if I ruin our child?”

Now Lizzie was pulling him against her and holding him tight. As she closed her eyes, she was so angry at William Baldwine, she could have kicked his grave.

“You won’t, Lane. I know you won’t.”

“How, though? How do you know that?”

“Because I love you, and I would never love a man who would hurt a child. It’s not you, Lane. And if you don’t believe me, it’s okay. Because time is going to prove me right.”

His arms came back around her, and they held each other for so long, her feet began to ache—not that she cared. She was prepared to stay here for however long it took.

“I’m so scared,” he said into her hair.

“And the fact that you are is simply one more sign you’re not your father.” She rubbed his back in slow circles. “It’s going to be fine. I just know it. We’re going to have this baby, and we’re going to love it and each other. And it’s going to be all right, I promise.”

“I love you.”

She closed her eyes and felt a relief—although not because he was so upset. No, she hated that. But this was a very different paradigm than him not wanting to have children. Lane was going to show up for her and the baby because that was the man he was at his core. He had proved it so over and again, with every curveball thrown at him.

“I love you, too,” she said. “Always.”

Back in the bedroom, a cell phone started to ring, but they both ignored the sound as he straightened and rubbed a hand down his face.

“Okay, so tell me.” He took a deep breath. “How do you feel?”

“Sick.” She smiled. “But that’s normal. I’m supposed to feel that way.”

“And how did you find out? I mean . . .”

“Like I said, I piddled on a stick.” She held up her forefinger to emphasize the point. “But not on my hand. Source of pride right there. And I waited until I saw the plus sign.”

“All alone?”

“Well, it was private.”

“I wish I had been there to see it with you.” Lane took her hand. “Hold up. I want a do-over.”

“What?”

He tugged her across to the tub, where he’d put the box down. “Let’s do it all over again. Come on. Let’s have the moment. Let’s do this.”

Lizzie had to laugh. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, I want to be there when you find out. To support you—and now that I’m getting over the shock-and-terror part, to, like, cheer. You know, husband stuff.”

“Well, I was going to retake the thing today.”

“So let’s do it right now.” He extracted the test and broke it open. “Let’s do this together.”

As he held the stick out to her, she took a deep breath and realized she was nervous. A lot of pregnancies were lost before women even knew they had conceived. What if she had miscarried the baby?