She chuckled. “Me, too. What do you suppose people will say when they notice I’m still here?”

“I don’t know what they’ll say about you but I think they’ll decide I’m less strange.”

“I’m not sure anyone thinks of you as strange,” she said, holding on to the arms that held her.

“They must. I even find myself strange. But right this moment? I find myself to be the luckiest man alive.”

“We should put on our pajamas and open the door to listen for Noah...”

“In just a little while,” he murmured. He turned her toward him and pulled one of her legs over his hip. “We can take a little more time.”

“Oh, Owen. I do love the way you touch me.”

“Good. I’m going to touch you every chance I get. Hannah, Hannah, you make my heart feel so full...”

“So far...this is an excellent idea. I think photography isn’t your only gift.”

A couple of hours later, still cuddling but pajama clad, Hannah opened her eyes to see Noah at the side of the bed.

“Hannah?”

“Noah, did you have a bad dream?”

“No, but I was done sleeping.” He yawned. “For now.”

“You can come in the bed but let’s take your braces off.”

“’Kay,” he said. “Hannah, is that Owen right there? What is he doing there?”

“Well, this is his bed I’ve been using so I imagine he’d like it back. And I don’t mind sharing,” she said, sliding off the braces. “Come here on my side. No, Romeo. You have to lie on the floor. There you go. Snuggle up, Noah. Close your eyes, please. I’m not done sleeping yet.”

“’Kay. You sure do fit a lot of people in this bed.”

“It’s better when it’s not too many,” she said. “Shhh.”

* * *

Helen said she was relieved and not at all surprised that Hannah and Noah stayed. “I figured you for a smart woman,” she said.

Leigh Shandon said, “I’m growing a nice little group of women friends. Maybe I’ll start a book club.”

At the thought of books, Hannah remembered that great shelf in Owen’s library of children’s classics, each one too long to finish on a short vacation. Treasure Island, Swiss Family Robinson, Alice in Wonderland, Watership Down, Where the Red Fern Grows, Peter Pan, all the Harry Potter books. Since they were only going to be here for a couple of weeks, she’d been reluctant to get into too many of the classics, though she fell in love with them. Beautiful paper, illustrated, leather-bound. Because she thought time was short, she’d done most of the reading. They were reading Treasure Island. “Help me read a little bit, Noah,” she said.

“I can do that,” he said.

Noah was able to read whole sentences even from this complicated book. He had done this before when he’d been reading his own books, but she assumed his books were so familiar to him that he did it a lot of it from memory. “Noah, you’re a very good reader!”

“Sometimes,” he said. “Not the real hard words.”

“Who taught you to read?”

“The teacher. And Linda. And Mom.”

“Wow! You’re amazing!”

He just shrugged. “I’m not that active.”

“You’re sure active here!” she said.

“I think it’s ’cause there’s no other kids,” he said. “When there are kids, I’m the slowest one.”

That stopped her for a second. But then she said, “That’s going to change, too. And when you catch up to the other kids, you’re going to be able to read!”

“A little bit,” he said.

“Read me what you can of this page,” she said.

He barely stumbled. He sounded out phonetically the words he didn’t recognize. Sometimes they had to talk about the meaning. Owen came from his barn to sit on the porch and listen for a while. He smiled and nodded at Noah. After about ten minutes, Owen went back to the barn and Noah read with Hannah.

The temperature dropped, it rained a little and Owen made beef stew with biscuits for dinner, ice cream for dessert. Instead of sitting on the porch, they found a movie and lit the fire. When Noah was in bed, Hannah snuggled up against Owen in the great room.

“Did you hear how brilliant Noah is?” she asked him. “I don’t know anything but I bet he’s reading at a fourth-or fifth-grade level. He’ll turn six before the end of the year, but c’mon, he’s only five! You are so smart to have some kids’ books. I guess that’s for the families that rent your house...”

He was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t buy them for future rental guests. I bought them for my son,” he said. She slowly turned her head and looked up at him. “I have some things to tell you,” he said. “Some things that are going to be hard to hear.”

New beginnings are often

disguised as painful endings.

—Lao Tzu

7

“His name was Brayden and he was the victim of a violent crime when he was seven years old. He was kidnapped from the sidewalk in front of our house. Well, two doors down. I was in the open garage. I never heard a car. He never yelled. His body was recovered eighteen months later. That’s when I left California. And I haven’t been back.”

“Owen,” she whispered after a long moment of silence.

“I know. It’s horrendous, I know.”

“It must be so hard to talk about it,” she said, giving his cheek a gentle stroke.

“I can talk about it. What’s hard is watching someone hear about it. Especially someone I care for. I usually talk about it with people who already know—my mother, my sister, even my brother-in-law. I know it’s shocking...”

“It’s heartbreaking,” she said. “I don’t know how you survived it. Do people around here know?”

“No one has mentioned it. Nor has anyone asked me. This is a long way from LA but the case of Brayden Abrams missing, found murdered, then his killer’s arrest—all of that was at least regionally famous. And my ex-wife is still nationally known as an activist in child advocacy. She is still called Sheila Abrams even though she’s remarried. Not for me but for him. For Brayden. The short answer is—I don’t know who knows. I haven’t told anyone around here. For the reasons I explained. It changes the landscape of the friendship. Things become so awkward. Not for me—I live with that awkwardness every day.”

“Is that why you took to Noah?” she asked.

“No. I can honestly say no. I like children in general. I used to take pictures of kids—portraits, family pictures, school pictures, all that. From babies to graduating seniors. I’ve always gotten along better with kids and dogs than adult humans. Sheila said it was because I’m immature and hard to train. I hope she was kidding, but it’s possible... Ah, well, I think you know—Noah is special. Your friend must have been the most wonderful parent. And you’re wonderful, too.”

“I guess that’s why your marriage didn’t survive,” she said. “Whose could?”

“That’s a little more complicated,” he said. “We approached our loss in different ways, opposite ways. We were both devastated and, until he was found, terrified. I withdrew into myself. I hounded the police, studied other kidnappings and searched. I looked everywhere—on playgrounds, malls, diners, alleys, in dumpsters. I didn’t work, I roamed. Sheila went public, spiking awareness, bringing attention to the danger, the problem, the vulnerability of innocent children and she was brilliant at it. To be fair, she’d always been brilliant in front of an audience and I’ve always hidden behind the camera, an observer. Sheila is a lawyer and she’s incredible. And I’ve always been... I’ve always been like I am—someone who watches.

“She wanted me to join her in her crusade to bring awareness to the problem so that something positive could come of it, even if it saved only one child. But that wasn’t my path. Grief is a poison and every human being has a unique approach to purging that poison. I wanted to feel that same fire Sheila felt but all I felt was despair. Sheila is now one of the most well-known advocates for lost and stolen children in the country. She’s a highly paid speaker, a media personality, a lobbyist. She’s testified in front of Congress and written laws. I can’t describe how much I admire her.”

“You still love her,” Hannah said.

“I will always love Sheila,” he said. “But I’m not in love with her. I’m in love with you.”

She held her breath for a moment. “You can’t be sure of that.”

“I didn’t say that so you’d say you love me, too. It took me a long time to even be open to the idea of loving someone. Sheila was stronger and better at moving on—she married an attorney who is much more like her. He’s a former cop, a smart and socially conscious man. They worked together, fell in love, married, had a couple of kids. One of them will eventually run for office, I’d bet my kidney on it. But when I met you and Noah, I knew in a day I had found a woman to love. I wanted to love and protect you both.”

“But would you love me if I didn’t have Noah?” she asked. “Because you lost a child and Noah is so vulner—”

“So smart and vulnerable and funny and sweet, and that’s the scariest part for me. Can you imagine what would become of me if we lost him? It’s almost enough of a reason to deny myself a relationship with you! But I can’t. I knew in twenty-four hours that if I could somehow manage to be the man you wanted, I was in. But I also knew you’d have to be willing to live with this ghost of mine. I believe it’s called baggage and it’s hefty. I’m damaged—”

“No, you’re not,” she said. “No more than any of us. In fact, I think it’s what makes you special. I’m so sorry for what you went through but I don’t think of you as wounded. You’re gentle and kind and stronger than anyone I know. You’re good for Noah but you’re also good for me. Still, I think giving it at least the summer is a good idea—who knows what we might discover about each other once we dig beneath the surface? We deserve a chance to see if we can be good for each other.”