For the Girls' Sake

chapter EIGHT

ALTHOUGH NOT MORE THAN a few months old, this library book was already well read, the pages opening easily to the beginning.

"Not all princesses are beautiful," Lynn read. "In fact, some are plain. A few are even ugly."

A child curled on each side of her. Rose sucked her thumb; Shelly held tight to her flannel blankie. Both were rapt on the simple watercolor drawing of a truly ugly princess whose tiara crowned a head of lank brown hair.

She read on, their small bodies warm, their giggles sweet to her ears. Both girls smelled of soap and minty toothpaste. They wore nighties and fluffy socks to keep their toes warm. When she finished and asked if they wanted another story, two vigorous nods were her answer.

Since they’d visited the library just that afternoon and chosen twenty books, she imagined story time would go on for a cozy half hour or more. It was her idea of bliss.

The only mildly discomfiting note was

Adam’s presence, and she didn’t find it nearly as disturbing as she would have a month before. Familiarity bred...well, not indifference, unfortunately, but something almost as good: near trust. Even liking.

This was the fourth visit since they’d agreed on these overnight stays. Counting, Lynn realized in amazement that over three months had passed since that first time when Adam had walked into her bookstore with Rose holding his hand.

Tonight he was reading in what she’d learned was his favorite chair, brown distressed leather with wide arms and a big ottoman for his feet. The newspaper rustled as he turned pages. Once, when the girls got a good belly laugh from the story, Lynn glanced up and saw him smiling as he watched them over the paper. A month ago, his smile would have died. Now their gazes met in mutual understanding and even a degree of warmth before she turned the page and continued the story.

The third book told of a boy’s relationship with a beloved uncle who was a navy captain. It was about the celebration of homecoming and the sadness of goodbyes. When Lynn closed the book, Rose took her thumb from her mouth.

"I don’t want you to go tomorrow."

Lynn wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. "Oh, sweetie, I’m going to miss you, too."

"How come you have to go?"

The newspaper had quit rustling. Aware of Adam listening, Lynn said, "We live in Otter Beach. If I’m not there, who will open the bookstore?"

"Can’t we stay longer, Mommy?" Shelly asked from her other side.

Lynn let the book slide to the floor and put her other arm around her daughter. "You know we can’t, sweetie."

"But why?" Shelly pleaded.

“These are just visits. Rose and Adam will be coming to see us soon. Maybe we can all make a sand castle again. Remember the first time?"

"Can we go tomorrow, Daddy?" Rose begged.

Adam lowered the Oregonian. "No, Rosebud, we can’t. You know I have to work. Grown-ups have responsibilities."

She cried passionately, "I hate ’sponsibil...bil..."

"Let’s enjoy the visit while we can," he suggested. "We have fun when Lynn and Shelly come to stay. Don’t spoil it by being sad. The boy in the story Lynn just read to you wasn’t always sad when he was with his uncle, even though he knew he’d have to say goodbye, was he?"

She pouted, teardrops trembling on her lashes. "No," she finally whispered, tremulously.

The telephone rang and Adam groaned.

Picking it up, he said, "Yeah? Oh, Mom. Hi, how are you?" After a moment, he nodded. "I’ll put Rose on for a second."

He crossed the room and handed Rose the cordless phone. "Say hi to Grandma McCloskey."

Not his mother, then, but Jennifer’s.

Rose whispered a shy hello. After a moment she said, "I have a friend here. We’re listening to stories."

Adam’s hand shot out. "Okay, say bye now."

"Daddy says I gotta go. Bye," she managed to say, before he whipped the phone out of her hand.

Covering the mouthpiece, he said, "I’ll go talk out in the kitchen."

"My grandma calls, too," Shelly told her friend. "She’s comin’ to see us."

“At Christmas," Lynn agreed. "In fact, she’ll be here in only seven days."

"My grandma comes at Christmas, too. She says she’s gonna bring lots of presents." Rose sounded satisfied if not excited.

"My grandma, too!"

From the kitchen, Adam’s voice rose in an angry rumble. "What are you saying? Are you threatening me?"

To cover it, Lynn said brightly, "I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we take the books up and read some more stories in Rose’s bed?"

"Okeydoke," Shelly said, hopping up with alacrity.

"But maybe Daddy wanted to listen," Rose said more doubtfully.

Lynn wrinkled her nose. "It sounds like your daddy is talking to someone else now. He’s kind of mad, huh? Does business make him that way? He can come upstairs when he’s done."

He did appear eventually, after ten or twelve more books. Both girls were getting sleepy, and when Lynn saw him in the doorway she set down the book. "Bedtime."

"Read another one!" Shelly protested, but the words slurred.

"Dream a story," Lynn murmured. "About an ugly princess and..."

"No, a beautiful one," Shelly interrupted. "’Cuz I’m beautiful, aren’t I?"

Rose took her thumb from her mouth. "Me, too."

"You’re both beautiful." She kissed them and stood up, passing Adam mid-room.

She went downstairs without pausing, leaving Adam to tuck their daughters in. Turnabout, she thought, even as she missed the quiet ritual of switching on the night-light, smoothing the sheet over the blankets, breathing in the sleepy essence of two small girls as she touched her lips to smooth foreheads. She’d had all evening. From the rage she’d heard in his voice and the tension in the set of his shoulders, he needed any comfort they could give him.

They’d had dinner earlier with Rose and Shelly, but she poured two cups of coffee and helped herself to a second, sinful slice of lemon meringue pie from the bakery. When Adam came into the kitchen, she waved the knife at the pie. "Would you like a piece, too?"

"What? Oh. No."

She put the pie in the refrigerator. He was leaning against the island, frowning into space.

"Is something wrong?" Lynn asked.

His glower turned her way. "Wrong?"

"You were...um, yelling."

His eyes seemed to clear as if he were noticing her for the first time. "Oh, no. Could you hear everything?"

"Just something about a threat. I don’t think the girls did."

His head bowed suddenly and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "That was my mother-in-law. As you probably gathered. They figured out that Shelly must be visiting, and they wanted to come over. If not tonight, tomorrow."

"You said no."

Adam swore. "They’d swarm over her like yellow jackets on jam. I can’t make them understand why we should move slowly. They only know one thing—they want their granddaughter. Jenny is gone, and Shelly is all they have left, Angela keeps saying. She’s like a broken record." He breathed out heavily.

Pie and coffee forgotten, apprehension rising, Lynn asked, "What did you mean about her threatening?"

His gaze met hers, and she read in it both apology and anger. "She says they’re considering filing for a court order giving them visitation rights if not custody."

"Custody?" Lynn sagged back a step.

"They wouldn’t get it." His face looked haggard, but his voice was strong. "We’re the parents. I’m behind you. Their lawyer will tell them to forget it."

"But they might get visitation."

"I don’t know." He hammered his fist on the tile countertop. "I can’t believe them!"

Perhaps the time was coming, Lynn thought, when they would have to tell Rose and Shelly the truth. Would it really be so hurtful now? If they were assured that nothing would change? "I understand how they must feel. It’s not so different than what we’ve both gone through."

"They’re a complication we don’t need."

"No." Lynn managed a smile of sorts. "I poured you some coffee."

She took her own to the table in the nook, and after a moment Adam followed her. This was only the third night she’d spent in this house, and yet these few minutes after the girls had gone to bed already felt familiar. They couldn’t talk in front of Rose and Shelly. This was their time.

They sat in silence for a moment, Lynn making a production of stirring sugar into her coffee. Then unexpectedly, Adam said, "I wish you weren’t going tomorrow, too."

She quashed a momentary thrill. He didn’t mean her, he meant Shelly. "These visits have been nice, haven’t they?"

"You’re good with them."

She sneaked a look. The lines still between his brows, he was staring down into his coffee as if waiting for pictures of the future to form.

"Thank you."

"You ever considered opening a bookstore in Portland?"

"And competing with Powell’s?" The famous bookstore filled a whole city block. "I don’t think so."

He frowned at her. "If you lived closer, we could see our daughters more often."

"You could move to Otter Beach."

"You know that’s impossible," Adam said impatiently.

What was this all about? "I have an established business," she said reasonably. "Moving wouldn’t be any easier for me."

"What if you could find a bookstore for sale over here? Or a good location to start one up?"

She set down her fork. "You’re serious."

"Yes." He took a swallow of coffee. "Aren’t you getting tired of these teary goodbyes, too?"

"Of course I am, but..."

"But what?" He leaned forward, his expression persuasive. "Think about it. Will you do that?"

"Do you have any idea how tough it was to start up a small business?"

Adam opened his mouth, but she overrode him.

"Without my parents’ help, Shelly and I would have starved," Lynn said fiercely. "Ninety percent of small businesses don’t make it. I did. And you want me to throw that away. Start all over. It’s just not that easy!"

He wasn’t ready to give up yet, she could see. He still leaned forward, intent on his perfect plan. "What if you found a going concern that’s for sale? Portland has plenty of suburbs that support bookstores."

"Sure it does. Some of those stores are a lot bigger than mine. I couldn’t afford them, even assuming I could conveniently find a buyer for my store at the snap of my fingers. Others...well, independents are being driven out of business by the hundreds. Thousands. On-line booksellers like Amazon.com are taking a lot of business. That’s bad enough, but as you pointed out yourself, in a metropolitan area like this I’d have to compete for what’s left with big-name bookstores like Barnes & Noble.” She pushed away her half-eaten pie, her appetite gone. "Take a look. Either the independents are big enough to compete, and are therefore out of my league, or they’re on the verge of bankruptcy. Trust me."

Adam sat back, his dark eyes not wavering from her face. After a moment, he said, "You could get a job."

"Sure I could. Working for someone else. Hey, maybe if I was lucky Powell’s would hire me to be a manager at one of their smaller branches! That would be a thrill after owning my own store."

His mouth twisted. "All right. You’ve convinced me. Bad idea."

"I am tired of saying goodbye. It’ll get worse once Rose knows I’m really Mommy and Shelly thinks of you as Daddy. But what can we do?" Now she was pleading with him. "We have responsibilities."

"Sure we do," Adam said flatly. "One of mine is going to be pacifying Jennifer’s parents, convincing them to be patient."

She’d almost forgotten. "If you talked to them first, wouldn’t they be satisfied just meeting Shelly? For now?"

He closed his eyes wearily. "If only she didn’t look so much like Jenny."

"I’m sorry." She bit her lip. "I forget."

A razor edge of pain showed in his brown eyes. "I don’t."

Had his wife known how much she was loved? Once upon a time, Lynn had fooled herself into believing she and Brian were in love, but even then she had known they weren’t soul mates, meant for each other through the centuries. But he was handsome, and he wanted to be with her, and he made her laugh. Love was supposed to grow, wasn’t it? The grandest kind, she had always believed, was in the quiet clasp of gnarled hands that had known each other’s touch for sixty years or more. Why couldn’t she and Brian have that, if they worked at it?

Now she knew better. Perhaps the grandest love was the kind ripened by half a century or more together, but people couldn’t endure each other that long, didn’t care enough to hold on through hard times, if what they started with wasn’t more heartfelt than "he wanted to be with me" and "he was handsome."

Adam, she guessed, had been lucky enough to know real love.

"You still miss her." Lynn touched the back of his hand.

"When I let myself."

His hand turned over, slowly, giving her time to withdraw. She didn’t. He gripped her hand gently, his so much larger, browner. Lynn lifted her gaze to see that he, too, was studying their hands.

"Tell me about your husband," Adam said unexpectedly. "Why did he think you’d been unfaithful?"

A sting of hurt cured her of any drift toward a romantic mood. She tried to yank her hand back, but he held on.

"I know you weren’t," he said. "Even I can see that you’re not the kind of woman who’d lie to her husband. So why couldn’t he?"

You’re not the kind of woman who would lie. A barrier of wariness inside her sagged and finally collapsed. Was it possible that her newfound trust was a two-way street? That they really could be friends?

"He never completely trusted me." Her fingers curled into a fist and Adam let her go. She tucked her hand on her lap, under the table. It seemed to tingle, as if he were still touching her. "Brian would accuse me of not loving him." She made a face. "I’d feel so guilty. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong. My mother and I love each other, but we’re not...not physically demonstrative. You know?"

Adam nodded.

"Maybe that was it, I’d think, and I’d force myself to hug and kiss even when it embarrassed me in public. But no matter how hard I tried, it was never enough. He’d come into the bookstore where I worked, and be mad because I was laughing with some customer. He’d decide we hadn’t really been talking about books, and accuse me of sneaking around behind his back. It was a nightmare."

"Was he abusive?" Adam asked quietly, but with a flat, dangerous note in his voice.

"No. Oh, no." She sneaked a look at his face, set in hard lines. Her nails bit into her palms. "Brian’s not that bad a guy. I just...lacked whatever it took to make him feel secure."

"You lacked?" Adam growled in the back of his throat. "Seems to me, he’s the one with the problem."

"I tried to tell myself that. Our marriage got harder and harder, the more I had to think constantly about what I was really feeling and how he’d interpret the way I was acting. Only, then one day I realized—" here was the hard part "—he was right. I didn’t really love him. Not heart and soul. The way he claimed to love me." Lynn shrugged with difficulty, the next words hurting her throat. "I shouldn’t have married him. I remember getting cold feet the night before the wedding, but how could I tell him I’d made a mistake then? And my friends all laughed and said everyone chickens out at the last minute, so I decided it was normal. But I think I’d been pretending from the very beginning. He’d say, ‘I can’t live without you,’ and I’d tell him the same, but because he expected me to, not because I had any understanding of what that meant. Until I had Shelly, I couldn’t imagine how it would feel to fear losing the one person in the world who was essential to me." Lynn met Adam’s gaze again in appeal. "I should have felt that way about him, too, shouldn’t I?"

"How old were you when you got married?"

Taken by surprise, she had to think. "Um...twenty-two. It was the summer after I graduated from college."

"That’s pretty young," Adam said conversationally. "Maybe too young to feel something so profound."

Unwilling to grasp such an easy excuse, Lynn challenged, "How old were you and Jennifer?"

"I was twenty-five, she was twenty-two, like you."

"Did you know, deep inside, that she was the one person for you?"

Adam moved in the obvious discomfiture of a man put on the spot. He rubbed his hands on his thighs, and the chair scraped on the floor. "I’m not sure men put things in such poetic terms," he finally said. "I wanted her to be my wife. To me, that was a commitment. Once you’re in it, you make it work."

Did that mean he disapproved of her because she was divorced? "I thought that, too. Brian was the one who moved out. I wasn’t giving him what he needed. I think," she said a little wryly, "he’d found someone who could. Although he hasn’t remarried. But it was my fault."

"Get real," he said bluntly. "If the jerk had really loved you, he’d have worked to earn your love, not tried to extract it by whining. He’d have been there with you through thick and thin, not hunting for what he ‘needed’ elsewhere. And he sure wouldn’t have abandoned you financially now, whatever came before. That’s not love, even past tense."

Lynn blinked, then smiled tentatively. "Thank you. I think."

"You’re welcome." The frown that had begun to seem perpetual had returned to his brow. He stood. "I’m going to call it a night."

Her gaze found the copper wall clock. Barely nine? What he really meant was, he’d had enough of their tête-à-tête.

"Good idea." She sounded as repulsively chirpy as a morning talk show host. "I’m in the middle of a book I’m enjoying. Here, just let me rinse this plate off..."

"I’ll finish cleaning up." His tone allowed no argument. In the confines of the kitchen, his sheer size unnerved her. Except for the three years with Brian, she had never lived with a man, much less one as large and imposing as Adam Landry.

Murmuring disjointed thank-yous and good-nights, Lynn fled. Somehow, she feared, she’d blown this conversation, either disgusting him or boring him, she didn’t know which. What had possessed her to go on and on about her marriage? Why not just say, Brian was the jealous type and I could never satisfy him? Why admit that her ex-husband’s suspicions had been right? Why bare her soul and confess her sense of inadequacy? And this to a daunting man who held a power near to life and death over her?

She peeked in at the girls and saw that Rose had scooted over to cuddle with Shelly. Both heads shared a single pillow. Tears stung her eyes at the sight of her two daughters, as close as the sisters they weren’t. Lynn went on to the bathroom and brushed her teeth with unnecessary force. In the guest room, she stripped quickly and pulled her nightgown over her head. Even between flannel sheets with a comforter pulled high, she felt cold.

And lonely, although she and Shelly wouldn’t drive away until tomorrow afternoon.

* * *

"MERRY CHRISTMAS, HONEY." Lynn’s mother heaped the last wrapped gift under the small Douglas fir that just fit in the corner by the window. Downstairs in the bookstore was another, more elegantly decorated tree, a Noble fir wrapped in gold and mauve. This one had tiny lights, a string of popcorn and handmade ornaments interspersed with a few red and green glass balls. Because Shelly had helped trim the tree, the ornaments were clustered where a three-year-old could most easily reach, but Lynn didn’t care.

"I’m so glad you’re here." She sat at one end of the couch and curled her feet under her, contentedly watching her mother. She began a wistful "I wish..." before thinking better of it.

But mothers had a way of finishing sentences. "Rose was here, too?"

Yes. Oh, yes, her heart cried. She said only, "I’d like you to meet her."

Irene Miller had her daughter’s hair without the red highlights, in her case cut short into a curly cap shot with a few gray hairs she ignored. A little plump, she was a placid, quiet woman who had seemed satisfied with her life as a single mother and secretary when Lynn was growing up. Lynn didn’t remember her ever even dating, so it had been a shock when she called, during Lynn’s sophomore year at the University of Oregon, to announce that she was engaged to be married. Hal Miller had been a guest lecturer at the university where she was a departmental secretary.

"He absolutely insisted I have dinner with him," she had said with a breathless laugh, as though still surprised at either his determination or her own willingness to be swept away, Lynn never knew which. "We’ve seen each other often since then."

Lynn had grown very fond of her stepfather, who had insisted this afternoon that Shelly was going to take him to the beach. He had winked conspiratorially over her head; today was Christmas Eve, and Shelly was beside herself with excitement. Wasn’t Grandma going to put presents under the tree? she’d asked twenty or thirty times. Mama had promised she could open one this evening. When could she open it? Now?

But she was young enough to be diverted, and the two had gone off very happily into a misty, chilly day, both so bundled up they looked as if they were heading for the Arctic.

Hearing other mothers whining about how their husbands never took over the child care and gave them a break, Lynn usually wondered why they wanted one. She enjoyed Shelly’s company. Shelly’s naps gave her a little time to herself. When she absolutely had to run errands without her daughter, baby-sitting was available. But she had to admit, in the week since her mother and stepfather had arrived, she was discovering how nice it was to have someone else cheerfully offer to go to the grocery store, whip up dinner or take Shelly away for an hour here or there. She could get spoiled.

Her mother rose easily, smoothing her slacks as she admired the Christmas tree. Then she came and sat on the arm of the couch beside Lynn. Although Lynn had told Adam the truth—Irene Miller’s warmth was in her smile and words more than in her rarely bestowed hugs—this time her mother put out a gentle hand and smoothed her daughter’s hair from her face.

"You said he might bring her for a visit next week."

"Yes." Lynn smiled with difficulty. "Of course."

Her mother studied her worriedly. "Will you get used to seeing her only sometimes? Or are you always going to regret that you didn’t share more of her life?"

"I don’t know." Lynn had wondered the same thing, but it wasn’t as if she had a choice. "What can we do?"

“You’re lucky that he wants only the best for both girls, too."

"I know I am," Lynn said on a sigh. "I was so sure at first that he’d try to take Shelly from me. But he really does adore Rose. He calls her his Rosebud, did I tell you that?" Of course she had. She’d talked of little but her newly discovered daughter this past week. Her mother must be getting sick of hearing her go on and on! But she couldn’t seem to help herself. "I think he really, truly does want the same thing as I do for the girls."

"Whatever that is," Mrs. Miller said softly.

Trust her mother to figure out how muddled Lynn’s dreams still were. But what could she and Adam do other than experiment until one day the routine was right?

"Do you think Shelly is ready to find out Adam is her father?" Lynn asked, as much for reassurance as in the belief her mother really had the answers.

Mrs. Miller made a face. "Is anyone ever ready to find out something like that?"

"I wouldn’t have been," Lynn admitted. "In fact..."

"In fact?"

She was sorry she’d begun. Or was she? Now that she had a child of her own, she wondered more than ever about her own father.

"Do you know, I used to imagine all kinds of things about who my father was."

Her mother stood and went to the tree, moving an ornament from one branch to another as if she’d suddenly noticed a lack of balance. Her back to Lynn, she said almost casually, "Oh? Who was he? A movie star?"

"That crossed my mind, along with a cowboy or a spy or Roberta’s dad. Do you remember him? He was...oh, a TV repairman, I think."

Mrs. Miller didn’t laugh at the very idea as Lynn had expected. In fact, she said nothing.

Twining her fingers on her lap, Lynn continued steadily, "But what I finally decided was that you’d gone to a sperm bank."

That one did get a reaction. Her mother spun around. "What?"

"Women do it." Lynn watched her carefully. "I thought maybe you were single and decided to have a baby. And that, well, you chose what qualities you wanted and didn’t know anything else about the donor. Which is why you never talked about him. My father."

Her mother’s laugh was semihysterical. "Oh, dear! Oh, I should have guessed that you might think of something like that." She seemed to sag, still standing there in the middle of Lynn’s tiny living room. "Do you want to know the truth?"

"Yes," Lynn said quietly. "I always have, you know."

But never so much as lately, she realized. Ties of blood weren’t necessary to love, she had discovered, but they did exert a pull she had never understood.

"He was a married man." Shame crept over Irene Miller’s cheeks, although she met Lynn’s gaze. "Not your friend Roberta’s father, although he might as well have been. It was...it was something that should never have happened. I suppose I was lonely...but that’s no excuse."

"Oh, Mom," Lynn whispered. "Things like that happen. He was the one who was married!"

Her mother’s chin lifted with conscious dignity. "I can only be responsible for my own decisions, and I knew better. I despised myself, but I was lonely and he was such a kind man! I thought his marriage must be in trouble." Her smile was faint and tinged with remembered bitterness. "But after a couple of weeks, when he’d said nothing about leaving his wife or our future, I realized that he had no such thing in mind. I was the one with foolish dreams. I quit my job—he was my boss. He probably started a...a fling with the next secretary. Very likely he made a habit of them."

"And you found out you were pregnant."

A single woman with no great job skills and distant parents who were unlikely to help, she must have been terrified.

This smile was more genuine, but her mother’s eyes were misty. "I never regretted what happened, not the way I should have, because out of it I had you. Please believe that."

"Oh, Mom!" Lynn catapulted off the sofa and wrapped her arms around her mother, who hugged her back although such embraces weren’t commonplace for them. "I do believe you, because I feel the same about Shelly. It scares me sometimes. I think that I should have realized I didn’t love Brian enough. I shouldn’t have married him. But if I hadn’t..." She shivered and pulled back a little. "Then I wouldn’t have Shelly."

An odd thought sifted into her mind. No, she wouldn’t have Shelly, but Adam would. The mix-up would never have happened that night at the hospital. Rose was the child who wouldn’t have been born. Quiet, sweet-faced Rose.

The very idea was equally unendurable.

A thunder of feet on the stairs gave warning before the door burst open and Shelly called, "Me and Grampa are home! Did Grandma...oooh," she breathed, when she saw the bright packages spilling out from under the tree. Puzzlement replaced the dazed joy in her eyes when she saw her

mother’s face. "Why is Mommy crying?"

"Oh." Lynn dashed at her cheeks. "Happiness. I’m just being silly, punkin." And feeling dizzily as if she had been remade in a new form. She had a father. She would never meet him, but now she knew, which seemed to matter.

Her daughter frowned. "But Grandma’s crying, too."

Hal Miller laid hands on his small step-granddaughter’s shoulders. "I think she’s crying from happiness, too."

"But I cry when I’m hurt. Or scared. Not when I’m happy," Shelly objected.

"Grown-ups do sometimes," Irene said. She gave Lynn another quick, spontaneous hug. "When they realize how lucky they are."

"Right." Lynn blinked back more tears that threatened despite her smile. "You know what, sweetheart? I think this might be a good time for you to open that present."

Shelly squealed and flung herself to her knees in front of the tree. "I want the best present!"

Hal, gentle, balding man that he was, ignored the undercurrents of emotion and settled onto the sofa with a smile. Lynn’s mother went down on her knees and joined her granddaughter in a colloquy about which present would be the most satisfying, considering she got only one tonight.

Lynn stood back and watched, fighting a strange desire to cry. She had a successful business, a home, her parents, and Shelly. It wasn’t as if her real daughter was abandoned in an orphanage or lived in a home without warmth and love. There would be a beautiful tree in Rose’s living room with ten times the presents under it that Shelly had. Her grandparents—perhaps both sets of grandparents—would be there tonight, and, best of all, her daddy would do everything in his power to insure that her Christmas was joyous.

Once upon a time, Lynn had only wanted to be certain her child was happy and loved. Why, oh why, was that knowledge no longer enough?

Why did grief swathe her in gray that took the glory out of the bright sparkling lights on the tree and the wondering "ooh" in her daughter’s voice as the wrappings gave way to her still-clumsy fingers? Why did she mourn, only because Rose was not here?