Ties That Bind. Marie Bostwick

admitted to Yale Law School. That was what had precipitated the move.

      “Melanie was a court reporter when we met, hadn’t even been to college, but she was already talking about law school. What with the baby and then our marriage and divorce and … well, a lot of stuff … it wasn’t easy, but she did it. And, hey! She got into Yale. That’s a big deal. I got my degree from Chuck’s Good Enough Law School.”

      “Sure you did.”

      “Michigan State. It’s a good school, but it ain’t Yale. Yale doesn’t admit just anybody. Certainly not guys like me.”

      “If you go around saying ‘ain’t’ all the time, I’m not surprised.”

      “You think? Maybe that’s what went wrong with my application.” He smiled. I liked Paul Collier. I liked his modesty and his sense of humor.

      “According to our custody agreement, I could have stopped her from moving out of state, but,” he shrugged, indicating that the idea had never really been worth considering, “after she worked so hard, that wouldn’t have been fair. And it wouldn’t have been right to have James so far away from his mom either. So, here we are.” He tossed back the rest of his water.

      I’d only just met Paul, but his decision to move for the sake of his son and ex-wife said a lot about his character.

      “Say, I’m hosting a little New Year’s Eve party for the junior high youth group. Seven o’clock. We’ll have pizza, games, even set off a few fireworks. Do you think James would like to come? Tell him it’ll be my first time meeting the kids too.”

      “That’s nice of you, but … I don’t know if I’ll be able to talk him into it. He’s been kind of a pain since the move.”

      “Tell him about Clementine. No twelve-year-old boy is going to pass up the chance to meet a dog the size of a horse.”

      “You know, that might just do the trick. I’ll give it a try.”

      He grinned, which made him almost handsome, but maybe that was just his personality. He seemed like a sweet guy. He said he’d been divorced for six years. I wondered why he was still single. Clearly I wasn’t the only one who was wondering about him. Jeannine Baskins and Andrea Rizolli were standing together in the corner, whispering and casting furtive glances in our direction.

      “Well,” I said, looking at my watch. “We’d better get back to it. Nice chatting with you, Paul.”

      “Thanks. Me too,” he said as the group started moving back toward the circle of chairs. “I’ll see you Friday.”

      “Friday?”

      “When I drop James off for the party?”

      “Oh, right. Drop him off at eight.” I nodded quickly, feeling stupid. “And you can pick him up just after midnight.”

      By the time I stowed the folding chairs, wrapped up the leftover cookies, washed out the coffeepot, turned off the lights, locked up, and drove to the hospital, it was almost nine o’clock. At that hour, the hospital corridors were nearly empty, but as I hustled down the hallway, I heard the sound of familiar voices and tears, tears that turned to sobs. Fighting back a sensation of sickness tinged with panic, I quickened my pace. It couldn’t be Olivia, could it? Only four hours had passed since I’d left, and everything had seemed fine then. Olivia was a fighter, just like Trina said.

      The sound of my steps rang off the linoleum floors and in my ears, mixing with the sound of sobbing that grew louder as I approached the end of the hall, rounded the corner, and entered the waiting room.

      My heart sank, seeing exactly what I had most feared—Dr. Bledsoe, looking exhausted and at a loss as he watched the Matthews family crying and clinging to one another like shipwrecked mariners hanging on to rocky cliffs in a stormy sea, hanging on for the hope of life and the fear of death.

      “What happened?” I asked quietly, addressing the doctor.

      Margot answered for him, lifting her head from her father’s shoulder, her nose red and running, her eyes shimmering with tears. “She’s awake! She’s going to live!”