squeaky laughter peeled across the yard, an irresistible invitation, but still Max hung back, hugging his mother’s leg.
“Go play, Max,” Jessica urged.
He looked up at her. “I want to stay with you,” he insisted.
Sharon reached over and ruffled his hair. “What’s the matter, Superman? How come so shy all of a sudden?”
“There’s a strange man at our house,” Max announced solemnly, as if that explained everything.
Sharon’s cornflower eyes widened as she lifted her gaze to Jessica’s. One brow lifted. “How interesting.”
Jessica could see the curiosity in her friend’s eyes, but didn’t bother to explain. How could she, when she didn’t understand it herself? “Can Max stay over here for a little while, Sharon? It’s really important.”
“Well, of course. You know he’s always welcome.” She turned to Max and grinned. “Allie’s been trying to teach Snowflake a new trick. I think she could use a few pointers from Superman.”
That did it. Sharon knew exactly how to appeal to Max’s male pride. He took off toward Allie and the kitten, his red cape billowing in the wind.
Sharon returned her curious gaze to Jessica. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
Jessica sighed. “I’m not even sure I know. I just need some time to deal with…a problem.”
Sharon shrugged. “You know where to find me if you need me,” she said, and Jessica knew her friend wouldn’t pry any further. Sharon had learned a long time ago that Jessica wouldn’t talk about anything until she was ready.
Jessica turned back toward her house, stopping for a moment to take one last look at her son. Sharon had joined the kids, and all three of them were shrieking with laughter as the kitten rolled and tumbled and became hopelessly entangled with string.
As Jessica stood watching them, she had to fight the overwhelming urge to join them, to try to return her world to the nice, sane place it had been that morning when she’d gotten out of bed. But there in her friend’s backyard, with the sound of children’s laughter filling the air and the scent of spring flowers drifting on the breeze, the realization hit her full force.
Her world would never be the same again.
* * *
“Pierce?” Jessica called tentatively, feeling the strangeness of the name on her tongue. She felt a ripple of anxiety in the pit of her stomach, as if saying his name provided irrefutable proof that the stranger in her house was indeed her dead husband.
Jessica shoved open the swinging door to the dining room and stepped through, then went on into the living room. The room had been completely renovated nearly three years ago. The dark paneling Jessica had always hated had been replaced by Sheetrock painted a cool robin’s-egg blue and decorated with Allenburg watercolors she’d acquired through the shop.
Light from the French doors gleamed on the hardwood floors and highlighted the thick Aubusson rug she’d splurged on just last month. A grouping of chintz-covered sofas and oversize chairs flanked the brick fireplace, and the carved oak mantel held dozens of photos of Max, all lovingly displayed in antique pewter frames.
The pictures looked rearranged, Jessica thought, as if someone had picked them up one by one and hadn’t bothered returning them to their original positions. Her eyes moved to the curved staircase, upward to the sunny landing and beyond. Her bedroom was at the top of the stairs, a huge suite which took up most of the second floor except for Max’s bedroom. The third floor contained only a converted attic, which Jessica was in the process of turning into a game room.
The hair at the back of her neck prickled with unease. Somewhere in this house a stranger roamed, looking at her things, touching them, laying claim to them.
When Pierce had left, the only room that had been remodeled in the fifty-plus-year-old Georgian-style house had been the nursery. That same room had long since been transformed to accommodate a growing boy’s tastes and interests. Was Pierce in there now?
The thought unsettled Jessica more than she cared to admit. Her eyes lit on the phone, and suddenly she wondered if she should call the police, her brother, someone to help her deal with this situation.
She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall. No one could help her. No one could even comprehend what she was feeling at this moment. Even she didn’t understand. Because in spite of her fear, in spite of her questions and her doubts, one small part of her heart still rejoiced.
Pierce was alive!
The miracle she’d prayed for for so long had finally happened. She should be down on her knees giving thanks, except for one small detail. Jessica had given up believing in miracles a long time ago. Resolutely she opened her eyes and started toward the stairs, halting when she noticed the powder-room door off the foyer stood open.
“Pierce?” There was no answer, but still she crossed the hardwood floor and entered the small washroom, assuring herself that everything was intact. And then her eyes fastened on the mirror, saw her reflection, and she knew. Pierce wasn’t in there, but he had been. He’d gazed into that same mirror, saw his reflection, and he’d learned the awful truth about himself.
Jessica backed out of the bathroom, frantic now to find him.
“Pierce!” She called his name as she stood in the hallway. Colored light filtered through the leaded diamond panes in the front door and spilled onto the polished planks of the floor. The wavering, jewellike shadows drew Jessica’s gaze downward, then toward the source. The front door was closed, but the dead bolt had been drawn back, and now it was Jessica who had to face the truth.
Pierce Kincaid had walked out on her one more time.
Chapter Two
A little while later, Jessica sat on the window seat in the dining room and watched the street for her brother’s car. How long had it been since she’d cried? she wondered. Not since Max had been born. Not since she’d decided that never again would she depend on anyone but herself. Not since she’d vowed that she would never love again because everyone she’d ever loved had left her.
Except Max.
She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, hugging them close. It was an instinctive response to her pain and confusion. For the first few days in every foster home she’d ever been assigned to, Jessica had similarly retreated into herself, had hugged herself tightly as though recalling the feel of her mother’s arms around her. Finally, though, after so many homes she’d lost count, she could no longer remember her mother’s face, much less the warmth of her arms.
The orphanage had been better because at least there she’d had Jay. The two of them had clung to each other those first few months after their older sister, Janet, had left them there. Their mother had died, their father had disappeared, and eighteen-year-old Janet hadn’t wanted to be saddled with two kids, so one cold December morning, she’d dropped Jessica and Jay at the state-run orphanage in Richmond.
After a year, twelve-year-old Jay had gotten lucky. He’d been adopted by an aging couple in Washington, D.C., who had always wanted a son and realized they were too old to begin raising an infant.
Jessica hadn’t been so fortunate. She’d been plain and skinny with unruly hair and eyes far too big and too sad for her ten-year-old face. She’d been shy and sickly and had never developed much of a personality. No one had wanted such an unattractive child.
After Jay left, Jessica had been sent to one foster home after another. She’d bonded fairly well with the first couple, but when the man’s job had forced them to move out of state, Jessica had been emotionally ripped apart again. After that, she kept herself aloof, sustaining herself on sparse letters from her brother and on the even sparser memories of her mother.
And then, years