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  Hope wrote about how often she’d been tempted to contact him and how many times she could have used his shoulder to cry on. She told of how each time she started to call, she couldn’t, knowing it was too late—far too late.

  She had written him three letters—letters that she’d sealed but never sent. She still had them and enclosed them, unopened, for him to read and make his own judgment

  Together, she and Alisha had learned to make every minute, every second, count.

  Then, inevitably, the end had come. Far too quickly, far too slowly, Hope was forced to watch her beloved child waste away.

  Alisha had one day closed her eyes and died.

  Writing those words, seeing them stark against the cool white of the paper, Hope shuddered. She’d wanted to die, too. Much of the time after Alisha’s death would be forever blank to her, a time of despair and grief so all-encompassing she’d needed to be sedated.

  She’d gone to the coast to stay with her parents, taking a leave of absence from her teaching job.

  For a long time, she’d taken no joy in life. Nothing her concerned parents did helped. She’d lost weight; the very act of eating had become a chore. She forgot to style her hair, forgot makeup, and spent long hours lying on the beach soaking up the sun. Sometimes she thought she was hoping to fall asleep there in the sand and never wake up.

  There’d been a dream—she remembered it clearly, as if she’d actually lived it Alisha had come to her, wearing the wings of an angel with a shining gold halo as bright as her smile. It was Alisha as she’d been before the leukemia had robbed her of her strength. It was Alisha as she surely was now, in heaven.

  And Alisha had looked at her mother and had not liked what she saw.

  Waking, Hope had stumbled out of bed and found herself in front of a mirror. The hollow eyes of the gaunt cheeked woman she’d become seemed scarcely recognizable. Sometime in the darkest part of her grief, she’d chopped off her hair. She had taken the scissors to it herself and hacked relentlessly until she had nothing left.

  She’d looked, she thought, like a starving refugee just rescued from a life of deprivation.

  And the tiny spark that remained of the Hope she’d been rebelled. Alisha wouldn’t have wanted this. Her cheerful little girl wouldn’t have liked seeing her mother this way.

  Then, nearly eight months after her daughter’s death, Hope began to climb out of the abyss she had made.

  Finally, she had begun to heal. There would always be sorrow, always an empty place and an ache for the child she’d loved so much.

  Chewing on the end of her pen, Hope sniffled and wiped at her face with a tissue. She was sorry, she wrote. So sorry. It was not enough, she knew, it could never be enough, but there it was.

  Wishing she’d had enough nerve to tell Jeff to his face, Hope dropped a snapshot of Alisha inside and sealed up the envelope. She grabbed her purse and headed out the door to the post office. Best to get it in the mail before she lost her nerve.

  No one knew his heart was breaking. No one knew because he kept it hidden, keeping busy so that he didn’t have time to think, time to ache, time to cry— time to miss Hope.

  Despite what he knew she’d done, he missed her. The thought of never seeing her again, never touching her silky skin or hearing her sweet laugh, ripped his heart out. Sometimes he wished he could lose his memory again, at least the part of it that remembered to love Hope.

  He’d made a life here, a life without her. He’d thought he’d succeeded pretty well, until Hope had come back and helped him remember more than he ever wanted.

  He hadn’t been the only one to betray their love. Hope, his Hope, had betrayed that and more.

  Every time he saw a small child, he found himself wondering. Had their daughter been petite or chubby, sweet or sassy? Had her eyes been the color of emeralds or the velvet brown of a newborn deer?

  He mourned the child he’d never known and mourned the woman who’d stolen more than just his heart, and tried his best to turn his heart back to stone.

  A week went by, then another. On a quiet Friday afternoon, he stopped on his way home to buy beer, intending to try and make himself numb. When he picked up his mail, he saw the bulky letter addressed in Hope’s rounded handwriting. With shaking hands he held it, fighting the temptation to hold it up to his nose and inhale whatever trace of fragrance might linger on the paper.

  In a brief moment of panic, he thought of ripping it to shreds, certain any words from Hope would only tear down any barriers he had been able to construct But he couldn’t damn it he couldn’t He drove up his long driveway with it cradled in one hand, silent tears trickling down his cheeks.

  Uncertainty and doubt warred inside him. Ruthless, he pushed them away. Nothing in this letter could hurt him, he wouldn’t let it After all, she’d already hurt him beyond belief.

  Once inside, Jeff tossed down his truck keys and slit the envelope, turning the contents out onto the counter.

  A photo of a small girl, delicate and bright-eyed, slipped out. Slowly, heart pounding, he picked it up, studying it. This was Alisha—his daughter.

  She was golden blond, with a tiny heart-shaped face, and a happy smile. The picture must have been taken before her illness. He saw himself in her crooked smile, in the deep green sparkle of her eyes. The realization pained him beyond measure.

  With the back of his hand, he wiped the tears from his cheeks. He’d never known her. He never would.

  Studying her again, he tried to picture this child— this glowing, radiant elf, her beautiful hair gone. 111. No. He would not think of it, and he was glad Hope hadn’t sent another picture, a picture of Alisha in the throes of her illness. This one thing he could be thankful for. He could only imagine what agony it would be to lose a beloved child. The loss he felt now, not knowing her, could only be a fraction of what Hope had gone through.

  His hands trembled as he put the photo down, smoothed out the folded pages of Hope’s letter, and began to read.

  Chapter Twelve

  For the first time since she’d begun teaching, Hope got a summer job. Even though she had barely four weeks until school started, a friend of hers needed some help and didn’t mind if it was temporary. It was a simple job—working part time in Foley’s Department Store at the perfume counter. She needed to keep busy.

  Soon she realized it wasn’t enough, and signed up for an evening Spanish class at the local junior college. The class met on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The rest of the time, she sat by the pool, socialized, and tried to fill every second of every day. If she kept busy, she wouldn’t have to think.

  She longed for the end of summer, for school to start again. As July dragged into August and there was still no response from Jeff, she began to realize that she really would never see him again. Her letter had made no difference. She had written it much too late.

  Before she’d gone to Dalhart, she’d made a sort of uneasy peace with the past. Now she felt wide open, exposed, everything raw and hurting again.

  Because of Jeff. Because to him, his daughter’s birth, life, and early death had not happened years ago. Because she knew he felt the pain, the agony, as surely as if it were yesterday.

  School started in mid-August. Hope gave her notice at Foley’s and abandoned her half-hearted attempt to learn Spanish. She made her annual shopping expedition for new clothes, readied her classroom, and began her lesson plans.

  She ran to get her mail every day, unable to keep herself from searching through it for anything with a West Texas postmark. But nothing came. Perhaps it was a foolish wish to think he might forgive her. She couldn’t even forgive herself.

  The first week of the new school year was the usual jumble of confusion, frightened children, and adjustments to new routines. Hope made name tags for her new class of third-graders, a giant name tag for herself, and handed out lists of school supplies the children needed to purchase. By Friday, everyone was exhausted, including Hope, and she went into the weekend plan
ning to catch up on some sleep.

  Stopping at the video store, she rented two movies and grabbed a take-out pizza on the way home. When she got back to her apartment, she changed into her comfortable sweats, washed off her makeup, and put her hair up in a ponytail.

  She only would be by herself tonight. .. like every night.

  Suddenly the doorbell chimed and she looked through her peephole to see Jeff standing on her doorstep.

  Her first thought was panic. Hand to her throat, she backed off from the door. In all her wildest imaginings, she hadn’t conceived of this. She wasn’t prepared, she wasn’t ready.

  The doorbell chimed again.

  Hope rushed to the peephole, squinting through it again. Jeff stared at the door, dragging his hand through his already disheveled hair. He looked, she realized, every bit as bad as she felt

  Slowly, every nerve on fire, Hope shot back the dead bolt and opened the door.

  They faced each other for a moment. In worn jeans and a faded flannel shirt, Jeff looked huge and confused and too damn wonderful, all at once. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them back, willing them away.

  “Come in,” she said, her voice sounding husky and nervous even to her own ears. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Please. Come in.”

  Inclining his head, he stepped inside her small apartment. Careful not to brush against him, Hope closed the door. He brought with him the wild scent of the plains, of wind and sun and endless fields of hay. Smiling faintly at her own imagination, Hope swallowed, trying to still her pounding heart

  For the first time in weeks, she felt alive—suddenly, painfully, alive.

  “How have you been?” Jeff asked, without looking at her, his attention focused on his hands.

  His deep voice sent shivers up her spine.

  “Fine,” she answered automatically, before she even realized she was going to say it “No,” she whispered. “That’s a lie. I’m not fine, not fine at all.” He sighed. When he finally looked at her, his face was an expressionless mask. “We need to talk. And you can’t run away this time.”

  More frightened, more elated than she’d ever been in her life, Hope nodded. “I won’t,” she said simply.

  When he took her hand, she felt her knees buckle. Somehow, she managed to curl her fingers around his and calmly, though her insides still jangled, follow him to the couch.

  They sat, side by side; then he took her other hand and turned her to face him. Heart pounding, she caught her breath and watched his sensual lips twist, his beautiful eyes turn dark and stormy.

  “What was she like, Hope? What was our little girl like?”

  Though he’d asked the question in a mild tone, she felt his words like a knife, turning and twisting in her heart. She closed her eyes for a moment, closed her eyes and ached, then got up and went to get the photo albums she kept in her bedroom.

  There were only three, all covered in the same cheery sunflower pattern. The bright colors seemed almost jarring in her emotional state. Three photo albums were a sad testimony to the decline of a beloved child.

  Cautiously, she sat beside him on the couch, placing two of the albums on the table. One, the first of the three, she kept clutched to her chest. She was careful to keep a safe distance between them, even though it meant Jeff would have to lean over to see the pictures.

  “I have these.” Again her voice, full of sorrow and apology, cracked. With shaking hands she opened the album, so intimately familiar with the contents that she could tell him what photos were on each and every page. “They—the pictures—comforted me a bit after she died.” She didn’t tell him that she hadn’t been able to bear looking at them for nearly a year after losing Alisha.

  Jeff scooted closer until their knees were touching. She felt the contact with a keen sort of agony. It took every ounce of her willpower not to flinch or move away.

  “Our daughter,” he said, his voice reverent He took the book from her and began to leaf slowly through the pages, studying each photo intensely.

  “Her first birthday,” Hope said and smiled, remembering. “She stuck her chubby little fists right into the cake, then smeared it all over herself.”

  Jeff glanced up at her, the crooked smile on his handsome face tugging at her heartstrings. She’d had years to come to terms with her loss, time to grieve, and had accepted the fact that, in this world at least, she would never see her little Alisha again. For Jeff it was all fresh, raw, and difficult He’d gained and lost a daughter, all in the same breath.

  Acting out of impulse, she put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached up and covered her hand with his.

  Eyes riveted on the photos, Jeff swallowed hard. “Hope ... Did you ever tell her about me?”

  She had to tell him the truth. He deserved this much at least “Yes, I did.” Suddenly restless, Hope stood, unable to look at him. “I, uh, told her you were in the army.”

  The antique clock on her mantel chimed the half hour. She wondered why she had never noticed how loudly it ticked.

  “The army,” Jeff broke the silence. Hope couldn’t tell from his voice if he was furious or simply resigned. “Yes. I had to explain why you didn’t live with us.” “I’m surprised you didn’t tell her I was dead.” Hope ached for him. In the letter she’d written him, she’d tried to explain all the reasons why she’d done what she’d done. Evidently it hadn’t been

  enough. She didn’t blame him. Mere words could never make up for her mistakes in the past

  “You were dead, at least to me.” Quietly she told him, remembering all too clearly the horrible sense of betrayal, “You slept with Heather.”

  And there, said so plainly, was the crux of it. She’d been eighteen, in love, and so certain that he loved her. Finding out he’d been with someone else had been devastating. It had been enough to make her vow never to see him again.

  Jeff said nothing. He merely lowered his head and resumed his intent study of the photographs.

  Hope wondered why he had come here. Though she had long ago forgiven his drunken indiscretion, he hadn’t forgiven her. That much was plain. She opened her mouth to ask why, then closed it If he had something to say, she would let him say it in his own time.

  When he finished with the first photo album, he placed it on the coffee table and began on the second. Unable to bear watching him any longer, she hurried into the kitchen and put on water for tea. Behind her, she heard Jeff put the second album down and start on the third.

  She knew she should go out there now. Jeff might need her. The third photo album was the most difficult, the most painful and raw. Inside were pictures of Alisha, bald head shiny, valiantly grinning for the camera. They were the pictures of Alisha, lying in the hospital bed, the same sweet smile on her angelic face. These were the pictures of Alisha with her too- thin arms wrapped around her mother’s neck, both of them trying not to cry.

  “Hope.” From behind her, she heard Jeff’s voice softly call her name.

  Startled, she raised her head, suddenly conscious

  of the tears streaming down her face. “Just a minute,” she cried as she grabbed a napkin to wipe at her,, cheeks, wondering if the hurt would ever go away. ' “Hope.” He was right behind her. She turned as he reached out and drew her to him, his arms wrapping tightly around her, her head on his chest.

  “Jeff.” To her dismay, she felt the tears start up again. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  He let her weep, cradling her close, one big hand smoothing her hair away from her face. She wept for Alisha. She wept for Jeff. Finally, she wept for herself. She’d been so stubborn, so proud, and so foolish. She’d lost her daughter and she’d lost the only man she would ever love.

  “I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m here, Hope. I understand now—about everything.”

  With dawning wonder, she realized the truth of his words. He was here, holding her, comforting her, despite what she’d done. There could only be one reason why he had
come so far to be with her.

  “Look at me, darlin’,” he said, gently lifting her chin with one big hand. With a tenderness that sent ripples to her heart, he touched her mouth with his, a powerful kiss of quiet possession. “We belong together. No matter what happened in the past, our future is with each other.”

  She could only stand there, frozen and afraid. She was afraid to hope, to believe. “Our future?” she stammered. “I haven’t even let myself think of. ..” Jeff kissed her again, quieting her. “Think of it, then believe it I love you, Hope Glidewell. You are the other half of me. I love you with everything I am, everything I will ever be. I have always loved you, and I always will.”

  Epilogue

  “She looks like Alisha.” Jeff slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. Together they watched their laughing little daughter romp on the floor with the new puppy.

  “Yes,” Hope said and leaned back into him, moving his hand to place it on her very pregnant belly. “A little of you, a little of me.”

  Laughing, he corrected her. “A lot of you, a little of me.”

  Hope glanced up, flashing him a proud smile. “Okay, I admit it Bonnie looks just like me, except she has your golden hair.”

  “Maybe our son will have your hair.” Jeff patted her belly gently. “You never know.”

  “A raven-haired son,” she mused, stretching and rubbing the small of her back. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  The baby was due any day.

  “Mama, mama.” Bonnie dashed up, the wiggling puppy in her arms. “I can’t wait ’til Auntie Charlene sees our new baby.”

  Hope crouched down, opening her arms for a big hug. Bonnie squirmed free in two seconds, still clutching the hapless puppy tight

  “Our new baby isn’t born yet sweetheart” Bonnie stopped her bouncing long enough to hold the puppy carefully up in the air. “Yes, he is,” she said importantly. “He’s right here.”