I opened my eyes, steeling myself for the look of hurt on Grace’s face. But it wasn’t hurt I found. It was something resembling … pride.

“Does that make sense?” I asked.

She cupped her hand over mine. “Nothing has ever made more sense. Protecting your baby, listening to your instincts—that’s what being a mother is all about. Sounds to me like you’re going to be a good one.”

“Mom, don’t make me cry again.”

It was the first time in years that I had called her Mom. It felt surprisingly right.

Suddenly I remembered that I hadn’t told her the full story. “But, Mom, the baby was full term. Which means Sean isn’t the father. The father is a guy I went on one date with, a month before anything happened with Sean. Not married. An accountant. An Italian guy who wears sensible shoes. A guy who now has a serious girlfriend.”

I waited for Mom to scream, pursue me for more information, or do something outrageous. But she didn’t. She just waited.

“So I need to tell him about her,” I said.

“You mean now?”

I nodded. “It’s already far too late.”

“Okay.” Grace stood. I couldn’t believe this restrained, accepting woman was my mother. “Do you have his number?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll get your phone.” She crossed the room to retrieve my phone from my purse, then brought it back to me. She took a few steps toward the door, then turned back. “You know … children are accepting little people. Much more than adults. Some have two mommies or two daddies. They have step and half and adopted siblings. They don’t question it. The biological parents are important, of course. But the more people to love a child, the better, I say.” She held my gaze. “He hasn’t left your side, you know. Patrick, I mean. He wanted to be here when you woke up.”

It took me a moment to process what she was saying. By the time I did, she had already left the room.

28

Grace

After leaving Neva’s room, I roamed the hallways in search of a coffee machine. As I passed the nursery, I couldn’t resist having a peek. Fathers and grandparents lined the halls, pointing at their babies from behind glass. I felt a stab of sadness. The father of my granddaughter wasn’t doing that. He probably didn’t even know about her yet.

I was about to turn into the waiting room opposite the nursery when I noticed Patrick among those peering at the babies. I sidled up behind him and touched his shoulder.

“Grace,” he said. “Hello again.”

“Are you going in?” I asked.

“No. Just doing the rounds. I’d better get back.” He lifted his bag over his head so it hung across his torso. I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it. “Congratulations. You have a beautiful daughter.”

At first, I assumed he’d meant to say “granddaughter.” But after I thought about it a little, I wasn’t so sure. He was clearly in love with my daughter. And though Neva was much harder to read than Patrick, she obviously loved him too. I felt an overwhelming urge to grab Patrick and frog-march him into her room. I’d force them to admit how they felt about each other, and they’d all live happily ever after. But I resisted. It was their lives. They’d have to figure it out for themselves.

I watched until Patrick disappeared from sight. Then, while I waited for the coffees, I texted Robert.

Mommy and baby reunited. All is well. G x

After we’d gotten the all clear that Neva and the baby were okay, I’d sent him to Neva’s apartment to get her some things and then to Walmart to get Onesies and sleep suits for the baby. Those little instructions were the most communication we’d had in days. Weeks. It made me sad. We had just become grandparents. More than anything, I wanted to share it with him. I stared at my phone, debating whether to call him, but ultimately, I decided not to. I dropped my phone back in my purse and grabbed the coffees.

Mom was in the family lounge, which was empty apart from a young woman who was reading a tatty picture book to a toddler. Mom turned the pages of the magazine in her lap while staring out the window. She rose to her feet when I entered. “How is she?”

“Still resting,” I said, handing her the coffee.

She sat again. “And the baby?”

“Precious.” I sat beside her and we both sipped our coffees. “More precious than you can possibly imagine. Neva’s calling the baby’s father now, to tell him about her.”

Mom raised her eyebrows, but I just shrugged. I didn’t have the strength to go into it now. But when her eyes lingered on my face, I saw that she wasn’t asking for information. She was contemplating speaking herself.

“What is it, Mom?”

“I’m just thinking … perhaps I should follow the bravery of my granddaughter and admit some truths myself.”

“Truths?” I laughed. “When have you not told the truth?”

I expected her to smile, but her face remained straight.

“Mom?”

“Grace,” she said. “This is going to be a lot to take in. But there are some things you need to know about your father.” She took a deep, raspy breath. “And about your mother.”

29

Floss

Kings Langley, England, 1954

The fire had burned to embers and the room was almost as dark as the fields outside. Elizabeth lay still, her cool face cupped in my hands. It was like a horrible dream that wouldn’t end. Evie held Elizabeth’s wrist loosely, but I knew it had been a while since she’d felt a pulse. Still I couldn’t help but feel that any second now Elizabeth’s hand would move, or her eyes would jolt open. She’d been alive a few minutes ago. She’d created a life a few minutes ago. It couldn’t end like this.

“She can’t be gone.” I looked desperately at Evie. “She can’t.”

Evie let go of Elizabeth’s wrist. “It’s been six minutes, Floss. Six minutes with no heartbeat.”

She stood and walked to the window. Outside, there was not a light to be seen. There wasn’t a sound in miles, apart from the crackle of the fire.

“One of us will have to ride to the phone box,” she said.

Her words, flat and final, pushed me over the edge.

“No. No! It’s not over.”

“It is,” Evie said simply, and I knew it was. No matter how I wanted to deny it, it was over.

“Who do we call?” I asked, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Sister Eileen? The police?”

“Both. And Bill.”

Just the sound of his name caused a physical reaction in me. My heart felt like it was being flung against my rib cage. My chest strained like an overfilled balloon.

“Damn that man. Damn him to hell!”

In the bassinet, the baby began to fuss and without a thought, I snatched her up and held her to my chest. Elizabeth lay lifeless on the bed. My friend—the striking, flame-haired beauty—was gone. So skinny and pale, with a huge boggy mound on her stomach. I wanted to bathe her, comb her hair, wrap her in a warm blanket. But this wasn’t what Elizabeth needed from me. She needed something much more important.

“What about Grace?” I asked.

Evie continued to stare out the window. “Grace?”

I looked down at the bundle in my arms. “The baby. Elizabeth said she wanted to name her after her mother.”

Evie nodded. “Well, what happens to her is for Bill to decide.”

“Like hell it is.”

Now Evie did look at me.

“I’m not handing this child over to that man, Evie. Not over my dead body.”

“What choice do we have?” When I didn’t respond, a slight crease came to Evie’s brow. “What are you suggesting, Floss?”

I wasn’t sure what I was suggesting. But a second later, I was saying, “We’ll tell him that the baby died as well.”

Evie looked me straight in the eye. “You’re talking madness. Pure madness.” But her slow, careful tone gave away her true feelings. She wasn’t so sure it was madness.

“I’ll take her, right now, on the bike.” I was talking so fast, I tripped over the words. “You’ve got the birth documents there—write my name down as the mother. I’ll leave town tonight, go to a new village, a new country if I have to. I’ll say I had her out of wedlock, or that I’m a widow. I’ll raise her as my own.”