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  Oh, Mrs. Westerly. Hailey remembered trying to bribe Skye to speak in the beginning. If only it were that easy.

  “Je parle Français,” Skye said in a soft voice, so soft that Hailey was sure she had imagined it. She reached out and gripped Michael’s arm to steady herself.

  “Très bien,” Mrs. Westerly said as if nothing extraordinary had just happened. Hopeful tears filled Hailey’s eyes. “Now again, but louder. Imagine we are readying ourselves for a day of shopping in Provence, and we had to procure a driver we’ve never met before. He doesn’t know if we speak French, English, Danish. So he asks, ‘Quelle langue parlez-vous?’ What would you say?”

  “Je parle Français,” Skye said confidently.

  Hailey met Michael’s eyes and fought the prickling of tears. Mrs. Westerly was doing what no one had yet succeeded at.

  “Excellent!” Mrs. Westerly exclaimed. “I just had the most amazing idea. What if I teach you French, and you teach your aunt? Imagine how proud she would be of you. Then we could all have a wonderful holiday together. Yes? Perfect.” Her tone turned serious. “I don’t believe Mrs. Tillsbury is coming back. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, but has her departure upset you? If you want me to apologize to her, I will. Personally, I think you could do much better, but tell me if you would like me to say something to her. I will. For you.”

  Practically holding her breath so she wouldn’t miss a word, Hailey listened for Skye’s response. Either she didn’t answer or did so quietly that Hailey missed it.

  “So you won’t miss her? Good.” Mrs. Westerly continued, “Your aunt will probably be very upset with me when she hears what I’ve done, but I didn’t like the tone your teacher used with you. You are a very smart child who doesn’t need to be spoken down to. Still, I did promise I wouldn’t get involved. Don’t think you can behave as I do until you are at least seventy-five. I was quite well behaved until then. Mostly. I do need your help, though. What could you say that would make your aunt less cross with me?”

  “Je parle français?” Skye asked.

  Hailey peered into the room and was surprised to see Mrs. Westerly smiling. She didn’t appear stern at all in that moment as Skye looked up at her with adoration.

  “What if she doesn’t speak French? There has to be something you could say that would instantly put her in a good mood so we could all enjoy dinner together.”

  “I could tell her that I love her.”

  Oh, baby, I love you, too. Everything else, every worry Hailey had, every fear that had plagued her over the last year, was insignificant in the face of how good it felt to hear Skye’s voice again. Hailey hugged an arm across her stomach.

  “That might just work. And it’s true, which makes it perfect. Is there anything else?”

  “I like it here.”

  “Do you? Do you really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that’s it. That’s what you should say. Tell her that you love her. Tell her you like it here. I’ll break it to her that I’ll be hiring a replacement for Mrs. Tillsbury. By the way, you should help me choose the next teacher, because we know what we want for you. Then, just in case your aunt is still irritated with me, teach her what you’ve learned in French, and she’ll burst into happy tears.”

  “I don’t want Auntie Hailey to cry.”

  “Of course you don’t, but these would be good tears.”

  There was a pause, then Skye said, “No, they wouldn’t. It’s better if I say nothing. Everything I say makes Hailey sad.”

  Hailey straightened. Her hand left Michael’s arm and flew to her mouth in horror. How could she think that? What have I done? It’s my fault she’s been silent? Oh my God.

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Westerly said firmly.

  “She wasn’t sad before she had to take care of me.”

  “Look at me, Skye. And sit up straight when you do. Your aunt loves you. She loved your parents, too. She worries about you and misses them. If she cries at all, that’s the reason. It wasn’t fair for you both to lose people you loved, but it happened. You two need to be strong for each other and that means no more hiding. You’re too smart of a young lady to act like that.”

  Oh, Ryan, she almost sounds like you.

  Or is that what I’m telling myself because I’m afraid of what will happen if this doesn’t work out?

  Skye didn’t have a response for that, and Hailey almost stepped into the room, but Mrs. Westerly began to speak again.

  “Do you know that when I was a little girl, children were told to be silent? Not speaking unless one was spoken to was a sign of good manners. Especially for girls. Our opinions didn’t matter. Women fought hard to have a voice. Use yours. Don’t let anyone ever silence you, Skye, especially not yourself. And when you have a little girl one day, you give her the same advice.”

  “I’m going to have a little girl?”

  “You may.”

  “How?”

  “How what?”

  “How does it happen? How do babies get in bellies?”

  “Oh, my, is that the door? Michael, is someone at the door?” Mrs. Westerly called out.

  Hailey took that as a cue to step into the library. Skye came running to her. Hailey held out her arms, and Skye ran into them. Silently. Hailey wished she had the therapist on speed dial at that moment. Don’t let me mess this up. “Mrs. Westerly, I saw Mrs. Tillsbury on the way out, and she was very upset. In fact, she won’t be back.”

  “Really,” Mrs. Westerly said with a shrug. “It might have been something I said.” She looked pointedly at Skye.

  Skye pulled on Hailey’s arm until she looked down. There was a pause so long Hailey wondered if Skye would revert to silence. “I love you.”

  Hailey sank to her knees before her niece. How could anything else matter when Skye was speaking again? “I know you do, honey. I love you, too.” Hailey glanced at Mrs. Westerly. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  Mrs. Westerly nodded once.

  “I might be able to convince Mrs. Tillsbury to come back,” Hailey said gently. “If you want me to.”

  Skye looked back and forth between her aunt and Mrs. Westerly. “I didn’t like her. She didn’t like me. Delinda does.”

  Hailey felt as if her heart were going to burst from the joy of hearing Skye’s voice again. “Her name is Mrs. Westerly.” I can’t believe I’m correcting her, but we have to have rules. Don’t we?

  “She told me to call her Delinda.”

  “She’s my employer, Skye—”

  “Michael,” Mrs. Westerly said, interrupting Hailey, “please take Skye to the kitchen for a snack. I’m sure she’s ready for one.”

  Michael waved his arm toward the door dramatically. “With pleasure.”

  Hailey opened her mouth to protest, but closed it without voicing a word. It was probably better if she had a moment alone with Mrs. Westerly.

  Mrs. Westerly called out to Skye as they left, “Skye, do remember to remind Miss Jeanie that the dessert tonight is Jell-O. Perhaps you could help her choose the flavor.”

  “Strawberry,” Skye said with a smile. “Strawberry is my favorite.”

  Hailey was tempted to rush after her for a hug, but instead she waved and took a deep breath. What was Mrs. Westerly giving Skye that she needed? Treating her as if she were a normal child? Maybe it was time for Hailey to do the same. After Skye left the room, Hailey said, “I heard what you said to her; it was beautiful.”

  “You’re welcome,” Mrs. Westerly said, looking pleased with herself.

  “Things might have gone very differently. You shouldn’t have—”

  Mrs. Westerly sighed. “So I’m to be lectured about what didn’t happen?”

  “No, but Skye is my responsibility.” As soon as the words were out of Hailey’s mouth, she regretted them. She crossed the room to sit next to Mrs. Westerly. “I’m sorry. I am grateful.”

  Mrs. Westerly nodded. “Well, at least there is that. Tell me, how was the trip to Braintree?”
/>   “Braintree. Oh.” Hailey looked down at the package she’d forgotten was still in her hand. She handed it to Mrs. Westerly. “Fine.”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary?”

  “No, it all went smoothly.”

  Mrs. Westerly made a face at the package and placed it on the table beside her. “I don’t like receiving less than promised.”

  “The package? Was there supposed to be more than one? Should I go back?”

  “Don’t get all worked up. The fault isn’t yours. I’ll call to make sure they’ll have everything ready before I send you again.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I am. Plus, tomorrow we should screen potentially suitable instructors for Skye. I’ve already inquired around and have two who might do nicely.”

  As if you knew we might need one? “That won’t be necessary. I’ll call the school department and have someone else sent.”

  “I’m sorry, Hailey, but I must stand firm on this. For as long as you are under my roof Skye will have the best of everything she needs.”

  “No.”

  Mrs. Westerly’s mouth rounded in surprise. “What did you say?”

  Hailey raised her chin and clasped her hands on her lap. “Please. You’re incredibly generous, but I can’t accept more from you. It’ll only confuse Skye. We may not have much money, but we get by. She’ll be happier in the long run if she keeps her feet on the ground.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Westerly said in a cold tone that would have put most people off, but Hailey was beginning to understand her. She wasn’t offended; she was hurt.

  “You don’t have to give us anything. Skye doesn’t need a promise of trips to get her to want to speak French with you. If this job ends for whatever reason, you can still invite us to visit, and we’ll come. We like you.”

  Delinda pressed her lips together in a stern line. She was quiet long enough for Hailey to begin to wonder if she’d said too much.

  “Call me Delinda.”

  What? “I couldn’t—”

  “I insist.”

  Addressing anyone as staunchly formal as Mrs. Westerly by her first name felt wrong, but the older woman’s expression said she’d accept nothing less. “Delinda.”

  “Skye may do so as well.”

  Hailey sighed in resignation of a battle she’d already lost. “Since she already is . . .”

  “Tomorrow I’ll set up a trust fund for Skye’s education. Don’t tell me not to. She’ll blossom with the right instruction. The trust will carry her straight through college.” She raised a hand to silence the protest Hailey was about to make. “Don’t let your pride deprive Skye of this opportunity.”

  Hailey wiped away a tear that had spilled down her cheek. Am I setting Skye and myself up for a disappointment if I choose to believe that something this good could happen for us? “Why would you do this?”

  Delinda laid her hand over Hailey’s. “I have smiled more this past week than I have in years. At my age, that’s priceless. A friend of mine told me that if I want a rose garden, I shouldn’t plant weeds.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t have to. You’re the rose.”

  In his Braintree office, Spencer hung up with the CEO of Incom and stretched. It was a huge win for WorkChat and indicative of how the perception of their simulators was shifting from experimental luxuries to touchstone big-business equipment. He was feeling good about the conversation, but not about much else. Jordan had yet to call him back. That wasn’t like him.

  “Mr. Westerly?” his secretary said tentatively from the door she’d cracked open.

  “What?” Spencer asked impatiently, though his irritation was with himself. He’d let Jordan’s simulator screw with his head. He’d even imagined seeing Hailey walk into the building that morning.

  Of course it wasn’t her, but when the woman had looked up in the direction of his office, he’d thought it was. His gut had clenched, and he’d been tempted to run down to check if it was her.

  Idiot.

  She made her choice a long time ago.

  “Your sister is here.”

  “Which one?”

  Before Lisa had a chance to answer, the door burst open and his youngest sibling, Nicolette, strode in as his secretary hastily shut the door behind her. In her usual jeans and T-shirt, Nicolette looked younger than twenty-five. Over the years a few of his friends had described her as “edgy and sexy.” Once. Spencer made it clear to all that his little sister was off-limits.

  Nicolette tossed her purse in one of the chairs in front of his desk and flopped into the other. “God, I miss you. You’re an island of sanity in an ocean of crazy.”

  Despite his foul mood, Spencer smiled. Nicolette was unapologetically over-the-top. He moved to sit on the corner of his desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “You missed quite a dinner at Mom’s. Alisha’s pregnant.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you okay?” Nicolette searched his face.

  They’d grown up together, covered for each other more times than he cared to admit. He couldn’t lie to her. “I don’t know.” He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”

  “I get it. Even if you didn’t love her, it still sucks the way it went down. Mom is confused about why we’re not all as happy as she is about it. Next week they’re telling Grandmother. Don’t make me suffer through that without you.”

  “She’s not my grandmother.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  Spencer crossed his arms over his chest. “‘Lucky.’” That wasn’t how he felt.

  “I envy you. You know. I keep thinking I want to find out, and then I waver. I can’t decide which would be worse. Do I want a father who didn’t care enough to spend any time with me or one who raised me without saying who he really was?”

  Spencer had asked himself that same question a hundred times. “I don’t believe Mark knew I was his.”

  “That’s worse, isn’t it? Doesn’t it make you wonder what else Mom lied about?”

  “I don’t think about it.”

  “You drink instead.”

  “Don’t knock it until you try it,” he joked. Then he added quickly, “Don’t actually try it. It doesn’t help.”

  “Then maybe you should slow down.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “You’re not the only one who wants to escape. Brett and Alisha are too happy. And they always want to spend time with me. I feel bad, but where was Brett before this year? Because he wasn’t in my life. Rachelle loves it, but Alisha is her best friend. They act like I’m choosing to be upset. Why would I choose any of this?” She shook her body like a dog shaking off water. “I needed some brother therapy. Tell me I’m not crazy.”

  “You’re fucking bonkers.”

  Nicolette stuck her tongue out at him. “Jerk. You’re no better. At least I’m not all over the Internet. You need to stop hooking up while drunk with women who tag you in their photos.”

  “That’s the truth.” She wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t told himself.

  “Want to get lunch?”

  Spencer remembered something Brett had said about family being what a person makes it. Sometimes Brett was right. He pushed himself off the desk. “Yeah, I’d like that.” They walked out of his office together. He told Lisa to field his calls while he was out, then headed down with Nicolette.

  A few minutes later, over sandwiches at a coffee shop across the street, Nicolette said, “I’m thinking about taking an internship with Borderless Photographers. They work with grassroots humanitarian initiatives in almost every country. It would be a chance for me to do something important, and a change of scenery might be good for me—get me out of my head. There are a lot of problems in the world that are a whole lot worse than not knowing who my father is . . . or was.”

  “You should do it.”

  Nicolette chewed her lip before saying, “I’d have to leave my job, and traveling lik
e that is expensive. I don’t have the savings to get me to the places I’d want to go.”

  “How much money do you need?”

  “Maybe none. Dad offered to pay for everything. Mom said no, of course, but I’m not a child anymore. This isn’t about Dad buying me a jet or something completely garish. I’d be volunteering for a nonprofit organization that works to make the world a better place. I know Mom thinks money is the root of all evil, but isn’t it time we decide for ourselves? I should be able to accept Dad’s help, shouldn’t I?” She picked up half of her sandwich but put it back down without taking a bite. “On the other hand, he might not even be my father, and maybe I should cut him out of my life like you did.”

  Spencer pushed his own sandwich away, untouched. He hated seeing Nicolette so confused. “I believe we’ve already determined I’m not the best role model for anyone. When did you talk to Dad?” He almost corrected himself, but what he called Dereck Westerly didn’t matter right then.

  “We’ve spoken a few times since Christmas. I went with Brett to see him. He’s lonely. I know it’s his fault, but I feel bad for him anyway. Outside of Brett and his mother, he doesn’t really have anyone in his life.”

  “And you feel guilty about considering taking his money?”

  “Yes.”

  Their parents sure had fucked things up for their children. “What does Rachelle say?”

  “She thinks the world is a dangerous place, and I should work for the local paper or blog about fashion. My dreams are bigger than that. I know you understand.”

  “I do.”

  She laughed nervously. “I should do what you almost did and marry one of my friends for my inheritance.”

  “No. It was a stupid idea when Rachelle came up with it, and I regret taking it as far as I did.”

  “Why? It might have worked. I mean, if Brett and Alisha didn’t . . . the money would free me, Spencer. I could intern for as long as I wanted—guilt-free.”

  “Marriage isn’t something you should play at. There are consequences you don’t expect until you do something that foolhardy. Save your vows for someone you love.”