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  “I HOPE WE DON’T HAVE TROUBLE FINDING PARKING this late. I hate to sit in the back. You can’t hear a word.” Lillian Warwick checked her slim gold wristwatch again, then removed an invisible speck of lint from her sleeve.

  “We’re not late, Mother. It’s barely ten after,” Jessica assured her.

  “Your watch must be slow. I have quarter past.” Lillian paused and glanced out her window. “Emily always lets me out right over there, near the side-door entrance,” she added. “I’ll wait here for you.”

  As they both knew, the side-door entrance was the handicapped ramp, easier for Lillian to navigate with her cane. But she didn’t like to admit she needed it. She really still required the walker, but hated to be seen in public using the device and even balked at the cane, a fancy model of polished wood with a mother-of-pearl handle.

  Jessica pulled up to the drop-off area and helped her mother out of the car. As she pulled away to find parking, she caught sight of Lillian in the rearview mirror. Standing tall in her navy blue linen dress and patent-leather pumps, her hair fresh from a weekly appointment at the Beauty Spot, Lillian didn’t look ill or even infirm.

  You could say many things about her mother, but you had to admire her spirit and her nearly unbreakable will, Jessica thought as she parked the car and started toward the church. They just didn’t make them like that anymore.

  Jessica hadn’t been to a service since Easter, when she’d attended with her sister and mother. Emily was a regular churchgoer; she always took Lillian on Sundays. But Emily had called yesterday and asked Jessica if she could take over this week. Emily was attending a conference of local mayors over the weekend and wouldn’t be back in the village in time. Naturally, Jessica had agreed.

  As usual, Jessica had no sooner walked through her mother’s front door than she was bombarded with Lillian’s instructions for the seemingly endless tasks required in order to leave the house.

  “Draw the shades in the living room and the front bedrooms upstairs. It keeps the house cool. Did you lock the side door and check the bolt on the door to the cellar? And please turn on the sprinkler in the backyard. The grass is absolutely parched. But don’t let the water hit the flower beds near the patio. Molly Willoughby gave them too much water yesterday, and I’m sure the plants are going to rot.

  “And remember to unplug the coffeemaker, Jessica. Don’t just shut it off. I wish you had bought me a better model. I was just reading that this one is a fire hazard. I know I’ll forget to unplug it one day and it will burn the house down.”

  Lillian liked things done a certain way—her way. But Jessica was used to that by now, and like Emily, she rarely bothered to argue.

  She soon met her mother at the church’s side entrance, and they proceeded inside. Gus Potter, who was an usher, met them as they entered.

  “I saved a nice seat for you, Mrs. Warwick,” he greeted Lillian. “Just follow me, ladies.”

  He seemed to know where Lillian preferred to sit, and Jessica was relieved that her mother had no complaints. As she helped her mother move into the pew and get comfortable, she felt someone looking at her.

  Jessica glanced up and met Sam Morgan’s gaze. He was sitting a few rows back, beside Digger Hegman. He looked so different today—wearing a white shirt, a red tie, and a navy blue sports coat—that she hardly recognized him. Different, she thought ruefully, but just as maddeningly attractive. Something in her eyes must have given her away then, because he smiled at her, and she had the distinct feeling that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  Jessica quickly turned away without smiling back. Sam had been working in other offices on her floor during the week, and she’d purposely avoided him. Well, she would just have to do the same today.

  Lillian had put on her reading glasses, her hymnal opened in her lap. Jessica picked up her copy and found the opening hymn. When Reverend Lewis began the service, she did her best to concentrate, even though she wasn’t much of a churchgoer.

  To her surprise, his sermon caught her interest. He started off talking about bumblebees, how by all engineering calculations, their bodies are too big to be supported by their small wings.

  “Yet, off they go, buzzing along. They shouldn’t be able to fly . . . but they don’t know that,” the reverend pointed out.

  He went on to talk about believing in yourself, and having faith in God to help you realize your goals.

  “It’s faith that will help you fly against all odds, like the bumblebees, just one of the many mysterious miracles of creation,” the reverend explained. “And after all, aren’t we just as mysterious, just as potentially full of miracles?”

  Was she full of miracles? Jessica wondered, shifting in her seat. And what kind of miracles did he mean? To be manager of the bank someday, a corporate vice president or whatever—was that a miracle? Not really, she decided. That was more a matter of hard work and luck.

  To be a different kind of person, then . . . a better person? More patient, less judgmental of others, more loving. That was probably what he meant, she decided. She knew she needed improvement in those areas. Who didn’t?

  Sitting in church made you think about these things, Jessica realized. Whether you really wanted to or not . . .

  “Scripture teaches us that, with faith, all things are possible,” Reverend Lewis reminded his flock. “Flying against all odds. Unlocking the miracles within. Faith is the key,” he counseled.

  But as the reverend delved deeper into the issue of faith, Jessica’s thoughts drifted. She glanced over at her mother, who was giving the sermon her undivided attention. Her mother didn’t speak about it much—and often didn’t act in a very Christian manner, Jessica thought—but she had a strong faith and a private relationship with God which had sustained her through hard times.

  Jessica remembered when after the scandal Lillian had stopped going to church. Jessica had been a child at the time, and so she wasn’t taken to church or Sunday school. Her mother never talked about it, but Jessica was sure that shame had been the reason. Lillian was too proud to appear in public and feel people whispering about her behind her back. Somehow, years later, Reverend Ben had persuaded her to return.

  Well, you’re an adult now and you can take yourself to church anytime you like, Jessica thought. But for no reason she could really put her finger on, she knew that unless she had to come, like today, she wouldn’t.

  When the service ended, Jessica was relieved to hear her mother say she wanted to skip the coffee hour. In fact, Jessica was counting on leaving by the side entrance and completely avoiding Sam Morgan.

  Her heart sank as she started for the side entrance only to hear her mother say, “Not that way, Jessica. I want to say a few words to Reverend Lewis before we go.”

  So Jessica joined the line at the church’s front door, where the reverend was receiving his congregation.

  “Hello, Lillian . . . Jessica, nice to see you,” Reverend Lewis greeted them. Jessica briefly said hello. She’d always liked him. While he spoke with her mother, Jessica glanced around. She spotted Sam standing in front of the church, talking to Harry Reilly. They were right at the bottom of the steps. There was no avoiding him.

  As she helped her mother down the steps, Jessica noticed Sam walking toward her. She still found the change in appearance, from his work clothes to Sunday best, remarkable—and very distracting.

  “Hello, Jessica. Good to see you,” Sam greeted her in his smooth, deep voice. Then he glanced at her mother. “Hello, Mrs. Warwick.”

  Lillian tilted her head back to look Sam straight in the eye. “I’m sorry . . . do I know you?” she asked curtly.

  “Of course you do, Mother,” Jessica cut in nervously. “This is Sam Morgan. You know the Morgans.”

  Sam smiled, looking amused and not at all insulted. “It’s true, Mrs. Warwick. We’ve been coming to this church together for years. But we’ve never been formally introduced.”

  Lillian ignored his diplomatic reply. “The Morgans. Y
es, of course,” she said to Jessica. “He must be the cleaning girl’s brother. You know, the new one who just started the other day . . . that Molly,” she recalled finally.

  Jessica felt her face grow bright red. It never failed to amaze her how her mother prided herself on good manners when, in fact, she could be the rudest person on earth.

  “Yes, he’s Molly’s brother,” Jessica confirmed, struggling to keep her voice sounding normal. “We all went to high school together. Molly was in my class,” she added, finally daring a glance at Sam.

  He smiled at her, still looking calm and mildly amused. If her mother’s slight had insulted him, he was too much of a gentleman to show it.

  Her mother glanced at her, then blinked. A “so what?” look if Jessica had ever seen one. “How interesting,” Lillian said flatly, her tone declaring that it was anything but. “I can walk to the car, Jessica,” she added. “I don’t know why you have me standing out here in the hot sun.”

  “Yes, of course.” Jessica took her mother’s arm. She looked up at Sam. “Well, have a good day. Nice to see you again,” she added, though afterward she wondered why. Just trying to be polite, she thought. To make up for my mother.

  “Thanks, you have a good day, too,” Sam replied.

  Had she ever had a more banal conversation in her life? Why in the world did she feel so rattled? She felt his gaze fixed on her as they headed for the parking lot behind the church.

  Jessica was troubled as she drove her mother home. She couldn’t erase the feeling of complete mortification she’d felt when her mother had been so rude to Sam.

  The real problem wasn’t her mother, she acknowledged silently. It was that even if she didn’t express it as blatantly as her mother did, she was guilty of the same condescending attitude. Because Sam was a workman, some part of her immediately categorized him as less than she was. She knew it wasn’t kind or rational. It wasn’t even true.

  How did I get to be such a snob? she asked herself. Did it come from having been born on the Warwick Estate? Or is it just that I’m not a very good person?

  “Jessica, pay attention,” her mother snapped, drawing her out of her thoughts. “You’ve passed the house.”

  Ten minutes later Lillian was reading the Sunday paper while Jessica set the dining room table for lunch.

  “Make sure you use the nice china and silver flatware. And cut some flowers from the garden for the table,” her mother called out. “Dr. Elliot is joining us for lunch.”

  Luckily, Molly Willoughby had left plenty of food in the fridge, in neatly labeled plastic containers. Jessica found a roast chicken, a platter of marinated roast vegetables with orzo and mint, and a green salad, which she transferred to her mother’s china platters. There was also some fruit salad and a spice cake with white frosting for dessert. It all looked and smelled delicious. Molly was clearly a fine cook, and cooking was a skill Jessica had never mastered. Looking at the food not only whet her appetite but also disconcertingly reminded her of Sam.

  This is ridiculous, Jessica thought as she set the food on the table. Even serving lunch makes me think of Sam Morgan.

  Distraction arrived in the form of Dr. Elliot. Ever punctual, he rang the doorbell at one o’clock sharp. A small, wiry man, he was, as usual, smartly dressed in a gray, three-piece suit, button-down collar, and red-and-blue striped bow tie. His steel-rimmed glasses emphasized his narrow face and long nose. Jessica knew he had to be getting on in years, yet he always looked the same to her.

  “For you, Lillian,” he said, handing Jessica’s mother a box of her favorite chocolates.

  “Oh, Ezra, you didn’t have to,” Lillian said, but she was obviously pleased.

  Jessica had recently discovered that her mother saved the small blue-and-gold boxes from these chocolates in the bottom drawer of her dresser, though she never seemed to use them for anything.

  “I’m not sure if I can have these anymore,” Lillian went on. “Not a very health-conscious gift from a doctor.”

  “Nonsense. Everything in moderation. A little chocolate won’t hurt you. Why, they say now it’s actually good for your heart. Can you beat that? And it lifts your mood, too. Does something to your brain chemistry,” Ezra added with a sharp, affirmative nod.

  “I’ve never heard that,” Lillian replied doubtfully.

  “You ought to keep up on the medical news, Lillian. It’s important at our age.”

  Jessica loved the way Dr. Elliot cheerfully argued with her mother. No one else ever got away with it. In Dr. Elliot’s company, Lillian was actually bright and chatty.

  Her mother and their guest sat down while Jessica served. Ezra Elliot was one of the only people in town who was capable of engaging Lillian in a lively conversation. It was relief to Jessica, since she often found it draining to spend time alone with her mother.

  “I hear Charlie Bates is up in arms about your property. He’s been ranting about it all week,” Lillian said as she lifted a crystal goblet of ice water to her lips. She didn’t get out much but obviously had her sources, Jessica had noticed.

  Dr. Elliot shook his head. “I’ve heard all about it. I’m sure I don’t know where that man gets his nerve. It’s none of his business who I sell to. Betty Bowman’s already shown it a few times now. She’s a sharp gal. She’ll have it off my hands in no time. I just want to make a good sale,” he added. “I’m ready to retire, to kick back and live the good life. Like you, Lillian,” he added.

  He winked at Jessica and she smiled.

  “Your patients will miss you,” Jessica told him sincerely. It was true. She’d already heard quite a few people she knew sounding unhappy about Dr. Elliot’s retirement.

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure they will. For at least a day or so,” he quipped. “I’ve been making referrals to other physicians in the area, and everyone seems to be very satisfied. People always make a big fuss about change. Then they forget all about it.”

  “That’s not what I’ve found to be true,” Lillian replied in a somber tone. Jessica was fairly certain she was referring to their own family’s problems. Sometimes she wondered if people really did remember that part of the past as much as her mother thought they did.

  Deciding to change the subject, Jessica said, “These vegetables are delicious. Molly Willoughby is quite a cook.”

  “Do you think so?” Lillian replied. “I didn’t care for the vegetables at all. Too much garlic. The chicken wasn’t much better, either. She just about drowned it in rosemary.”

  Jessica hadn’t noticed before, but her mother had hardly touched her lunch. Then again, Lillian liked her food simple and basic. She’d never really approved of spices.

  “I thought it was all very tasty. Garlic lowers your blood pressure, you know,” Dr. Elliot countered. “Though I think mint leaves are more fitting for a glass of iced tea than pasta salad,” he added with a laugh.

  “Exactly my point,” Lillian cut in. “I prefer plainer food, simply prepared. I’ll have to tell that new girl.” She pushed her plate away. “They always take offense. But I’m the one who has to eat it, after all.”

  “Her name is Molly, Mother,” Jessica reminded her.

  “Yes, Molly, of course. Sam Morgan’s sister,” she replied, with a quick, sharp glance in Jessica’s direction. “Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten.”

  Lillian patted her mouth with the edge of her napkin. “I thought we would have dessert out on the patio,” she said wistfully, “but now it looks quite cloudy.”

  “Yes, it does,” Ezra noted, glancing outside. “Well, you know what they say about New England. If you don’t like the weather, wait twenty minutes.”

  A FEW HOURS LATER JESSICA DROVE BACK TO HER apartment in a heavy rain. Even though she didn’t have an umbrella, she went around to the back door, looking for the stray cat. She hated to think of the poor thing hungry and soaking wet under the steps. Ever since Monday night she’d been leaving the cat scraps of food in a saucer near the door.

  If the cat was
nearby, it was hiding. Jessica opened the bag of leftovers from her mother’s house and dropped a few pieces of chicken in the dish. The cat, she was sure, would not be nearly as particular as Lillian had been.

  Soaked to the skin, Jessica ran inside and headed straight into the bedroom to take off her wet clothes—only to find water pouring in from the wall near the window, right above a built-in bookcase. What a mess, Jessica thought, surveying the damage.

  She put a bucket beneath the leak and tossed some towels on the floor to soak up the water pooling there. Then she called Warren Oakes, her landlord, and told him about the problem. Warren promised to send a repairman promptly. Still, Jessica hung up feeling annoyed. It was Sunday night. She just wanted to relax, read a book, maybe watch TV. She didn’t feel like cleaning up a flood in her bedroom.

  When the phone rang, she picked it up quickly, thinking it was Warren calling back. “Yes?” she said abruptly.

  “Jessica, glad I caught you in.”

  Paul’s voice surprised her and instantly dispelled her bad mood. They’d exchanged a few short e-mails since their lunch date but hadn’t talked since then.

  “How was your weekend? How was the sail to Nantucket?” Jessica asked.

  “Wonderful. What a boat. I’d love to have a craft like that someday. We had a great time. Great weather all the way, and a really nice group of people.”

  Those people again. Jessica flopped back against her pillows. His enthusiastic tone sent her into a new bout of worries.

  “Sounds like it was a nice break for you,” she said carefully.

  “Absolutely,” he agreed. “Though I did wish you were along,” he added in a more endearing tone.

  Jessica liked hearing that. But before she could reply, he said, “Listen, talking about nice breaks, I need to see a client in Burlington again next week, and I was hoping we could get together on my way back to Boston.”

  “Sure. I’d love to.” Jessica sat up again. “When will you be in Vermont?”