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  “Jessica should have come over and spoken to me. I’m not the one that ought to be doing the groveling. Ever since she met that Sam Morgan, she shows no concern for my feelings.”

  “Mother, you know that’s not true. Jessica has called and come by repeatedly. You say such awful things about Sam, it’s no wonder she’s avoiding you. Think of it this way—if she hadn’t met Sam, she’d be back in Boston by now, and you would hardly see her.”

  “If she marries that man, I just may never see her again, even if she moves in next door,” Lillian threatened.

  “Do you want me to fix your dinner?” Emily asked, choosing not to pursue the argument.

  “I’ve had enough help for one day, thank you,” Lillian replied without looking up. “You should both go. I need to rest.”

  “Can I help you to the bedroom?” Emily said.

  “I’ll be fine right here. I want to watch the news.”

  She picked up the remote control from the end table near her chair and gave the television her full attention. “Make sure the door is locked on your way out,” she said. “Anyone could wander in here off the street and knock me over the head.”

  “Good night, Mother.” Emily leaned over and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Lillian,” Sara said.

  “Yes, good-bye. Good-bye, everyone,” she said sharply, turning up the volume on the television. “Thank you for the visit.”

  Outside, Emily made sure the door was locked, then turned to Sara with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about my mother. She gets very cranky when she’s tired.”

  “You don’t need to apologize. I know how it is.” Sara lifted her leather pack strap over one shoulder.

  Emily walked Sara to her car, then said, “Thanks again for visiting her. I’m sure my mother never says it, but I know your company is a great pleasure to her. She doesn’t have much these days to look forward to.”

  Sara met Emily’s kind gaze and stared back for a long moment.

  She could tell her right now. Her visits to Lillian weren’t motivated purely by feeling sorry for a lonely old woman.

  I’ve made friends with her because she’s my grandmother, the voice in her head said. You’re my mother, Emily. . . .

  But instead, Sara said, “Lillian definitely has her grouchy moments, but I like talking to her. She told me a lot about your family today when we looked through those old pictures.”

  “You mean about my father, how he almost went to jail?”

  “More about her own family.” Sara paused, not sure what to say next. “I am curious about your father,” she admitted. “Although Lillian doesn’t say much about him, I’ve heard some stories around town.”

  “It seems unbelievable, but people still talk about it.” Emily shook her head. “Well, let’s see . . . what can I tell you? My father was basically a good man. He was loving and kind. Everyone who worked for him liked him. But he was weak, I guess, a good person who made a big mistake. I think people around here found it hard to forgive him because they felt he’d tricked them in some way. He wasn’t exactly what he appeared to be.”

  I can definitely relate to that, Sara thought. In all the months she’d been in Cape Light, Sara had rarely felt so much a fraud, hiding her identity, as she did at that moment.

  But I could tell her. There’s nothing really stopping me. I could tell her right now. . . .

  Emily glanced at her watch. “Oh, gosh. I’ve got to run. I have to drop off some campaign signs on my way home. Charlie’s got so many up around town, my camp is getting nervous.”

  The campaign, Sara thought. How can I tell her? It could ruin everything. People in this town would talk if Emily got a new hairstyle. They’d get plenty ofmileage out of hearing her long-lost daughter showed up. Even though she was married when she had me, I’m sure no one knows she gave me up for adoption. Charlie would love to sink his teeth into that one.

  Feeling deflated, Sara pulled out her car keys and opened the door. “Well, if you ever need a spy at the diner, just let me know,” she offered.

  “Don’t be silly.” Emily laughed. “I’d never ask you to do something like that.” She paused, gazing fondly at her. “The Beach Road might be foggy tonight. Drive carefully, okay?”

  “Sure, I will.” Sara nodded, surprised by Emily’s concern.

  “How is it out at the cottages?” Emily asked as Sara got in her car. “Not too lonely for you?”

  “It’s quiet without the tourists. But Luke McAllister is living there, so I don’t feel entirely deserted.”

  The two women said good night again, and Sara watched Emily get into her Jeep before she drove off in the opposite direction.

  Emily was right, she thought as she turned onto the Beach Road. Patches of fog clung to the curves on the road and made the short trip home seem longer. Though it was not quite seven o’clock, Sara felt drained. Actually, she often felt this way after seeing Emily, she realized. It was hard to be around Emily and not tell her the truth, but at the same time it felt good to spend time with her birth mother and get to know her better.

  When will I tell her? Sara wondered anxiously. Her campaign for mayor will last for two more months. I’ll go crazy if I have to wait that long.

  She’d come here in May, not planning to stay more than a week or so. Just enough time to find Emily and tell her the truth. Now, here she was, more than three months later, feeling no closer to a resolution.

  Five minutes later Sara pulled up behind her cottage and shut off the engine. She remembered the photograph in her pocket, turned on the overhead light, and pulled it out. Her father, Tim Sutton. Gazing at his image made her feel better, as if his calm, warm gaze telegraphed a message. “Have patience, Sara. It will all work out for you,” she could almost hear him say.

  “All right. I’ll try,” she answered back out loud.

  Sara knew it was wrong to take the photograph without asking. But still, it was her father and she felt as if she had a right. I think I was meant to find it, she thought as she slipped it back in her pocket. I think it’s going to help me.

  EMILY HAD JUST TOSSED A FROZEN MEAL-FOR-ONE INTO THE MICROWAVE and fed her cats when she heard someone at the door.

  “Who could that be?” The two small cats didn’t even lift their heads from their dishes in reply.

  Emily opened the door and felt her spirits lift as she saw her sister standing there.

  “I was on my way home and wanted to drop off these platters you loaned me for the party. Is this a bad time?” Jessica asked.

  “Not at all, come on in.” Emily swung open the door and kissed her sister on the cheek. “I just got in a few minutes ago.” She heard the microwave beep and remembered her dinner. “I was just fixing something to eat—one of those frozen, low-fat, low-taste things. Want one?”

  “Uh . . . no, thanks. I already ate with Sam. You make it sound very tempting though,” Jessica teased her.

  Emily laughed. “It helps if you skipped lunch and you’re starving. How about some coffee or tea?”

  “A cup of tea would be nice.” Jessica pulled off her fleece top and sat at the kitchen table. “Looks like you’re going to have new neighbors soon,” she remarked.

  “You mean that funny-looking house down the street? It’s been for sale since July.” Emily filled the kettle and set it on the stove. “Betty says it’s very small and needs tons of work.”

  “Well, somebody liked it. The sign says ‘Sold’.”

  “Really? I didn’t even notice. Leave it to Betty. She can sell anything.” Emily found mugs and tea bags and set them on the counter. “Were you working out at the house tonight?”

  “Just testing some paint colors. I never thought it would be so hard to agree. Sam wants everything pale blue and green. Or maybe gray,” Jessica said, sticking her tongue out. “And I’m seeing peach and rose and French vanilla. . . .”

  “You know what they say, ‘Women are from Venus, men are
color-blind.’ ”

  “Thanks, that helps a lot.” Jessica shook her head, smiling in spite of herself as her ponytail came half undone.

  Emily glanced over her shoulder. Jessica was so pretty, even when she wasn’t trying. She wore jeans and a baseball-style jersey dotted with paint splatters. Nothing like her impeccable office attire of stylish suits and sleek hairdos. But this new look suited her surprisingly well. Just like Sam did.

  “I like that shade of apricot.” Emily pointed at a large splotch on Jessica’s sleeve.

  “The master bedroom, I hope,” Jessica said. She looked up at Emily again. “Did you have a meeting or something tonight?”

  “Not really. I stopped to see Mother, then had to take care of some campaign errands.”

  “How is she doing?” Jessica’s voice became tense. “I meant to call her today, but I didn’t get a chance.”

  More like, felt afraid to call her, Emily realized with a pang. “Mother’s fine. Sara Franklin stopped by to visit, and they were going through old photographs. You know how Mother loves to talk about the good old days.”

  “Poor Sara. She’s a good sport, isn’t she?”

  “A very good sport and an unusual young woman,” Emily agreed. “Mother asked about you. She was in a bit of a snit about church. She thinks you should have come over to say hello.”

  “I tried to say hello to her, and she just gave me one of those—those looks. You know, like she’s never seen me before in her life.” Jessica gave a perfect imitation of their mother’s haughty, wide-eyed stare.

  “I know,” Emily said, grinning. “And even she knows perfectly well what she did, but pointing it out to her doesn’t seem to do much good.”

  The teakettle shrieked, and Emily poured the hot water into the waiting mugs and carried them to the table.

  Jessica sighed and stirred her tea. “I thought it wouldn’t bother me if she missed the party. But of course it did,” she confessed, sounding sad and angry and frustrated all at once. “Especially when the cake came out and Digger got everyone to sing. I felt so happy—except that I wished Mother were there.”

  “Yes, I know,” Emily said quietly.

  “What if she really doesn’t come to the wedding? It’s hard enough that Father is gone. If Mother didn’t come, I’d feel so sad. I’m not sure if I could go through with it.”

  “Go through with the wedding, you mean?”

  Jessica looked down and nodded. “I could never say that to Sam. He wouldn’t understand—he’d feel so hurt. But it’s true. She’s got to come, Emily. She just has to.”

  Emily put her arm around Jessica’s shoulder. “There’s plenty of time for Mother to change her mind. And Reverend Ben is going to talk to her this week. She’ll come around, you’ll see.”

  “She might listen to Reverend Ben,” Jessica allowed. “She certainly won’t listen to either of us.”

  “Just don’t cut yourself off from her,” Emily advised. “Mother will only use that as ammunition to prove her point.”

  Jessica sighed. “It’s hard enough getting married, without dealing with Mother, too. Honestly, Emily, sometimes I just say to myself, why bother?”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re going to marry Sam and live in that beautiful house on the pond, with one wall painted blue and the other one French Vanilla, and you’ll have lots of kids for me to spoil and baby-sit,” she told her sister. “And Mother will come to the wedding, and she’ll give you a complete critique of everything, from the flower arrangements to the cheese puffs.”

  “If you say so.” Jessica forced a smile.

  Emily wished there was something more she could say or do. Then she remembered the pearls.

  “Come upstairs, I want to show you something,” she coaxed her sister.

  Without further explanation, Emily led the way to the bedroom. Jessica followed, looking puzzled.

  Emily stepped up to the dresser, blocking Jessica’s view, and took out the velvet box. “Now, close your eyes and don’t open them until I say.”

  “Close my eyes?” Jessica sounded doubtful, but did as she was told.

  Emily quietly opened the jewelry case and removed the necklace, then slipped the strand of antique pearls around her sister’s neck and fastened the catch. “Don’t open your eyes yet.”

  “What in the world—?”

  Emily guided her a few steps closer to the mirror that hung above her oak dresser. “Okay, you can look now,” she said, stepping back to watch her sister’s reaction.

  Jessica stared at her reflection, first looking puzzled and at the same time touching the necklace as if to make sure it was real. “For goodness’ sake . . .” she said under her breath. She drew closer to the mirror, her gaze fixed on the necklace. “The bridal pearls. How did you get them?” she asked, turning to face Emily.

  “Mother wore them to some meeting of the museum board last week and asked me to put them back in the bank for her.” Emily grinned. “I just didn’t get to it yet. And I thought you might enjoy trying them on.”

  Jessica glanced again at her reflection. She gently touched the pearls again, her bright expression clouding over.

  Oh, dear, Emily thought. Did I do the right thing?

  “I’d better take them off,” Jessica said, fumbling with the catch. “Mother would have a stroke if she ever knew I was in the same room as this necklace.”

  “Come on, Jessica. It’s all right,” Emily soothed her. “Leave them on a minute. I want to see how they look on you.”

  “Take a good look. This is as close as I’ll ever come to wearing them,” Jessica said, giving her reflection one more quick glance. Then she slipped the pearls off and placed them back in the silk-lined box. “Somehow it doesn’t seem right even to try them on like this, behind her back. I know she won’t let me wear them on my wedding day, not the way things are going between us.”

  “It’s just so ironic,” Emily said quietly. “I mean, Mother always sounded so hurt and bitter about the way she was denied wearing the necklace. And now she’s doing the exact same thing to you. You would think she would have learned something.”

  “Yes, I know.” Jessica took a breath, looking upset again. “I guess she didn’t.”

  That observation seemed true enough, Emily thought, but it didn’t sit well with her.

  “Let’s give it time.” Emily touched her sister’s shoulder and caught her gaze in the mirror. “I’m going to keep them here for you until your wedding day. A lot can happen by then.”

  “How about you?” Jessica asked. “Have you tried them on?”

  “Me? Why would I ever wear them? I’m not getting married.”

  “You did once,” Jessica reminded her. “But you didn’t get to wear them. . . . Aren’t you curious?”

  Emily looked at the pearls, then snapped the case closed. “No . . . I couldn’t. I’ve missed my chance. But you’ll have yours,” she promised quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  Jessica gazed into her eyes and smiled. “Well, I’m not going to count on it, but I appreciate you trying.”

  “No problem,” Emily said. Older by ten years, Emily had always felt protective of her younger sister even though she knew Jessica sometimes resented it.

  But Jessica needed her more than ever now, and Emily knew she would gladly play the role of both Jessica’s maid of honor and the surrogate mother of the bride—as long as their own mother continued to oppose her dear sister’s wedding.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PERHAPSI SHOULD HAVE CALLED FIRST, BEN THOUGHT as the grand white colonial came into view. If I show up at her door with no warning, Lillian might turn me away, just on principle. No matter that I’m her minister. But of course if I called, she’d have guessed my reason for coming and put me off with some excuse.

  No, he’d done the right thing by surprising her, he decided as he parked his car in front of the house. When it came to a person like Lillian Warwick, a surprise attack—impromptu meeting, rather—was best.

&
nbsp; Ben took the small bushel of vegetables from the backseat, then walked up the front path toward the porch. He’d always loved Providence Street. It was one of the village’s finest, with its tall trees, deep, sweeping lawns, and majestic old homes.

  He rang the doorbell and waited. He could hear the low murmur of a television or radio. Perhaps she was home but didn’t hear him. He tried again and waited. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the heavy drapes in the living room shift slightly, then snap closed.

  Signs of life within after all. I’m not giving up that easily, Lillian, he thought, pressing the chime again.

  “I’m coming. Please do stop that ringing,” he heard her call out from the other side of the door.

  Then the door opened and Lillian’s eyes grew wide with theatrical surprise. “Why, Reverend Ben. What a surprise.”

  “Hello, Lillian. I was out at the Potters’, and Sophie loaded me up with vegetables, as usual. I thought I’d stop by and bring you some on my way back to town.”

  “How nice of you to remember me.” Lillian’s tone was polite, despite a note of unmistakable suspicion. “I’m hardly on the way to town. I’m hardly on your way to anywhere,” she pointed out.

  “Well, I was thinking of you,” he said with a shrug. “Shall I bring these into the kitchen?”

  “Yes, I guess so,” Lillian replied, stepping back and opening the door.

  Ben carried the bushel through the house back to the kitchen with Lillian following slowly behind.

  “Shall I put it on the counter?”

  “Yes, next to the sink would be fine,” she directed him.

  He set the bushel down, then turned to her. “So, how are you feeling today, Lillian? You look well.”

  “Then I must look worlds better than I feel. I was expecting your daughter this morning for my physical therapy. But she canceled,” Lillian told him, as if the Reverend were somehow to blame. “She has a bad cold. Did you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t,” he replied honestly, feeling concerned for Rachel.

  “Well, I suppose it’s all for the best, since I don’t need to catch it from her. But it is the second time this month,” she added. She glanced at him, then pulled the edges of her sweater together and fastened the middle button.