She reached her car just before Joelle and Bobby reached the Prius, and when she pressed the b.u.t.ton on her key to unlock the sedan, she turned to offer a friendly smile. It froze on her face, and her eyes widened in astonishment. "Joelle Webber?"

The woman's shock arced like lightning, striking Joelle and causing her to flinch. She recognized that nut-brown face, the elegant cheekbones, the prim lips glossed with pink lipstick. Drew Foster's mother was the sort of woman who never left the house without first donning a full layer of makeup.

"Mrs. Foster," she said politely, trying to hide her surprise. Hadn't she seen a strange young woman picking up the mail at the Foster house yesterday? Hadn't she concluded that the Fosters no longer lived there? Stupid a.s.sumption. The young woman could have been a guest, or hired help.

Joelle scrambled for something innocuous to say to Drew's mother. But before she could come up with a friendly observation, Mrs. Foster had stepped out from between their cars, marched over to Joelle and slapped her cheek.

The slap didn't hurt-for all the muscle tone in her arms, Mrs. Foster was a pet.i.te, elderly woman. But it hurt Joelle's composure. She sprang back and Bobby sprang forward. Joelle gripped his arm, afraid he'd take a swing at Drew's mother and send her clear across the lot.

"How dare you!" Mrs. Foster railed. "How dare you keep my granddaughter from me!"

"Don't touch my wife," Bobby growled.

"Bobby, no." Joelle tried to calm him.

"You're her husband?" Mrs. Foster glowered at Bobby, her expression as lethal as his. "You're the man who stole my granddaughter?"

Before Bobby could retort, Joelle yanked on his arm, moving him back a step. "No one stole your granddaughter, Mrs. Foster," she said.

"Then tell me why my son had to hire a detective to find out he even had a daughter."

Joelle could feel Bobby bristling next to her; energy pulsing through him. He wanted to defend her, he wanted to lash out. Yet he restrained himself. She knew how much that restraint cost him.

"Drew ran away from his daughter," Joelle said, her voice muted. Something cold and wet struck her cheek and she glanced up to see a dark cloud pa.s.sing over the parking lot. "When I told him I was pregnant, he asked me to get an abortion."

"He didn't know any better," Mrs. Foster said, defending him. "He was just a child. He was scared."

"I was young and scared, too."

"You should have come to Marshall and me. We would have supported you, paid your medical expenses."

And then stolen my baby from me, Joelle completed the thought. She wasn't sure why she believed this, but she did. The Fosters had never cared for her. She'd been a poor girl from the wrong side of town, and while they'd tolerated her and maintained a pleasant civility around her, they'd never embraced her.

If she'd shown up on their doorstep with the news that their son had gotten her pregnant, they would have hated her. They would have done the right thing-they were the kind of people who recognized their obligations-but they wouldn't have done it for her. Only for her child.

"I made the choice I believed was best," Joelle said firmly, ignoring another raindrop that struck the tip of her nose. "And I'd make the same choice today."

"Keeping our granddaughter from us? Does she even know she has grandparents?"

Joelle felt another wave of energy surge through Bobby. She slid her hand down past his wrist to twine her fingers through his. The tension in his grip could have broken her bones if he'd let it. "She knows her grandparents," Joelle said, not bothering to add that Claudia's allotment of grandparents was pretty skimpy.

"Marshall and I need to meet her. She's our grandchild, too."

"She's an adult. If she wants to meet you, I'm sure she'll arrange it."

Mrs. Foster closed in on her. "You have no idea," she said, her teeth clenched and the tendons in her neck standing out beneath her skin. "You can't begin to comprehend what it's like to have only one grandchild and he's dying. In your worst nightmares, you can't begin to imagine it."

Joelle suffered a pang of sympathy for the woman, but it was fleeting. If Mrs. Foster had raised her own son to be more responsible, she might have spent the past thirty-seven years doting on a granddaughter. But things happened. One decision led to another, and to another, until people wound up so far down one path that they could never retrace their steps and try another route.

"I've had my own nightmares, Mrs. Foster," Joelle said quietly.

Bobby broke in, apparently unable to hold back any longer. "We're done here." He dug into the pocket of Joelle's purse where she stashed her keys and pressed the b.u.t.ton on her car key to unlock the doors. Swinging the pa.s.senger door open, he nudged Joelle onto the seat, then loped around the car and crammed himself behind the wheel, not bothering to adjust the seat for his larger frame before he ignited the engine and backed out of the parking s.p.a.ce. In the side mirror, Joelle saw Mrs. Foster calling to them, her face stretched into a grimace, her hand hacking the air.

Bobby didn't speak as he drove out into the street, his knees banging against the steering wheel. Stopped at a red light, he slid the seat back and tilted the rearview mirror to accommodate his height.

She considered asking him where they were going, then thought better of it. He was seething with anger, most of it aimed at Drew Foster's mother but some of it reserved for Joelle, too. She knew Bobby well enough to understand he was furious with her for having spoken gently to a woman who had slapped her. Joelle should have been furious, too. But...G.o.d help her, maybe she deserved that slap. And maybe she deserved Bobby's wrath. She'd made a choice so long ago, the only sensible choice she could grasp at the time, the only one that would enable her to keep her baby and her dignity. It might have been the wrong choice, but she wouldn't have done anything differently if she'd had it to do all over again.

Next to her, Bobby said nothing. Random raindrops had accelerated into a drizzle and he flicked on the wipers. She could tell he was gnashing his teeth by the twitching muscle in his jaw.

He drove through downtown Holmdell, past Harley's and the new Starbucks. He drove past where the A&W stand used to be. It was gone, replaced by a car wash. Farther down the road, a Home Depot had sprung up, a large concrete structure surrounded by an even larger parking lot. Bobby kept driving.

She realized where he was driving her when he veered off the main road and onto a two-lane strip of asphalt that snaked into the woods outside of town. Over one hill, a jag in the road, up another hill and the trees thinned out, opening onto a stretch of dirt and gravel and beyond it the lake.

No other cars were there. Sunday at noon wasn't exactly a popular time for teenagers to make out in cars-if they still did that sort of thing these days-and the damp day kept swimmers from gathering along the edge of the lake on the narrow strip of sand that Holmdell residents extravagantly called a beach. Bobby had his choice of places to park, and he angled the car to provide a clear view of the lake and the pine forest surrounding it. The water was slate-colored, pockmarked by the rain striking its surface. When he turned off the engine, Joelle heard the tap of raindrops against the roof.

"You never brought me here before," she said.

"Yeah, I did." He pushed his seat back as far as it could go and attempted to stretch his legs. "We'd bike up here to swim."

"When we were kids. I meant..." She remembered the summer nights Drew drove her to the lake in his Corvette and she'd struggled to figure out how far she ought to let him go.

"I know what you meant."

More silence. More raindrops pattering on the car's roof.

Joelle stared at the lake and ran her fingers lightly over her cheek where Mrs. Foster had slapped her. "You wanted to kill Mrs. Foster back there, didn't you," she finally said.

"And you wanted to shoot the breeze with her."

"I did not!"

"You treat the Fosters like they're decent people. They're not. They're spoiled, demanding, manipulative users. And that woman hit you. I can't believe she did that."

"I can."

"It's her son's fault she never knew about Claudia. She shouldn't be blaming you."

"Maybe she should." Joelle felt as bleak as the grim, gray clouds lying low above them. A sob filled her throat and she gulped it down. "I did everything wrong, Bobby. I shouldn't have had s.e.x with Drew. And when I got pregnant..."

"Don't say you should have gotten rid of the baby." His voice was taut with indignation.

No, she shouldn't have gotten rid of Claudia, either through abortion or adoption. She couldn't imagine her life without Claudia in it, her precious daughter, her blessed firstborn. She couldn't imagine her life without Claudia-or without Bobby. If it hadn't been for Claudia, he would never have married her.

He reached across the gear stick and captured her hand in his. It was the first time he'd touched her voluntarily, with affection, since Drew Foster had entered their house a week ago. He pulled her hand toward him, sandwiched it in both of his, traced his thumb aimlessly over her palm. "You weren't acting alone, Jo. If you did everything wrong, so did I."

The caress of his thumb felt so good she wanted to moan. She wanted to vault herself over the gearstick and into his lap, and hold him and kiss him and believe he loved her the way she loved him. But there was no room, and her seat belt was still fastened and she was afraid to risk having him push her away. So much remained wrong between them, so much unsaid. "Maybe marrying you was just another thing I did wrong. But I can't help feeling it was the right thing to do."

He twisted in his seat to face her. She kept her eyes on the lake, but she sensed his movement. She felt his scrutiny, his gaze solid and warm. "We were nuts to think we could keep the truth about Claudia a secret forever," he conceded.

"We kept it a secret for a long time." At last she looked at him, but now he'd turned away and was staring at the lake, at the rain streaking the windshield. "Unfortunately we never figured out what we'd do if the secret got out."

"What should we do?" he asked.

"If I knew, we wouldn't be here now."

His lips moved, as if he wanted to taste his words before he actually spoke them. "You walked out on me, Jo."

"We walked out on each other," she corrected him. "I just traveled more miles."

His thumb moved back and forth against her palm, exploring the lines, the skin worn dry by so many years of cleaning, digging weeds, sewing, demonstrating craft projects to her students, writing, hugging, clinging to her children and then prodding them out into the world. "All my life, I've tried to give you what you want," he said, his voice low but steady. "I did the best I could. But I don't think it's enough."

No, she acknowledged. It wasn't enough. He'd given her so much, but not the one thing she truly wanted. "I need to know what's in your heart," she said. "That would be enough."

He exhaled. "I-I don't do that stuff. Baring my soul and all that. Talking to shrinks, punching pillows to get out the rage, meditating, chanting, whatever. That's not the way I am."

She agreed with a nod.

"But I've tried."

She eyed him skeptically. "Have you?"

"I told you what happened in 'Nam. I didn't want to, but you pushed me, so I told you. And when I was starting the business, I talked to you about the finances, the loans, everything I was worried about. Everything I dreamed the business would be." He hesitated, and his voice emerged hoa.r.s.e when he said, "I told you I hated my father. And I told you how I felt when Foster walked into our house last week. What more do you want?"

"I want..." G.o.d, she hated to beg. She hated to ask him for what he couldn't give. But they were actually talking, and he was holding her hand and she couldn't back out now. If the truth hurt...Well, it often did. She would simply have to endure the pain. "I want you to love me, Bobby."

"What?" He half shouted the word, half laughed it.

"You've never said it. Not once in all the years I've known you, all the years we've been married. You've never told me you love me."

"I tell you all the time. Maybe not in words, but-come on, Jo. You ask for a Prius-I buy you a Prius. You decide to try gardening-I give you a garden. Anything you want, anything I can give you-"

"Those are things, Bobby." He might be laughing, but she heard anger in his words, as well. She herself was far from laughter. It was all she could do to keep from erupting in tears. "When you were in Vietnam, every time I got a letter from you, I'd say a little prayer that you'd signed it 'Love, Bobby.' Then I opened it, and it never said love. I was sure you were planning to divorce me as soon as you got home. That was the deal, after all-we'd get married and then we could get a divorce. You never said you loved me, so I figured you didn't. But then you came back broken and wounded, and you couldn't divorce me while you were in rehab, and then you kind of got in the habit of being married to me and-"

"Are you insane?" He tugged her hand, urging her to meet his gaze. "I've been in love with you since the first day of Mrs. Schmidt's fourth-grade cla.s.s."

"You were ten years old. How could you have been in love with me?"

"d.a.m.ned if I know. But I was."

"You never told me, Bobby. You never even hinted-"

"Because you were Joelle Webber." He sighed, his gaze pinned to the horizon. "You were going places. I realized even then that you were going to wind up someplace better. You were going to escape Tubtown. You weren't going to tie yourself to a boy whose father drank a lot and knocked him around, who went off to Vietnam because even that h.e.l.lhole was better than his own home. I loved you enough to stay out of your way."

"I did wind up someplace better," she said, wishing he didn't look so distraught. "You were right about that."

"Everything I did, Jo-buying a house, building a business, getting the d.a.m.n college degree-I did it so you would never have to think you'd gotten ripped off. You had dreams, you had expectations, and I did everything I could not to disappoint you. You married me only because you were in a bad situation, but-"

"The day you asked me to marry you was the best day of my life," she said. "I'd walked up that hill in the cemetery certain it was the absolute worst day of my life, and you turned it into the best day."

"You didn't know that at the time," he argued.

"No. It took me a while to figure out, but I know it now." She unclasped her seat belt and leaned across the console to kiss Bobby. "Tell me. I need to hear the words."

"I love you, Jo," he said. "I always have."

They kissed, a deep, lush, loving kiss. His hand remained around hers and his mouth took hers, possessive, hungry...loving. She believed that. He'd said the words, and this time the truth didn't hurt at all.

By the time they stopped kissing, she was half in his lap, one knee propped on her seat, the steering wheel digging into her shoulder and the car's windows steamed. Bobby cupped her face with his free hand, brushed her hair back from her cheek and peered into her eyes. "So here we are at the lake, and this car is too small."

"It's not too small."

"It's too small and I'm too old." He smiled and caressed her mouth with his fingertips. "I'm sorry I never took you here to do anything besides swimming."

"You were busy with half the girls in Tubtown. I don't think you're all that sorry."

"I am," he insisted. He grazed her lips with his, and then her cheek and then the sensitive spot just below her ear. Desire throbbed deep inside her. "I would have made it good for you if I'd brought you here," he murmured, and she knew he would have. He'd made it good for her on their wedding night, when all she understood about s.e.x was that it was unpleasant and painful and embarra.s.sing. He always made it good for her, even when they were tired or angry or distracted. If only Bobby had told her he loved her back then, when she'd been young and hadn't made any terrible mistakes yet, who knew where they'd be today?

As if he could read her mind, he let his hand fall still and his eyes grew darker. "I could say I love you nonstop for the rest of our lives, Jo. But that wouldn't make things any better."

"Why?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "I'm still going to lose Claudia."

If Bobby had loved Joelle as a teenager, Claudia would never have existed. They would never have had their wonderful daughter. "You won't lose her, Bobby. She adores you."

"She went for a blood test."

Once again silence filled the car. The rain was falling harder now, drumming against the car's surfaces, blurring the world beyond the windows.

"If she isn't a match, it's all over," Joelle said, wishing she could convince them both of that.

"It's not over." His gaze slid past her and fixed on the silver shimmer of the rain. "She said he was her brother. Foster's son-her brother." He stared into her eyes, the sorrow and accusation in his gaze piercing her. "You told her about Foster, and now I'm losing her. You want me to bare my soul? Here's what's in my soul, then. I love you, Jo. I always have and I always will. But when you told Claudia that Foster was her father, you took her away from me." He turned from her, once again staring out at the rain spilling down into the lake.

"She loves you."

"She calls him her father." He swallowed, his eyes distant, seeing not the scenery outside the car but something invisible, something inside himself. "I love you, Jo, but I wish to h.e.l.l you'd never let Foster into our lives."

"He was in our lives all along," she pointed out sadly.

She felt Bobby's withdrawal, a subtle motion, a slackening of his hold on her. He seemed to slip away from her like the rain slipping into the lake, water vanishing into water. "Yeah," he muttered, nudging her back into her seat and reaching for the car keys. "He was, wasn't he."

Joelle watched him, struggling to read his expression. For one fleeting moment he'd opened to her and spoken his heart. Now he was locking himself up again, sealing himself away. What she'd said was only the truth, but like the truth that he feared had cost him his daughter, this truth might cost Joelle her husband.

Don't close down, she wanted to plead. Don't leave me. But he was easing away, drawing back, in full retreat. She'd had him for that one precious moment, and now he was gone.