“Whatever works. Give me the phone.”

“Oh, but—”

“I mean it, Parker, give me the phone.” Eyes narrowed, Laurel held out a finger, crooked it. “Otherwise, I’ll be forced to assume Malcolm’s not the only one with trust issues.”

“Unfair,” Parker muttered, but unhooked the phone from her waistband.

She didn’t bother to change, just tossed on a hoodie, zipped it. The brisk, cool air, so fresh from the evening’s rain, felt good. Denuded trees raised their dark arms up into a sky so blue and sharp and bright she regretted not grabbing sunglasses. The grass, hardened from the night’s frost, crunched under her feet.

Autumn, she thought, with its color and shimmer and smoky scents was nearly done and winter creeping up to take its place.

Mac’s wedding was only a month away. Still so much to do, so many details, so many check marks. It was probably for the best she and Malcolm had taken this step back from each other. She needed to focus on the most important wedding Vows had ever planned.

God knew there was plenty to deal with on all the other events, and that didn’t touch on the Seaman extravaganza in the spring, which needed constant attention.

She still had countless arrangements and plans to finalize for Emma’s wedding, and for Laurel’s.

Then there was the book proposal.With the changes and additions her partners had put in, it was as solid and ready as it could be.Time to send it to the agent, she thought.

Really, the simple truth was she didn’t have time for a relationship.

At some point, down the road, maybe. But not now. And she would certainly expect and demand a full partnership, a real meeting of minds, absolute trust.

As her parents had.

She couldn’t be—wouldn’t allow herself to be—in love with a man who didn’t want the same. However much it hurt now to realize that, to accept that, it would hurt more later if she denied it.

“Hey, Parker.”

She jerked out of the internal debate, and stared at Carter as he veered toward her, briefcase in hand.

“Carter. I’ve lost track of the time.You’re leaving for work.”

“Yeah. Is everything okay?”

“Sure. I just . . . I’d better get inside, get to work.”

He took her hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Really. I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I’m . . .” Doing exactly what Malcolm had done. Closing down, closing in.

“I think Malcolm and I ended things last night.”

“I’ll be sorry if that’s true. Can you tell me why?”

“I guess we don’t have enough common ground, or look at things the same way. Or want the same things.”

That wet fist tried to flex again.

“Carter, I’m not really sure. I don’t understand him.”

“Do you want to?”

“I always want to understand, and I’d say that’s why things aren’t going to work.”

He set his briefcase down where they stood, then draped an arm around her shoulders and began to walk.

“You have to get to work.”

“I’ve got some time. When Mac and I were having problems, when I felt I didn’t understand her, you helped me.You gave me some insight into her that I needed. Maybe I can do the same for you.”

“He won’t let me in, Carter. There are all these locked doors. Whenever I ask him about the hard things—and the hard things are a factor in making us who we are—he says it’s no big deal, it was a long time ago, or just shifts the subject.”

“He doesn’t talk about himself much. I think you’re right about the locked doors. And I think there are some people who lock them so they can open others.That they think they won’t be able to walk through the others if they don’t shut out what came before.”

“I understand that, I do. To a point. But how can you be with someone, hope you might stay with someone, who isn’t willing to let you see what they locked away, who won’t share the problems, the bad times? Who won’t let you help?”

“From the little he’s said, and more from what my mother related, he took some pretty hard knocks as a kid. Emotionally when he lost his father, physically from his uncle and aunt. You can’t be a teacher without dealing with kids who’ve been through something like that, or are going through it. In a lot of cases, trust takes time, and a lot of work.”

“So I should give it more time, be patient, and work harder.”

“Some of that’s up to you.” He rubbed her arm as they walked. “On his part, I’d have to say he’s crazy about you and hasn’t quite figured out how to handle it. You want, need, and deserve the whole picture, and he’s thinking you should look at what he is now, that it should be enough.”

“That’s a good analysis.” She sighed and, grateful, leaned on him a little. “I don’t know if it makes me want to move forward or away, but it’s a good analysis.”

“I bet he didn’t get much sleep last night either.”

“I hope not.” It helped to smile, and she did as she turned to hug him. “Thank you, Carter. Whatever happens, this helped.”

She drew back. “Go to school.”

“Maybe you could take a nap.”

“Carter, who are you talking to?”

“I had to try.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek, started toward his car again. Nearly tripped over his own briefcase before he remembered it.

“Mac.” Parker breathed it as she turned to go inside.“You’re so damn lucky.”

She paused a moment, just to study the house, the soft blue of it against the brilliant sky. All those lovely lines, she thought, the pretty touches of gingerbread, the gleam of windows. Like a wedding, she decided, those were details. At the core it was more than house, even more than a home, which was so vital to her. It was a symbol; it was a statement. It stood as it had for generations, a testament to her name, to her family. By standing it proved it was in her blood to build to last.

How could she build with Malcolm without understanding his foundation?

She went in through the kitchen. Coffee, she thought, a decent breakfast to boost some energy into her system. Maybe the answers would come, one way or the other, once she made herself fall back into routine.

But when she walked into the kitchen, Mrs. Grady sat at the counter, her eyes wet.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” Her own troubles forgotten, Parker rushed around the counter.

“There was a terrible accident last night. A car accident.”

“I know. Del said something about it. Oh God. Someone was killed? Someone you knew?”

“Worse than that. There were three girls—teenagers. There’d been four, but they’d just dropped the other off at home.They’re all dead, all of them.”

“Oh, no. Oh God.”

“I know the mother of one of them, from the book club I’m in.”

“Mrs. G, Mrs. G.” Parker wrapped her arms around her, rocked. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“There were two people in the other car. One’s stable now, they say, the other still critical.”

“I’m going to make you some tea.” She brushed Mrs. Grady’s hair back from her face. “You lie down awhile, and I’ll bring it to you. I’ll sit with you.”

“No, I’m all right here.We know, you and I, how death—sudden and cruel like this—how it devastates you.”

“Yes.” Parker squeezed her hand, then walked over to make the tea.

“Dana, the woman I know from the book club? I never liked her.” Mrs. Grady pulled a tissue out of her apron pocket, dabbed at her eyes, her cheeks. “Disagreeable sort of person, know-it-all, that kind of thing. And now I think she’s lost a child, and none of that matters anymore. Someone took pictures of the terrible wreck of the car, and they had it on the local news. I hope she doesn’t see it, that she never has to see that, that they towed it away and locked it away before she ever saw it.”

“I want you to . . .” Towed it away, Parker thought.

Malcolm.

She squeezed her eyes shut, took a breath. First things first.

“I want you to drink your tea while I make you some breakfast.”

“Darling girl.” Mrs. Grady blew her nose, almost managed a smile. “Bless your heart, you can’t cook worth spit.”

“I can scramble eggs and make toast.” She set the tea in front of Mrs. Grady. “And if you don’t trust me that far, I’ll get Laurel to make it. But you’re going to have some breakfast and some tea. Then you’re going to call Hilly Babcock, because you’re going to want your good friend.”

“Bossy.”

“That’s right.”

She grabbed Parker’s hand as tears swirled again. “I’ve been sitting here, my heart broken for those lost children, for their families, even for the child who fate spared. And a part of me thanked God, couldn’t help but thank God, that I still have mine.”

“You’ve got a right to be grateful for that.We all do. It doesn’t take away the sorrow and the sympathy for the loss.”

She wrapped her arms around Mrs. Grady again because she remembered, too well remembered, when they’d lost theirs. The way the world had simply fallen away, and the air had closed off. When there was nothing but terrible, ripping grief.

“Drink your tea.” Parker gave her a last, hard squeeze. “I’m calling Laurel and Emma and Mac, and we’ll take some time to be grateful, and time to be sorry.”

She kissed Mrs. Grady’s cheek. “But I’m making breakfast.”

THE FOUR OF THEM SWITCHED OFF KEEPING AN EYE ON MRS. GRADY, trying not to be obvious about it. With all of them juggling appointments, a rehearsal that evening, and a weekend with back-to-back events, Parker barely had time to think.

But she made a point of looking the story up online.

This, she thought as her throat clutched at the photograph, was what Malcolm had seen the night before. How much more horrible would it be to have seen it in reality?