Her father nodded, his smile turning grim. “You know that that marriage—if it happens—doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell.”

“You can’t be a hundred percent certain,” Lucy said, even though she privately agreed. “People surprise you.”

“Yes, they do,” he admitted. “At my age, however, not often. Where are the coffee mugs?”

Together they opened a couple of cabinets until they found them.

“Your mother and I have been talking recently,” Phillip said, and stunned her by adding, “I gather she’s told you that I’d been married once before.”

“Yes,” Lucy managed to say. “That was kind of a shocker.”

“All this business with you and Alice and Kevin has stirred up some issues your mother and I haven’t faced in quite a while.”

“Is that bad?” Lucy asked gingerly.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been convinced that everything in a relationship needs to be talked about. Some things can’t be fixed by a conversation.”

“I’m guessing these issues have to do with … her?” For some reason the words “your first wife” were too jarring for Lucy to say.

“Yes. I love your mother. I would never make comparisons. The other relationship was…” A pause, fraught with a kind of pensive strain she had never seen from him before. “It was in its own category.”

“What was her name?” Lucy asked softly.

His lips parted as if to answer, but he shook his head and stayed silent.

What kind of woman had she had been, Lucy wondered, that decades after her death, he couldn’t speak her name?

“That intensity of emotion…” he said after a while, as if to himself. “That sense of two people being so right for each other, they’re halves of a whole. It was … extraordinary.”

“So you don’t regret it,” Lucy said.

“I do regret it.” Her father looked at her directly, his eyes glittering. His voice was thick as he added, “Better not to know. But that’s just me. Other people might say that it’s worth any price to have just a few moments of what I had.” Turning away, he began to pour the coffee.

Stunned into silence by the rare display of emotion, Lucy hobbled to get spoons from the flatware drawer. Had he been a more tactile man, she would have gone to embrace him. However, his buttoned-up civility had always been a suit of armor, repelling gestures of affection.

Now she understood something about her father that she never had before—his calmness, his endless composure, had nothing to do with peace.

* * *

After the Marinns had returned to California, Lucy’s mother called to tell her that the day they had spent with Alice and Kevin had gone as well as could have been expected. According to Cherise, the pair had been subdued. Kevin had been especially quiet. “But I did get the feeling,” her mother said, “that they’ve both made up their minds to go through with it, no matter what. I think Kevin’s being pushed by his parents—they seem very intent on getting him married.”

Lucy smiled ruefully. Kevin’s parents were an older couple who had spoiled their only son and had subsequently been dismayed by his immaturity and self-centeredness. But it was too late for them to wonder what might have been, what they should have done differently. Perhaps they thought that marriage would be good for him, make him more of an adult.

“We went out to dinner,” Cherise said, “and everyone was on their best behavior.”

“Even Dad?” Lucy asked wryly.

“Even Dad. The only awkward moment came when Kevin asked me about you.”

“He did?” Lucy felt a startled jab in her stomach. “In front of everyone?”

“Yes. He wanted to know about your leg, and how you were feeling, and then he asked how involved you were with Sam.”

“My God. I bet Alice wanted to kill him.”

“It wasn’t good timing on his part,” her mother said.

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth—that you look well, and happy, and you seem to be getting very close to Sam. And I couldn’t be any more pleased about it.”

“Mom. I’ve already told you why there’s no chance for me to have a serious relationship with Sam. So please don’t get your hopes up for something that’s impossible.”

“Don’t say ‘it’s impossible,’” her mother said with annoying sanguinity, “about something that you’re already doing.”

* * *

Two days after her parents’ visit, Lucy moved into the condo at Friday Harbor. To her surprise, Sam had objected to her leaving Rainshadow so soon, insisting that she needed more time to rest and heal. “Besides,” he’d said, “I don’t think you’ve gotten the hang of those crutches yet.”

“I’ve totally gotten the hang of them,” Lucy said. “I can even do tricks with them. You should see my freestyle moves.”

“All those stairs. All that walking. And you can’t drive yet. How are you going to get groceries?”

“I’ve got a whole list of numbers from the Hog Heaven congregation.”

“I don’t want you to hang out with a bunch of bikers.”

“I won’t be hanging out with them,” Lucy said, amused. “They’re just going to lend me a hand every now and then.”

Although it was clear that Sam would have liked to argue further, he muttered, “It’s your life.”

Lucy gave him an impish grin. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll let you come over for a quickie every now and then.”

He scowled at her. “That’s great. Because sexual convenience was my main concern.”

Although Lucy was rather sorry to leave the house at Rainshadow, she felt it was better for both of them. Another few days of proximity, and she was fairly certain that Sam would have started to feel claustrophobic. And most important, Lucy was happy to be able to return to her studio.

She missed her glass desperately, could almost feel it calling to her.

On her first morning back at Swing on a Star, Lucy was filled with creative fire. She set out to produce a cartoon, or a full-sized design, of the tree window for the Rainshadow Vineyard house. Using a combination of hand sketching and computer software, she detailed the cut lines and numbering sections for color shading. When it was finished to her satisfaction, she would make three copies of the pattern, one for reference, one to cut apart with shears, and one on which to assemble the window. Then the meticulous process of glass scoring and breaking would begin, accompanied by reshaping and grinding the edges of pieces as needed.

Lucy was still working on the cartoon when Sam came to the studio at lunchtime. He brought in two crisp white paper bags from the Market Chef, both of which looked satisfyingly weighty. “Sandwiches,” he said.

“I didn’t expect you,” Lucy exclaimed. A teasing grin spread across her face. “You just can’t stay away from me.”

Sam glanced at the pile of sketches on the table. “Is this preferable to the life of leisure you had with me?”

Lucy laughed. “Well, being waited on hand and foot was very nice … but it’s good to be productive again.”

Sam set the bags on the worktable and came around to view the cartoon. He stared intently at the design. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s going to be stunning,” Lucy said. “You have no idea what the glass will add.”

The corners of his mouth quirked. “Knowing you, I’ll be prepared for anything.” After studying the design for a minute, he said, “I brought you a housewarming present. I thought you’d probably want to keep it here.”

“You didn’t have to get me a present.”

“You won’t be able to use it for a while.”

“Where is it?”

“Sit still. I’ll bring it in.”

Lucy waited with an expectant grin as Sam went outside. Her eyes widened as he wheeled in a bicycle with a huge bow adorning the center of the handlebars. “I don’t believe it. Oh, Sam. You are the sweetest, sweetest—” She broke off with a crow of delight as she looked at the fabulous vintage restored bike, painted a rich forest green with crisp white ballooner fenders.

“It’s a 1954 Ladies Schwinn Hornet,” Sam said, rolling it over to her.

Lucy ran her fingers over the rich patina, the thick black wall tires, the white leather seat. “It’s perfect,” she said, surprised to discover that her voice was scratchy and her eyes were blurring. Because a present like this could only have come from someone who understood her, who got her. And it was a sign that Sam truly felt something for her, whether or not he’d intended it that way. She was surprised by the realization of how much that meant to her, how much she had wanted him to care for her on some level.

“Thank you. I…” She stood and threw her arms around him, and pressed her face against his shoulder.

“It’s nothing.” Sam patted her back uncomfortably. “No need to get all girly.”

Feeling how tense he’d gotten, understanding the reason why, Lucy said in a muffled voice, “It is incredibly sweet, and probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me.” She forced a laugh and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Relax. I still don’t love you.”

“Thank God.” He grinned at her, relaxing visibly.

* * *

For the next two months, Lucy occupied herself with her work. Sam often dropped by on the pretext of checking on her, but his visits usually resulted in the two of them having dinner together. Although there had been countless romantic interludes at the condo afterward, sex was not something that Sam demanded or automatically expected. He seemed to enjoy talking with her, just being with her, whether or not they ended up sleeping together. One afternoon he brought Holly to Lucy’s studio, and Lucy helped her to make a simple suncatcher with glass and copper foil. On another day they took Holly to the sculpture park, where Sam was quickly surrounded by at least a half-dozen children, all of them giggling wildly as he led them in attempts to pose like statues.