“This is Rory, Father,” Shelly said.

The priest walked across the room, holding his hand out to Rory.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Taylor,” he said.

Rory shook his hand.

“My pleasure,” he said.

“I’m going to get the vacuum,” Shelly said to Father Macy.

“I’ll start out here in the hallway so I don’t make too much noise for you and Rory, okay?”

Father Macy touched her arm.

“Good idea,” he said, then to Rory, “Come in and have a seat.”

Rory followed him into the room and sat down on the couch, while the priest sat once again at his desk, turning his chair to face him. He looked younger than Rory had expected. The corners of his eyes were creased with laugh lines, but he was not laughing now. Not even smiling, and Rory’s vision of a cordial visit evaporated.

“I understand you’re trying to find out who Shelly’s mother is,” the priest began.

“Well, yes. Shelly wrote to me to ask for my help in finding out who her parents are,” Rory said.

“But I’m also trying to create a complete picture of the situation. Not just the who, but the why, as well. Why it happened, the human drama of it, how the woman has dealt with her actions since that time, etcetera. Also, I want to focus on how Shelly has thrived with the Cato family.”

The priest leaned forward. “And you would pursue this even knowing that Sister Chloe and Daria strongly object to your interference?”

The priest made him sound like a villain.

“Shelly’s twenty-two years old,” he said, wondering how many more times he would have to offer this argument.

“And she, herself, asked me to pursue this.”

“Shelly has never known what is best for her.”

“I keep hearing that,” Rory said in frustration, “but I don’t see any evidence of it.”

Father Macy scowled.

“I know Shelly very, very well,” he said.

“I see her at least several times a week, and I know she’s a vulnerable young woman with a need for stability in her life, which she’s been given by the Catos, especially Daria. Digging up the past can only harm her fragile hold on that sense of security.”

“With all due respect. Father, I think you’re being melodramatic.”

“And I think you are being stubborn,” the priest said.

“You don’t want to hear any argument that will interfere with the production of your program. You’re in this for monetary gain, with no concern about the lives involved.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d been accused of callous disregard for people’s feelings in his pursuit of material for True Life Stories.

But the priest was wrong this time. He would not do anything that might hurt Shelly. Everyone was exaggerating the potential fallout from his research. or were they? His skin crawled with a sudden thought. The protestations of Daria, Chloe and the priest were so extreme, so vehement. Perhaps there was more behind them than simple concern for Shelly’s well-being. Perhaps they all knew something they did not want him to uncover.

Rory leaned forward.

“What’s going on here, Father?” he asked.

“What is everyone afraid I’ll find out?”

The priest looked surprised by the question. “The only thing we’re afraid of is that Shelly might be hurt by what you find.

Or, even by what you won’t find. Her hopes are up so high, that the fall itself would damage her. “

“I care very much about Shelly,” Rory said.

“I promise that if I uncover something that I feel would be truly damaging to her, I’ll back off.”

“I don’t particularly trust your judgment about what would damage her and what wouldn’t,” Father Macy said.

Rory stood up. This meeting, short and bitter, was over.

“I assume it’s hopeless asking for your cooperation on this,” he said.

“I would have liked to hear your memories about Shelly’s adoption and how you went to bat to make that happen.”

The priest didn’t bother standing up.

“You’re right. It’s hopeless,” he said.

“Daria found Shelly that morning, and I believe that was God’s plan. It was God’s plan that Shelly become part of a pious family. A true miracle. As far as I’m concerned, Shelly has no other parents, and no other family.”

“All right.” Rory nodded.

“I appreciate your time.”

He walked across the room, opened the door and left the office. Shelly was vacuuming the hallway, but when she saw him, she turned off the vacuum and came over to him.

“Isn’t he nice?” she asked.

“Yes,” he lied.

“Very.” He glanced at the vacuum in the corner of the hall. “Do you need a ride home later?” he asked.

“Oh, no, I’ll walk,” she said.

“I like to walk.”

“I’ll see you later at the cul-de-sac, then,” he said. He walked through the hallway to the open door, leaving Shelly alone with one of her many guardians.

Sean Macy’s office window looked out across the salt marsh toward the sound, and for a long time after Rory left, the priest simply sat and stared at an egret standing in the water and weeds. The brief encounter with Rory had exhausted him, but he knew that was only one facet of his misery. He had never before felt so low, and prayer no longer brought him comfort or answers.

“Father?”

He turned away from the window at the sound of Shelly’s voice. She stood in the doorway, the pretty, blond custodian of St. Esther’s, and he couldn’t help but smile at her.

“Can I come in to vacuum now?” she asked.

“Or will it disturb you?”

“You can come in,” he said. He studied her as she rolled the upright vacuum into his office. She turned on the machine and began vacuuming in the corner of the room. Her long blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she looked much younger than her twenty-two years.

Shelly.

He knew so much about her. More than anyone else, perhaps. He turned back to the window. A sailboat was out in the sound, far beyond the marsh, leaning almost parallel to the water.

Suddenly, the noise from the vacuum stopped, and he turned to see Shelly staring at him. She looked worried.

“You seem unhappy again,” she said.

Sean looked down at the papers on his desk. He truly didn’t want to burden her with his problems. He never did. But right now he felt driven to tell her, his own personal confessor, what was troubling him.

1 he meeting with the priest certainly had not gone according to plan, Rory thought as he drove home from the church. He wouldn’t be able to get information on Shelly’s adoption from Father Macy, that much was certain. Sure, he could get the facts from public records, but he had wanted the priest’s angle on the emotions involved. Without either of the elder Catos still living, it was impossible to understand exactly why and how they had longed to adopt the foundling.

He was waiting at a stoplight when his eyes were drawn to the roof of a house across the street. Construction workers were on the roof, building a deck, and one of the workers was obviously a woman. Her back was to him, and she was leaning over, hammering, her khaki shorts defining her shape. Her narrow waist curved into trim, shapely hips, and he felt an instant, visceral attraction. Was this the sort of work Daria did, balancing on the side of a roof, wielding a hammer? His gaze drifted to one of the other workers, a man whose blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, and he realized the man was Andy Kramer, Daria’s coworker. Rory jerked his gaze back to the woman. She stood up from her task, and he saw the wild black hair. Daria. A grin broke out across his face. He was filled with warmth at seeing her up there on the roof, and he was surprised, and a little shaken, by his unexpected physical attraction to her. It was a bit like being attracted to your sister. Except that Daria was not his sister.

The driver behind him honked, and Rory quickly looked at the traffic light to discover it was green. He pressed on the gas, wondering how long he had been sitting there in a daze.

Later that evening, he and Zack were batting the volleyball across the net on the beach, when Kara showed up. She was dressed in a green halter top and short shorts cut low enough to display the gold hoop in her navel. Leaning against the post that supported the net, she watched the two of them, and Rory was aware of the vibrations passing between his son and the girl. No doubt, they wished he would disappear. He was superfluous now that Kara had arrived.

He happened to glance toward the Sea Shanty and spotted Daria standing on the widow’s walk, watching them.

“Hey, Daria.” He waved to her.

“Come join us so we can have two teams.”

He was pleased when Daria called back that she was coming down, and in a moment she was on the beach. She was still wearing the tank top and khaki shorts she’d had on when he spotted her on the roof.

“How do you want to divide up?” she asked.

“Kara and me against you guys,” Zack said quickly, and Kara walked onto his side of the net. “This is going to be too easy,” Zack said to Kara.

“I don’t know about Daria, but my dad’s an old guy with a screwed-up knee.”

Rory rolled his eyes at Daria. She was laughing.

The game began. Daria was one mean volleyball player. She could spike the ball over the net with unstoppable speed, and when she jumped for a shot, it was as though she had springs on her feet.

Rory touched her to position her on the court. He knew that at least half his touches were unnecessary, yet his hand seemed drawn to her. This was crazy. A few hours ago, he’d thought of her as his little playmate. Grownup now, yes, but still essentially that spirited, sexless child. One glimpse of her up on that roof and suddenly, her body beneath his hand was the body of a woman.

He and Daria won the game. They were both sweaty and winded, and his knee throbbed, but they savored the victory, celebrating with a hug.