From the hospital room doorway, a clearing of a throat interrupted her. With Maggie’s palm still encased in her own, she glanced up.

Tate Carter stood under the shadow of the doorframe, uncertainty written all over his face, two Styrofoam cups in his hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to . . . I just . . . I got coffee.”

He’d been like this since the moment he picked her up at the house this morning, an almost endearing awkwardness in his every move. She stood and rounded Maggie’s bed, accepting the cup he held toward her.

“It’s from Trinna’s. I ran downtown real quick. Thought you might need the extra caffeine as much as me.”

“Thanks.” She took a sip. “For this. For the ride here. For last night. Especially for that.”

He waved his hand. “I only did what any person would’ve done. Though, from the little I saw when I first got there, you were doing a fine job of self-defense.” He attempted a smile.

“I don’t just mean jumping in and knocking that guy flat. I mean coming to the house in the first place. And all the time you took to talk yesterday.” Any other person would not necessarily have done that.

No, another man might’ve turned her away before she’d had the chance to open her mouth. Refused to see what was right in front of him. Or worse, acknowledged the truth of their situation but rejected her anyway.

But not Tate Carter. And as he stood in front of her now, she realized this was another gift Maggie had given her. Perhaps unintentionally, but in bringing her here, Maggie had opened the door for Sydney to meet her father.

She wouldn’t take credit, though. She’d say it was God who led me here. Who knew all along what was waiting for me in Maine.

Just as He knew what was waiting for her in Chicago.

“How is she, by the way?” Tate nodded toward Maggie.

“She’ll be okay. Might be a slow recovery but she’s going to be fine.”

Tate took a drink. “My father was an idiot about things yesterday. I hope you know I know that. He’ll come around eventually. He’s just hard-headed. Anyhow, I don’t really know where we go from here. Especially if you’re still leaving tomorrow.”

She was. She had to. For Maggie. For Micah.

Tate cleared his throat again. “But I don’t want it to be the way it was with CarleeAnn. I don’t want to let you leave and never see you again. Can we maybe . . . stay in touch, at least?”

“I’d like that.” And there was something else she’d like. “Do you think sometimes you could tell me more about CarleeAnn? I haven’t thought the best of her over the years. But you knew her, you knew who she really was. I guess . . . well, I’d like to know . . . whatever you want to tell me.”

“I can do that, Sydney. I’d be happy to.” His unease seemed to lighten. “You have a half-brother, too, you know.”