Bex lifted his gun and pointed it at me, and I mirrored his action. We were at an immediate stand off.

Bex smiled. “Yes, you can.”

Jared palmed my arm and lowered it slowly. “It’s called instinct. It’s in your blood, Nina. You just need to give in to it.”

I looked at the log. “Give in to it,” I repeated, raising my weapon.

Bex shoved the log again.

I shut out everything: the breeze; the birds; the strands of hair that kept sticking to my lip gloss. Everything was frozen, even my inner thoughts. My mind focused on the target, and I was in tune with everything. I could feel the movement of the log, the resistance of the rope as it rubbed against the tree branch, and even the wind speed and how it would affect the path of the bullet. I took in a deep breath and pulled the trigger. Bex grabbed the log and it instantly stopped.

“Nice!” Bex said.

The bullet had landed just a couple of inches above Bex’s. I smiled, and Jared pulled me to his side, kissing my hair.

After that, Bex took the spare tire from under the rear of the Escalade and fastened a target to the center. He walked to the top of a small hill, and I stood halfway down. He let the tire go, and I took several shots as it rolled down the grass to the bottom, falling on its side.

Bex sprinted to the tire and rolled it over, offering a thumbs-up and a smile.

“You did really well today,” Jared said.

I nodded. “I know.”

Jared leaned down and touched each side of my stomach with his hands. “Mommy did good today, didn’t she Bean?” He waited a moment, and then stood. “Everything seems to be okay. Your pulse, Bean’s pulse, blood pressure and breathing are all normal. I don’t think Bean noticed.”

“So we can keep going?”

Jared nodded.

I gestured to the book under his arm. “Did you find anything?”

Jared’s small smile faded. “Feel like a trip to Woonsocket?”

Bex helped us load the Escalade with our belongings, and then waved goodbye, peeling out on his motorcycle to head home to Lillian.

Jared was quiet during the twenty-minute drive north. His eyes were locked forward, missing the incredible summer foliage on each side of the highway. I allowed it to distract me while Jared silently prepared questions for Father Francis. Poring over the same words over and over, not knowing what to look for, had to be frustrating. I reached my hand across the console, and almost instinctually, Jared covered my hand with his.

Still beautiful, he wore the stress and worry of the years since we’d met only in his eyes. He seemed tired, and desperate, but determined.

He squeezed my hand, brought it to his lips, then reached over to rest his hand on my stomach. He seemed to relax, then.