Clare’s gaze shot up to meet her mother’s. She hadn’t mentioned the meeting with Jack because she knew her mother was anxious to go home to Hartford for a few days and wouldn’t go if she thought she might be needed. “No occasion. What time are you heading out?”

“I’m going now, so I’ll be home before dark. Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Anna asked, her expression fraught with motherly concern.

“Of course. Maggie will be here over the weekend, and Jill mentioned she might come home, too. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Anna kissed Clare’s cheek and picked up her bag. “I’ll call you tonight, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Sounds good.” Clare saw her mother out the front door. As Anna pulled out of the semicircular gravel driveway, Clare waved and pushed the door closed against the November chill.

She went back into the kitchen and wandered to the full-length window to watch the ocean. Clare had always hated November. They’d often kept the pool open through October. The sailboat Jack owned with Jamie usually came out of the water at the very end of October, too. By November it was all over. Thinking about the boat reminded her of yet another thing that wasn’t hers anymore. The churn of the seas gave rise to similar feelings in her as she thought about what she’d had and lost and wondered how she’d ever live without it.

The doorbell rang at the stroke of four. Clare steeled herself and opened the door with a forced smile on her face, only to be hit again by another intense blow to the belly at the sight of him. His dark hair was wind blown and his face red from the chill. The nervous, uncertain expression on his face tugged at her heart.

“Hi, come on in.” She stepped aside and wondered if ringing the bell at the house that used to be his felt weird to him. The all-too-familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the earthy smell of decaying leaves that followed him in. “Can I get you some coffee or something cold?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.” He took off his black wool coat, put it over the back of a chair in the family room, and turned to her. “You look great.”

“You look beat.”

He grinned. “Such is life for the father of twins. They’re killing me. Now I know why people have kids when they’re young, not old like me.”

She smiled. He didn’t look a day over thirty-five. Like her, he was forty-six, but unlike her, he looked as good as he had the day they met. “Do you have a picture?”

He reached for his wallet. “Here you go.”