‘‘ ’Course not.’’ But it did make for such interesting talk. ‘‘But the boy—’’ She broke off, her ears pricking up. ‘‘There goes my telephone. You just let yourself in when you want to do the inside, Grace,’’ she said as she hurried off.

Grace said nothing, kept working steadily. But her mind was whirling. It shamed her that she couldn’t concentrate on Professor Quinn. She could think only of herself and of what might happen.

Would Anna come back from Rome and want to take over the house? Would Grace lose her job there and the extra money that went with it? Worse—much worse— would she lose those opportunities to see Ethan once or twice a week? To share a meal now and then?

She’d gotten used to—even dependent on—being a part of his life, even a peripheral part, she realized. And as pathetic as it was, she loved folding his clothes, smoothing the sheets on his bed. She even allowed herself to believe that he would think of her when he found one of her little notes around the house. Or slipped between freshly laundered sheets at night.

Was she going to lose that, too—and lose the pleasure of seeing him coming in from his boat or scooping Aubrey up when she demanded a kiss, or glancing over at her and giving her that slow smile?

Was all of that going to be only pictures she tucked away in her mind now?

Her days would go on and on, without even that to look forward to. And her nights would go on and on, alone.

She squeezed her eyes tight, struggling with despair. Then opened them again when Aubrey tugged at the hem of her shorts.

‘‘Mama. Miss Lucy?’’

‘‘Soon, honey.’’ Because she needed to, Grace lifted Aubrey into her arms for a fierce hug.

IT WAS NEARLY ONE BY the time Grace finished putting away the groceries and fixing Aubrey’s lunch. She was only half an hour behind, and she thought she could make that up without too much trouble. It just meant moving a little quicker and keeping her mind on her work. No more projecting, she ordered herself as she strapped Aubrey into the car seat. No more foolishness.

‘‘Seth, Seth, Seth,’’ Aubrey chanted, bouncing madly.

‘‘We’ll see.’’ Grace climbed behind the wheel, put the key in the ignition, and turned it. The response was a wheeze and a thump. ‘‘Oh, no, you don’t. No, you don’t. I don’t have time for this.’’ A little panicked, she turned the key again, pumped the gas pedal, and sighed with relief when the engine caught. ‘‘That’s more like it,’’ she muttered as she backed out of the short driveway. ‘‘Here we go, Aubrey.’’

‘‘Here we go!’’

Five minutes later, midway between her house and the Quinns’, the old sedan coughed again, shuddered, then belched out steam from under the hood.

‘‘Dammit!’’

‘‘Dammit!’’ Aubrey echoed joyfully.