“I’ll stop by again tomorrow after work to get your mail and deliver the Myrtle special. But if you need anything sooner, give me a call.”

“Thank you. And thanks for listening today—and giving me food for thought. To be honest, though, I can’t imagine you were ever as self-centered and indifferent to others’ feelings as you claim.”

“I’ll take that as validation I’ve changed my spots, to use your analogy—and if I have, your husband may have too.”

“Even if that’s true, getting past the anger and resentment is hard.”

“I know. I’m dealing with a similar situation, but from the opposite side—and praying hard for a favorable resolution.”

“I hope your prayers are answered better than mine were.”

So did she. But unlike Beth, she had no doubt God was listening to her entreaties—whatever the ultimate outcome.

After giving the woman a quick hug, she continued to her Nissan, slipped behind the wheel, and drove down Starfish Pier Road toward 101, slowing as she passed Jack’s apartment.

Like Beth, the man who’d once loved her had anger and resentment in spades—and the passage of more than a decade hadn’t softened them. Nor had their interactions over the past two weeks.

Depressing.

Even more disheartening, however?

The odds of him giving her the loan that would salvage Tasha’s dream continued to dwindle as the clock ticked toward its deadline.

Should she open them or not?

Beth touched the box of notes and cards from Steve that she’d set on her bed.

The wisest course would be to take the nap she’d mentioned to Christi. But ever since the younger woman had left, she’d been fidgety—and her restlessness wasn’t a side effect from her pain medication.

It was caused by a sudden barrage of doubts.

Could Christi have changed as much as she claimed? And if she had, was it possible Steve had also been transformed by tragedy?

Or was that a pipe dream? Wishful thinking? The kind of misplaced hope she’d clung to for too long as she’d pleaded with God to let him see the light about his son?

Who knew?

But despite all her attempts to push thoughts of Steve from her mind, she did miss him. Other than her disappointment in his unwillingness—or inability—to understand how important Jonathan’s art was to him, he’d never lost all the other fine qualities that had convinced her to say “I do” twenty-five years ago.

A pang echoed in her heart.

Too bad the silver on their milestone anniversary had tarnished.

She picked up the first envelope in the box, sent less than a week after she’d moved out. Weighed it in her hand.

Open—or pitch?