“Rose agrees,” Mother said. “She spent the afternoon with Jamie.”

“Neither of us should have survived,” Jamie continued. “We were sent back for a reason.” He paused for a moment, holding me with that piercing gaze. “Do you know what your reason is, dear sister?”

I sat stunned, frozen, unable to formulate my next move. His words set my nerves on edge. We’d always been the best of friends, watching over each other, but now he’d accepted a greater purpose and I didn’t know where I stood with him. He wasn’t shunning me, but he might if I didn’t fall in line with him.

He broke off his stare and picked his spoon back up. “I suggest you find some clarity,” he said, then took another spoonful of soup.

My mother reached out and set her hand on mine. She gave me a gentle squeeze, smiling. “Maybe you should go to bed, honey. You do look tired.”

I took a shallow breath and nodded. She was right. Every inch of my body was drowning in exhaustion.

I reached up to grab my soup bowl, but my mother tapped my wrist. “I’ll take care of that, you just go.”

“Thank you.” I hesitantly turned back to Jamie. “Good night.”

“’Night,” he said. His air of grandeur was gone, but his words played back in my mind, clear as day. I suggest you find some clarity.

I stood and left the room. A part of me wanted to rush back in, shake Jamie, and demand to be told what he knew that I didn’t. But I’d faced enough drama for one day.

I’d finished dressing for bed, drawing my sheets back, and turning the lights down low when a soft knock sounded at my bedroom door. My mother walked in, then closed the door behind her. Her eyes were shining as she walked to my side and sat on my bed. She patted the place beside her and I sat as well.

“Grace, I was thinking just now . . .” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “How long have you been feeling nauseated?”

I thought about it. “Couple days?”

“And you’re exhausted, which makes sense considering all you’ve been through.”

“Yes.”

“Do your breasts ache at all?”

I knew immediately where she was headed and I clutched my chest, gasping.

“Well?” she pressed.

“Yes, but . . . You . . .” I wasn’t sure how to put it. For several seconds we sat there caught up in the wonder of what she was suggesting.

She reached her hand up and lovingly placed it on my face. “Sweetheart, I think you might be pregnant.”