“I heard about Willow, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah. That’s one thing. Look, I don’t have to explain. You just need to leave and stay away from me. It’s over. You can . . . you can get another job. I’ll give you a decent severance package, good references, and—”

“No!” she cut in sharply. Her smile fell away. “I’m not leaving, and for God’s sake, you’re not firing me.” Her eyes narrowed almost evilly. “Not tonight, Daddy.”

“What?” What was she talking about, Daddy? She never called him that, thank God.

“I’ve been trying to tell you! I told you it was important.” The smile, harder-edged now, returned. “You’re going to be a father.”

“A what?” Had he heard her wrong? “A—?”

“Father,” she repeated smugly.

“No. Wait. Are you kidding?” What was she saying? This had to be wrong. But the expression on her face convinced him, and his heart dropped to the floor. The room seemed to shrink, and he put a hand out to steady himself against the wall. Her words echoed through his head. A father. You’re going to be a father . . . For a second he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

“Not kidding. Uh-uh. I’m pregnant, James.” The hard edges of her face cracked, and tears came to her eyes, her voice softening, her smile now tremulous. “I know it’s a shock,” she said, her voice sounding as if it came from a long distance away, “but it’s true.” As if she had anticipated his reaction, she reached into the purse she’d slung onto the floor and extracted a stick, an implement he recognized as being a part of a pregnancy kit.

Holy shit, she wasn’t kidding. His heart thudded, resounding in his ears. This couldn’t be happening! Couldn’t!

“Go ahead,” she encouraged and reached over to snap on a light.

His eyes adjusting, he focused on the little bit of plastic. Every moment of his life had ended up here.

He swallowed hard.

Picked up the stick.

Read the indicator.

True to Sophia’s words, it read POSITIVE.

The floor seemed to buckle.

“I know this is hard to take in, but trust me,” Sophia said, a tremulous smile on her lips. “This is a good thing. Trust me. The best! You, James Cahill, are going to be a daddy.”

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 45

December 10

Rebecca tossed and turned, sleep eluding her.

Hours passed, the digital clock mocking her as her thoughts swirled with images of her sister.

1:18—Megan at seven, riding her bike and crashing, her pigtails askew, her knees and palms scraped and bleeding.

2:33—Megan, twelve, sobbing and clinging to Rebecca when she’d found out she’d been cut from the junior high play.