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"I ... I gotta get back to the woodpile."
She looked up at him. There was a sadness in her gaze that hadn't been there before, and he had the absurd notion that he'd hurt her feelings. "It was nice talking to you."
Jack pivoted and strode down the steps. It was all he could do to keep from running.
Later that night Tess sat at the kitchen table with Savannah. Behind them, Katie was busy burrowing through the silverware drawer.
Idly, Tess picked up her spoon and stared into it. She tried not to think about Jack right now, but it was impossible. Ever since last night, since the bath, she'd been unable to stop thinking about him. Dreaming about him. She felt like a sixteen-year-old girl in the throes of her first crush. It was ridiculous.
A slow smile pulled at her mouth. It was also exciting, invigorating, and energizing. Now she was more certain than ever that there was something special between her and Jack. She knew now why she'd chosen him, and it was more than just the heartache and fear she'd seen in his eyes as he reached out for his child. It was his capacity for
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love. For even as she'd seen him standing by the crib, she'd known that he was desperately afraid to be there, afraid to need his child's love, and yet, as afraid as he was, he'd stayed there, reaching out. Most people retreated from life and gave up on love. Tess knew; she'd done it herself. But not Jack. He'd sheathed himself in anger and tried his best to forget, but he'd never walked away. And that meant he'd never given up.
Last night, in the moments before he'd fallen asleep, she'd seen her first glimpse of the real Jack, the man beneath the angry mask. And he was a frightened, lonely man who was tired of being alone. So much like her ...
She thought about the times she'd caught him smiling, or looking at the girls with love, or carving a rocking horse in the middle of the night, and her heart swelled with emotion. At the memories, something inside of her broke free. Deep inside her, in the tiny, oft-overlooked corner of her soul where she'd long ago put her dreams of love and family and forever, something stirred. Something that had been asleep for a very long time.
Tess felt the heavy weight of Savannah's gaze on her face. She looked up suddenly, and found Savannah staring at her intently. "What is it, Savannah?" she asked quietly.
Savannah shook her head slowly. A sad little frown plucked at her mouth. "Nothin'."
Tess reached over and squeezed Savannah's hand. Their eyes met and held. "You know, Savannah," Tess whispered, "I'm here for you if you ever need me. For anything."
Savannah swallowed hard. "Th-Thanks, Mama."
Katie thumped her elbows on the table. "Mama, you promised to show me how you done that thing with the spoon."
Tess smiled and slowly withdrew her hand from Savannah's. "Okay," she said. "Here goes. First you blow on it.
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Like this." Tess blew on the spoon until it steamed up nicely. "See? When it looks like that, you stick it on your nose." She placed the spoon on her nose like an expert.
"It works!" Katie cried, clapping her hands.
The spoon fell off Tess's nose and hit the table with a clang. "Of course it does. A mother never lies."
Savannah's eyes narrowed. "Really?"
Tess's smile faded as she looked at Savannah. There was a long, quiet moment as they studied each other. Tess got the distinct impression that she was being tested. "Really."
"C'n I try it?" Katie asked eagerly.
Tess and Savannah looked at each other for another second or two, and then Tess turned to Katie and nodded. "Of course you may."
Katie frowned in concentration. Cautiously she blew into the bowl of her soup spoon. The metal turned a dull, milky gray, and she gently set it on her nose. The spoon stuck fast.
Her eyes bulged open in surprise, and a quick, excited giggle dislodged the spoon. It clinked onto her empty plate.
"Okay," Tess said. "Now all together."
Jack stared at the house. Advancing night shrouded the small clapboard structure, turning the whitewashed wood a deep gunmetal gray. The porch railing was nothing but dark lines and shadows cast along pale wooden planks.
Wind chattered through the leaves of the oak tree. The rope-swing's slatted seat thumped methodically against his left leg.
Jack's gaze moved up the porch and along the shadowy building. Thin, ghostlike strands of smoke spiraled up from the brick chimney, its trail a momentary whisper of gray against the midnight blue sky. Amber light blurred
