Her mother joined Allison and slid an arm around her shoulders.

“It was man to man,” Zach said.

“Dad!” she cried in frustration.

He smiled then, and she knew he was teasing her.

“Anson wanted to give you a Valentine card,” he explained.

Allison pressed her hand to her heart. This was so incredibly sweet and romantic she could hardly believe it.

“He felt he should talk to me first. He did promise not to have any contact with you and didn’t want to go back on his word.”

“I can have it, can’t I?” She’d die, simply die, if her father said no.

Her father hesitated. “I was impressed that he’d come and ask my permission.”

“He respects you, Dad.” She knew that just from the way Anson had said her father’s name after they’d gone to court. “You told him I could have the card, didn’t you? Oh please, it would mean so much.” She hated to plead, but this was quite possibly the most important moment of her life.

Her father pulled a thick envelope from inside his jacket and held it out.

“Oh, Daddy, thank you! Thank you so much.”

“He said I could read it.”

Allison’s gaze flew to her father’s. “He didn’t?”

“Zach,” her mother said. “Don’t tease.”

Her father grinned and handed Allison the envelope. She needed every ounce of restraint not to rip it open right then and there. Instead, she took it to her room. She sat on the end of her bed and very carefully opened the envelope. The card was expensive and romantic, and the second she caught the word love, she thought she might cry.

Inside the card was a letter, consisting of four sheets of paper, folded into fourths. Before she read it, she studied the inside verse and blinked back tears at the sentiment.

“Soon,” Anson had written at the bottom of the card, “we’ll be together again.” Then he’d signed his name.

Allison devoured the letter, reading it as fast as she could. When she’d finished she went back and read it all the way through a second time.

Anson told her about his job and how hard he was working to make a good impression. Being a dishwasher wasn’t as easy as it sounded, and he struggled to keep up with the demand. He liked his boss. Seth Gunderson was a big Swedish guy who didn’t put up with any nonsense. Anson claimed he didn’t mind that, because he knew where he stood.

He also told her that if he continued to work extra hours, he could have the reimbursement monies paid by the middle of the summer. As soon as that happened, they could see each other again. She noticed he didn’t refer to any of his troubles with this other guy, Tony.

Six months, Allison reflected. It would be six very long months, but she could wait.

The last part of the letter was the best. Anson wrote how difficult it was to see her every day and not be able to talk to her. In French class, he said, he found it almost impossible to keep his promise to her father. But he’d do it because of everything her father had done for him. He told her that some nights he dreamed about her and always woke with a happy feeling inside.

She dreamed of Anson, too. She hated knowing it would be another six months before they could see each other. Anson was of legal age now and she would be soon. All of this seemed so junior high and yet, at the same time, it was the only way they could be together and not alienate her parents.

She sighed heavily as she folded the letter and slipped it back inside the card. She ran her finger over the embossed image—an old-fashioned picture of cupids and flowers. It was an expensive card bought at a specialty store.

Even when he was putting aside almost every penny he earned in order to pay restitution to the town, he’d bought her a lovely Valentine card. There’d been no need to purchase the best one available, but that was what he’d done.

Her heart was so full of love for him that she wanted to weep. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a sudden movement, a flash of darkness. She rose from her bed and hurried to the window.

Anson.

He wore his long black coat and a black knit hat that covered his ears.

Anson walked across the yard and stood on the other side of the window.

She smiled and he smiled back, her eyes looking into his.

He pressed his bare hand to the cold glass. She pressed her hand to his. Through the glass they mouthed “I love you” to each other. Seeing him, reading his card and letter—it was the best Valentine’s gift she’d ever received.

Thirty-Three

Maryellen Bowman sang a soft lullaby as she finished bathing Katie and dressed her daughter for bed. Katie stuck her feet in her footed pajamas, chattering happily, the volume of her comments rising when Jon walked into her room. He wrapped his arms around Maryellen’s waist, resting his palm against her still-flat stomach. It was a sweet gesture acknowledging the baby nestled in her womb.

“Let me read to Katie tonight,” he offered.

Maryellen agreed. She’d had a busy day at the gallery and was exhausted. She’d experienced this same fatigue when she was pregnant with Katie—and the baby she’d miscarried, too. She felt as though all her energy was used up by eight o’clock. Jon never complained, but she worried that she wasn’t giving her husband enough attention.

“Come to bed early tonight,” she suggested, caressing the side of his face. “I miss spending time with you.”

“You’ll be asleep.”

“I won’t be if you wake me up.”

Jon slowly grinned. He knew exactly what she meant and what she wanted. They hadn’t made love since Christmas morning, and Maryellen craved the intimacy. She was well aware of the reason Jon so often delayed coming to bed. He was afraid their lovemaking might distress the pregnancy, but there was no indication of any problem. She felt fine, and other than the fatigue, she was perfectly healthy.

“Is it…safe? I mean, are you farther along now than you were with the other baby?”

Smiling, she nodded. She’d miscarried at nine weeks and was currently entering her fourth month. Jon took over with Katie, letting their daughter choose her favorite book—Goodnight, Moon at the moment—and then settling in the rocking chair with her on his lap. In the meantime, Maryellen prepared for bed. She fell asleep almost immediately and woke some hours later, when her husband joined her. She’d chosen a low-cut, silk gown that he’d given her a year ago on Valentine’s Day.

“What time is it?” she asked, rolling onto her back.

“Eleven,” he whispered, moving closer to her.

She yawned sleepily. Slipping her arms around his neck, she brought his mouth down to hers. His kisses were deep and probing, and his lips devoured hers with urgency.

“Oh,” she sighed softly. “What took you so long?” she whispered, excited by the way her nipples hardened at his touch.

Their lovemaking was exquisite, painstakingly slow and filled with passion and tenderness. Afterward, Jon held her and kissed the tears from her face. Her emotions seemed so close to the surface; that was another effect pregnancy had on her. She felt everything more intensely. In the aftermath of their lovemaking, she was so moved by Jon’s devotion to her and their family that she began to cry.

“Why are you crying?” he asked between kisses. He followed one stray tear to the edge of her mouth and kissed her again.

She was breathless when he finished. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too…and Katie. And this baby.”

“I know you do,” she whispered, but that didn’t stop the flow of tears. Jon held her in his embrace and with her arm draped over him, she returned to sleep.

At some point during the night, she felt Jon get out of bed. He often stole away for an hour or two and then came back. Most of the time she was only vaguely aware that he’d left. One night, his leaving had stirred her awake and she’d climbed out of bed and gone to see if he was ill. Maryellen had found him sitting in the living room, reading the Christmas card that had accompanied the gift from his father. He’d turned on only one small lamp. Deep in thought, he hadn’t noticed she was there, and rather than disturb him, she’d returned to bed alone. A small crack had developed in the wall Jon had built blocking out his parents. One tiny fissure. She prayed that eventually the relationship would be restored.

The next morning, Jon was whistling and in a cheerful mood. Come to think of it, Maryellen was in a good mood, too. A very good mood. Jon had a cup of herbal spice tea waiting for her when she came downstairs, dressed for work. Katie sat in her high chair banging her cup and looking pleased with herself.

“What time will you be home tonight?” Jon asked as he walked them to the car.

He asked this same question every morning; it was part of their ritual and the answer never changed. “Same as usual,” she promised.

Jon placed Katie in her carrier and buckled her in, kissing the top of her head before climbing out of the rear seat. “Have a good day,” he said and she saw the reluctance in his step as he rounded the car to kiss her, too. “I wish you didn’t have to go into town.” This was a familiar complaint.

“I wish I didn’t, either.”

Jon kissed her, but rather than giving her a token peck on the cheek, he kissed her passionately.

“Wow, what was that for?” she asked, fluttering her eyes, hardly able to catch her breath.

Jon chuckled. “I’m not sure,” he responded. “I guess it’s because I’m a satisfied husband.”

“I plan on keeping you that way.”

“You do?”

“Definitely.” She got inside the car and watched as Jon walked back to the house, his steps lighter now.

By one o’clock Maryellen hadn’t had a chance to eat her lunch. The gallery was doing a robust business, much to her delight. Fortunately, Lois showed up to relieve her, and she went into the back room to warm the soup delivered by the Potbelly Deli nearly an hour earlier. While the soup du jour, beef barley, heated in the microwave, she took a washroom break. That was when her happy world went into a downward spiral. She was spotting.

For a minute or more she sat there, her head spinning. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Perhaps it was the lovemaking, but the doctor had reassured her on that score. Terror clawed at her as tears sprang to her eyes.

Not wanting to alarm Jon prematurely, she called her mother at the library. “Mom,” she said fervently, “I need you.”

Her mother seemed to know instantly what was wrong. “Is it the baby?”

“Yes. I don’t think I can drive.”

“Do you want me to take you to the medical center?”

The tears came in earnest now. “I don’t know.”

At that point, Grace took over the decision-making and decided Maryellen should see her regular physician. Dr. DeGroot’s office was nearby and the receptionist promised to get them in as soon as Maryellen arrived.

“I’ve called Jon,” Grace told her when she picked up Maryellen at the gallery.

“No,” she cried. She didn’t want him to worry unnecessarily.