“Mm.” I reached for her hands, which were knotted on her lap. Hannah’s reasoning made sense. And now, her fiercely protective feeling for Chrissy made more sense.

“And pregnancy freaks me out,” she persisted. “The idea of something alive inside me? That’s scary and weird for me … Say something.”

“What is there to say?” I released her hands. “I get it.”

“Do you? But you’re upset. Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I stared ahead.

“There’s plenty to talk about. I mean … are you … pro-life?” she blurted.

“What? God, no. Why?”

“I don’t know. The way you reacted to the idea of Chrissy getting an abortion. And, I mean, I know you’re … some sort of Christian.”

“Oh, yes, let the generalities fly.” I scowled.

“Why are you so touchy about your faith?”

“Because I don’t have much faith left,” I snapped, “and what little I’ve got shouldn’t be used to make me out as some Bible-thumping hypocrite, all right? It’s personal.”

She wiggled her hand out of mine.

“I am not doing that. Stop ruining our nice night.”

I frowned and looked down at Hannah. She was right, as usual. Any time she mentioned my faith, I bit her head off.

“It’s … her choice,” I said. It was Chrissy’s choice. If Hannah were pregnant, though, I wouldn’t be so indifferent, and I knew it. We’d called one another Auntie Hannah and Uncle Matthew, playfully. That kind of play is dangerous. In that moment, I had imagined Hannah with our niece or nephew, and the idea was sweet. If that idea became an impossibility, it would be a loss for me, no two ways about it.

“You look unhappy.” She touched my cheek. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” I said, which might turn out to be true.

Chapter 21

HANNAH

I wheeled my chair into Pam’s office. Matt sat across from Pam’s desk. Pam sat behind it like the presiding judge.

Matt held the Last Light manuscript, which looked a little worse for wear since I’d chucked it at him on our balcony.

I bit my lip, fighting inappropriate laughter

“I’ll start by stating the obvious,” Matt said. “Hannah is uneasy about Last Light’s publication—how it could affect our image, my career, et cetera.”

“Valid concerns,” said Pam. “There will be a lot of speculation with the book. Your detractors will love it—gives them ammo to call you a liar. Your loyal readers will love it, too. It’s a bold story. Whatever the case, the response will be loud, which is good for sales.”

“I’m not particularly worried about sales.” Matt slouched, his long legs extending under Pam’s desk. It was fascinating to watch them interact. Matt appeared unconcerned with Pam’s opinion, when I knew he cared deeply, and Pam threw her weight around, when I knew how much she valued Matt.

Also, sweet Lord, my future husband in serious mode is hot.

I flushed, dismissing the thought.

When would I get used to being around him? Maybe never.

Matt and Pam bickered lazily and I felt useless. Ignore me; I’m just here for decoration. I sighed too deeply. They both went silent and glared at me. I smiled. Oops …

Their banter resumed.

“All I’m suggesting…” Matt was on his feet.

Pam was gesturing. “Could have told me…”

“And risk having you tell the authorities?”

“Have I ever told anyone anything?”

“That’s hardly what this is about!”

I cleared my throat.

Again, two pairs of irate eyes landed on me.

“I … have an idea,” I said.

“By all means,” Pam said.

Matt’s expression softened. He retook his seat and reached for my hand. I smiled and squeezed his fingers.

“I’ve been thinking about the book,” I said, “which, well, I don’t exactly want published.” I glanced at Pam. She was watching us with a flat “get a room” sort of look. “But I know how important it is to Matt. I also know everyone who reads it is going to think it’s true, and I don’t think we can risk looking like we lied to the media. Not in such a bold-faced way, without addressing the issue. So, let’s publish it with a proviso. An open-ended disclaimer. I mean, something more than the usual ‘this is a work of fiction’ stuff.”

“You don’t think that’ll highlight the issue?” Matt said. “You know, put it in people’s minds that we’re worried about the public reception?”

“That’s already going to be in their minds,” Pam said. “What sort of disclaimer were you thinking, Hannah?”

“Something frank. Really to the point. Um … you know, ‘the author and publisher of this book are aware that it contradicts the factual account of events.’ And we could reiterate that it’s a fictitious reimagining of events, for entertainment only.”

Pam and Matt regarded me with thoughtful expressions.

“That’s … not such a bad idea,” he said.

Pam tapped her desk. “It would head things off at the pass, for sure.”

“And we wouldn’t need to say anything more.” I shrugged. “Our line would be right there, on every copy of the book, and people could take it or leave it.”