Hayden looked as if he’d aged ten years in a day, sitting in my kitchen, staring into his coffee like a whipped puppy.
 
“I’m giving it up, Jules,” he said. “I mean it this time.”
 
I sat on a stool across the island from him, nursing a third cup of coffee, still in the black leggings and tank top from the previous day. I’d added an old hole-ridden sweatshirt I’d inherited from him when I was pregnant with Becca. It had seen better days, but it was a comfort thing, and if I was pathetic enough to keep on the clothes I’d nearly made love to Noah in, then my ratty sweatshirt was right there in the running.
 
My head pounded from the crying marathon, my eyes were gritty and my throat was raw. Hayden’s face had lit up with concern when I’d opened the door, thinking I’d fallen on my face when he’d pushed me down at the bar. It’s always encouraging to know just how bad you really look.
 
I knew what he was there for, it wasn’t the first time. Hayden was a binge drinker, not a constant one, but when he’d decide to tie one on—well, there wasn’t an off switch. There’d been many mornings such as this, full of apologies and promises and good intentions. And I’d learned long before that time faded them. His good intentions would fall in a hole somewhere, and four or five months later we’d be right back here. Sitting in a kitchen, drinking coffee, talking about how things would change.
 
It didn’t matter that much anymore, since he always stayed on the straight path around Becca, but old habits die hard.
 
“I know, Hayden,” I said. “It’s okay.” My whole face itched with salt overload. “Want a Pop-Tart or something?” I slid off my stool and opened the fridge. “I think I have a can of biscuits in here somewhere.”
 
Harley jumped up from her full-body sprawl at my feet, her ears perking at the mention of Pop-Tarts.
 
“I’m fine, Jules,” he said, running a hand over his face and up through his hair. “I’m not here for you to feed me.”
 
“Well, that’s about all the brain power I have right now, so I’d grab it if I were you,” I said, opening the freezer to look for bacon. Found it. Closed the door. Not energetic enough to deal with oil.
 
“I know you don’t believe me,” Hayden said, his words bouncing off my headache like they were playing Ping-Pong.
 
“I always believe you,” I said, finally finding the biscuits and deciding I wanted them. To hell with anyone else. I’d eat all five. Maybe share one with Harley. Thank God it wasn’t an eight-count can.
 
“And I always let you down.”
 
On that one, I turned. “Hayden, let it go. Please.”
 
He met my eyes. “I can’t.”
 
“Yes, you can,” I said, holding the cold biscuit can against my right temple. “It’s not about me anymore. You want to quit? Quit. But it’s for you, not for me.”
 
“And if I’d actually got it together years ago?” he said, sitting back in his chair. “We wouldn’t be sitting in your mother’s kitchen talking about how it’s not about you.”
 
I closed the fridge and walked-slash-shuffled over to him and leaned against the granite feeling really damn tired of hearing how many things my mother still owned. My kitchen, my house, my son.
 
“It’s my kitchen now,” I said. “And stop it. We are where we are because—we just couldn’t make it work.” I pushed off and walked to the end table, scooping up a handful of pictures in one hand and coming back to spread them out in front of him.
 
Hayden’s eyebrows came together as he leaned forward again, moving his coffee cup out of the way as he picked up and set down a photo or two.
 
“What’s this?”
 
“My what-ifs,” I said, bringing his gaze to mine. My breath caught in my chest as I said the words. “My son.”
 
His expression sharpened as he focused on me harder, looking at the photos more closely and then back at me in question.
 
“Holy shit, Jules. You have pictures now?”
 
I shook my head. “My mom did.”
 
His wide-eyed expression slowly moved back into a knowing frown borne of experience. He’d known my mother well. “What did she do?”
 
I gazed upon my little boy at various stages of his life. Stages it would have meant the world to me to be a witness to. “Arranged a trust for him—not a bad thing—but in exchange she got regular pictures and updates.” I smiled, and my face felt as if it might crack. “Which she shared with Johnny Mack under another arrangement—that I never be told.”
 
Hayden closed his eyes and rubbed them.
 
“His name is S—Seth,” I said, still having trouble with knowing that. Feeling like somehow I should have just magically sensed it, and known he was a Seth, instead of being told my own son’s identity.
 
“Shit,” he whispered, squeezing my hand.
 
“I could play that damn what-if game for the rest of my life,” I said. “With him, with you, with Becca.”
 
“With Noah Ryan,” he added.
 
I faltered in my spiel, the sound of Noah’s name putting his face right in front of me. The last expression I’d seen on his face before I’d told him good-bye yesterday. God, that was only yesterday.
 
“I can’t live like that anymore, Hayden,” I said, recovering. “Obsessing over how I’d do things differently—especially with Becca. All I can do is try to do it right, now.” I touched his arm. “You, too.”
 
He looked down at my hand and back at me.
 
“What’s going on with Noah?” he asked, his voice low.
 
God, if I could just cut that name out of everyone’s vocabulary, my insides would have it so much easier. As it was, the quiver that started at my center and worked outward at every mention of his name, every memory of his face, every relived second of being wrapped up in him yesterday just mere feet from where I currently stood had me a jittery mess.
 
I let go of him and walked back around to my coffee, deciding I’d had enough caffeine. “Noah and Shayna are getting married, Hayden,” I said, trying to pour the words down the drain with the cold coffee from my cup. “They have a baby on the way.”
 
“I didn’t ask what’s going on with them,” he said. “I’m asking about Noah and you.”
 
“There is no Noah and me,” I said, point-blank, turning back to him. “Never can be.”
 
“Your eyes say different,” Hayden said, his voice soft, and maybe a little sad.
 
I widened them as much as I could. “Bullshit. My eyes aren’t open enough to say anything,” I said with a smirk, tossing a dishrag at his head.
 
He gestured toward the pictures spread in front of him. “Becca know?”
 
I nodded, sighing heavily. “She does now.”
 
“How did that go?”
 
The memory of me slapping her face as she called me a liar and a hypocrite seared through me. “We’ve had better moments,” I said. “But I think it’s kind of okay now.”
 
There was a pause as Hayden stared at the pictures, though I had the impression that wasn’t where he was at all.
 
“Jules, I remember the things I said—about her, about you. I—”
 
“Stop,” I said, laying my hands flat on the granite. “Seriously, stop.”
 
His eyes flashed. “I threw you on the floor.”
 
“And you’re lucky I don’t kick your ass for that,” I said, trying desperately to lighten the tone. “Now quit with the pity party and either pretend it never happened or make a change.”
 
“What never happened?” Becca said on a yawn, shuffling into the kitchen in Mickey Mouse sleep pants and a Snoopy T-shirt, hair sticking up everywhere, looking like a ten-year-old with boobs.
 
“Nothing, monkey,” he said, pulling the worry inside. He poked her in the side, making her flinch and grumble something incoherent.
 
She blinked sleepily at him, as if it just dawned on her that his being there drinking coffee in our kitchen was out of place.
 
“What’s up?” she asked.
 
Hayden shrugged. “Just came to talk over some things with your mom.”
 
She looked wary, cutting a look my way. “Like?”
 
“Like not your business,” he said with a wink.
 
I knew what she was thinking—that I’d told him about the whole birth control conversation. Truth be known, he probably was heading to that topic next if he could manage to get the hell off of Noah, but I would deflect that. Becca didn’t need to know that I’d told him. Nothing would have ever been the same between them.
 
I did a miniscule head shake to let her know that wasn’t on the table, and her face relaxed. She picked up my forgotten biscuit can and her gaze fell on Seth’s photos.
 
“You making biscuits?”
 
“Sure,” I said, turning on the oven.
 
Becca picked up a picture of Seth holding a puppy. “Hey, Dad, while you’re here, can you help me make a giant snowflake?” she asked.
 
Hayden blinked. “As in—”
 
“As in there’s a big piece of plywood in the garage I can use, and your jigsaw is here, and—”
 
“Boy, do you have good timing,” I said, smirking at him.
 
“Why do you need a snowflake?” he asked, his eyes going back and forth between us. “Oh, don’t tell me.”
 
“I’m helping with a float for the parade,” she said.
 
“Oh, thank God,” he said, giving me a look. “I thought for a second there your mom had crossed over to the dark side.”
 
“Ha.”
 
Becca grinned and grabbed a mug from the cabinet. It was kind of normal again. Or at least a new version of it.
 
 
 
• • •
 
 
 
It did my heart good to see Hayden and Becca work on something together and bicker over the details like they used to. Who would do the cutting and what exactly the design would be, and whether one side matched the other. I really didn’t think anyone would be measuring as it rolled down the street, but they didn’t want my input.
 
Two hours later Hayden emerged, dusted with sawdust. “Well, I wasn’t planning on staying this long so I have to go,” Hayden said, fishing keys from his pocket. “But I’ll be back later to help her finish.”
 
“Thank you,” I said. I knew, even with his complaining and groaning, that he secretly loved doing all of that with Becca. Kept him in the family, made him feel needed, and I didn’t have to do it. Double score.
 
“You’re welcome.” He turned to go and then turned back. “Later, Bec!”
 
“Bye!”
 
She’d already flopped on the couch with a book.
 
“You do have some white paint and some glitter or something, right?” he asked.
 
I bit my lip. “Umm, doubtful.”
 
“Never mind,” he said under his breath, taking the steps two at a time. He paused at the bottom and turned back around again. “Be careful, Jules,” he said. “Whatever happens with Ryan—just, don’t get hurt, okay?”
 
Probably too late for that.
 
I lowered to sit on the steps after he left. It was nice out—cold, but nice. Sunny, blue sky and rare, non-muggy air. Nice enough to leave the door open for a bit, and Harley took the bait. I heard her toenails on the wood as she slid into a prone position next to me.
 
“Hey, Harley-bear,” I whispered, sliding my fingers into the soft fur at her neck. She instantly rolled to one side, probably figuring I was a sure thing for a belly rub.
 
I was pretty much a sure thing for anything not requiring thought. My brain, heart, and everything in between was fried. I would be strong and resilient and firm of resolve tomorrow. And every other day after that, as I watched Noah and Shayna embark on a life together with their new family, all up in my carefully crafted and protected world. I would be okay. I now had pictures of my son to help—and hurt—me. And a new reason to despise Noah’s dad. I couldn’t even think about my mother. My mind wouldn’t let me go there yet, and that was okay, too. I probably didn’t need to hate her, and right at that moment I couldn’t make that promise.
 
Tomorrow. I’d put my walls back up tomorrow. They’d been with me for two decades, so one day of Noah yanking them down didn’t scatter them too badly. I’d rebuild. Be a hard-ass again and never let anyone close enough to threaten that. Ever again.
 
Tomorrow.
 
“Can we go get some paint?” Becca said, padding outside in socks, still in her sleep clothes. She crossed her feet and landed Indian style next to me, leaning over to bury her face in Harley’s neck.
 
I ran two fingers under my eyes, not realizing I’d teared up again. “Later, okay?” I said, the thought of going anywhere revitalizing my headache. “Or I’ll give you some money and you can go get something. Or you can see what your dad comes back with?”
 
I saw her slump a little. “Okay.”
 
Mother of the year. I was mother of the freaking year.
 
“I think I’m going to take a little walk down to Nana Mae’s for a bit,” I said. “Want to come?”
 
Becca shook her head and stretched. “No, thanks. That cat stalks me, I swear.”
 
“Yeah, Maddy is a little unique, that’s for sure.”
 
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Isn’t Mr. Ryan’s house on that same street?”
 
I looked away, unwilling to cop to thinking the very same thing. “No, it’s the one before. But I’m going the long way.”
 
After scooping up all the Seth pictures from the kitchen, I put them in a big envelope and slipped on some sneakers.
 
“Wanna go to Nana Mae’s, Harley?” I said, making her stop mid-step toward her doggie door and look at me. After a second’s pause, she turned and went on through. She didn’t like Maddy either.
 
It was faster to go down Johnny Mack’s street, since Nana Mae was on the far corner of the next one, but I refused. I power-walked past it without even looking sideways, and then strolled up the next street to her house. She was outside crawling in her flower beds, in winter when there were no flowers, in bright orange yoga pants and a long-sleeved University of Texas T-shirt. Only my eighty-five-year-old Nana Mae.
 
“Hey,” I said, my sneakers sinking into her soft, plush lawn. Mine was never that good. My house, either. Then again, I didn’t have three yard guys and a maid service on my payroll.
 
Nana Mae turned slowly from her crouching position in the dirt and smiled.
 
“Hey there, sweet pea!” She backed out on all fours. “Hang on a second and I can look at you face-to-face.”
 
“What are you doing?”
 
“Well, I planted this little cactus garden over there.” She pointed with an elbow as I grabbed the other one to help her up. “Then I saw a couple of weeds sprouting up, and, you know.”
 
“It’s January, Nana Mae.”
 
“It’s cactus, Julianna, it doesn’t care,” she said, grunting to her feet.
 
“You pay people for this,” I pointed out. “So you don’t have to crawl around on your knees anymore.”
 
“I like crawling around,” she fussed. “And if I wait on them, it all goes to hell.”
 
“You’re hopeless,” I said, giving her shoulders a squeeze.
 
“Yeah, well, I’m breathing,” she said, brushing off her pants and rubbing her hands together to knock some of the dirt loose. “What’s up?” she said, gesturing at the envelope in my hand.
 
I felt the smile leave my face and then tried to pull it back. I had pictures of him, finally. Something to show for the child I gave birth to, for the years of wondering. I should be happy. But all the crap surrounding them just felt life-sucking.
 
“Let’s go in so you can clean up,” I said, holding up the envelope.
 
“Uh-oh,” she said. “What did I do?”
 
I laughed. “Nothing you’ve been busted for yet. Come on.”
 
When she’d washed up and settled onto the couch next to Maddy—who glared at me for interfering once again—I opened the envelope and laid everything out on the coffee table. Nana Mae frowned and pulled her readers from the top of her head, peering through them.
 
“What is this?” she asked. “Cute little—” She stopped and gasped, looking up at me over the glasses. When I didn’t say anything, she narrowed her gaze over them again, looking closer at one of them as she picked it up. One that looked very much like Noah. “It’s the same boy, here as a man. Oh, honey, is this—?”
 
“Seth,” I said, clearing my throat of the lump that had risen there. “I found out that his name is Seth.”
 
“Oh,” she exclaimed, her voice soft as she ran fingers over each of them, very much as I had. “What a beautiful boy.” She shook her head as her eyes filled with emotion. “So much like Becca when she was little. How did you get these?”
 
I bit down on my lip. She was my mother’s mother. But she looked up at me with true questions in her eyes and I couldn’t lie to her.
 
“Mom had them hidden away,” I said. “In a carved-out book.”
 
I watched the words hit her with surprise, then make her sit back a fraction as she thought it through. Slowly, she shook her head, not wanting to believe what I might be saying, even before I’d said much of anything.
 
“There’s more than this,” I said. “Letters and drawings and stuff.”
 
“Why?” she said, the word barely making sound. “Why?”
 
I swallowed. “Evidently she set up money for him in exchange for updates and stuff.”
 
Nana Mae blinked rapidly. “But—okay, but what about—how did you find out about it?” She stared down at all the captured moments of his life, held forever on photo paper and Polaroids. “Did you just—I mean, why was it hidden?”
 
Her rapid-fire randomness was exactly how I felt.
 
“She didn’t think I could handle it, so she decided—”
 
“Oh, my God,” she mumbled, putting a hand over her eyes.
 
I took a deep breath and continued. “To keep it under wraps.”
 
“How do you know this?”
 
“Johnny Mack.”
 
Her eyebrows shot up and she shoved her glasses back up on top of her head. “Say what?”
 
“Noah had pictures all along, sent from his dad, who got them from Mom.”
 
She narrowed her eyes as if I’d spoken Russian. “What the hell?”
 
“Shayna told me that Noah had pictures.”
 
“And who is Shayna?” she asked.
 
“Noah’s—fiancée.” I licked my lips and swallowed hard at the word.
 
Nana Mae sighed and sat back on the couch, studying me in that way of hers that always rattled me. “Of course. And she’s talking to you why?”
 
“Because I’m her—only friend here, I guess. I don’t know. Anyway, she told me that and I went to ask him—”
 
“To ask Noah?”
 
“Yes. And he said that his dad sent them, so we went to the diner—”
 
“Just you and him?”
 
“Yes! Will you quit?” I said, getting flustered. “And Johnny Mack told me the rest. Mom gave him copies and swore him to secrecy. So we went back to my house—”
 
“Just you and him.”
 
“Oh, my God,” I said. “Are you really doing this right now?”
 
She scoffed. “Are you really getting all pinked up and bothered that I’m pointing it out?”
 
I felt the damning heat on my chest and neck. “This is about what Mom did,” I said.
 
“Yes, it is,” she said. “And that’ll come back around to play. But first, I want to know why you’re hanging out so much with the very people you need to avoid.”
 
“I’m not trying to hang out with anyone, Nana Mae,” I said. “I work next door, I live two blocks away, we do business in all the same places. What am I supposed to do—leave town?”
 
“No, sweet pea, but he doesn’t need to be coming over to your house, either,” she said. “You do have a door.”
 
I blew out a breath. “I walked the long way today so I wouldn’t pass the house.” I sounded like a defensive teenager, but that’s where I felt she was putting me.
 
“Good girl,” she said. “So, back to the pictures. You—and Noah—went to your house, found her stash, and had sex.”
 
My eyes flew open wide. “No!”
 
“Really?”
 
“Really.” But I had to look away. Down at the pictures. Something to keep her from seeing everything else.
 
“Jesus, girl, don’t you learn?” she muttered, putting her glasses back on and peering down at the photos again.
 
She wasn’t fooled, and I felt the hopelessness of the night before pulling at me again.
 
“I told him good-bye again,” I said, my voice sounding as empty as I felt. “He has a second chance at getting a family.”
 
“Well, it is all about him,” she said under her breath before glancing up at me over the rims. “Oh, crap, I know that weepy look.”
 
I jerked my chin up. “You do not!”
 
“The hell I don’t,” she said. “I may be old but I still have my memory and this”—she wagged a finger up and down at me—“is you, twenty years ago over the same guy.”
 
I stood up and reached for my pictures, Maddy raising her head to hiss at me over the quick movement.
 
“Oh, get over it,” I hissed back.
 
“Where are you going?” Nana Mae asked.
 
“Home,” I said. “I came to show you your great-grandson. Not get put on trial.”
 
“Sit back down,” she said putting a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, Julianna.” When I didn’t move, she pointed at the chair. “Sit?”
 
With a sigh, I sat and covered my face with my hands.
 
“I didn’t sleep with him.”
 
“But?” she asked.
 
“I was about to.” I brought my hands down. “I’m pathetic.”
 
“No, sweet pea, you’re in love,” she said. “God help you. And that’s something you haven’t seen in a really long time.”
 
“I can’t, Nana Mae,” I said. “I can’t do this. He’s taken. And I actually like the woman. She’s so damn nice it irritates the crap out of me.”
 
“Then steer clear,” she said. “Because she’ll pick up on the sparks, believe me.”
 
“Hayden tried to fight him the other night,” I said, scooping my hair back. “Think he picked up on a few too.”
 
“Oh, Lord, I would’ve paid to see that.” She sat back again, taking a photo with her and sighing deeply. “Oh, Mary, what the hell did you do?” she said, more to herself than to me.
 
I was quiet, letting her go where she wanted with her thoughts. I knew how it felt to want to shake your daughter senseless. Feeling that after their death must be heart wrenching. Parents should never outlive their children.
 
“She didn’t tell you either,” I said, finally.
 
Nana Mae shook her head and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sure she knew I’d disapprove. That I’d tell you.” She put the picture down, her face twitching with sadness and anger. “Some things about your mother I swear I never came to understand and probably never will.”
 
“I’m sorry,” I said.
 
“Me too, sweet pea.”