But Jack had warred with Haven on many occasions, such as when she had gone uninvited into his room or played with his train set without asking. For revenge, he had given her Indian burns, and when she had tattled on him, their daddy had beaten him with his belt until Haven had cried. Schooled in the Texan art of manliness, Jack had prided himself on not shedding one tear. Afterward, Churchill had told his wife Ava that Jack was the most stubborn boy alive. "Too damn much like me," the father had said, frustrated that he could not motivate the rebellious Jack the way he had with Gage.

Haven told me she had been miserable when Gage, her champion, had been sent away to school. But contrary to all expectations, Jack had not persecuted her in their brother's absence. When she came home crying one day because a boy at school was bullying her, Jack had listened to the whole story, and rode off on his bike to take care of the problem. The bully never bothered Haven again. Never came near her, as a matter of fact.

They had lost touch for a while after Haven married a man her father hadn't approved of. "I didn't let anyone know what I was going through," she said ruefully. "I'm pretty stubborn, too. And I was too proud to let everyone find out what a mistake I'd made. And by then my husband had crushed my self-confidence until I was too afraid and ashamed to ask anyone for help. But eventually I broke away, and Jack offered me a job to help me get back on my feet. We became friends . . . buddies, sort of . . . in a way we never had before."

I was curious about the "eventually I broke away" part, knowing something pretty major had happened. But that was a conversation that would take place in its own time.

"What do you think about his love life?" I couldn't resist asking. "Will he ever settle down?"

"Absolutely. Jack likes women—I mean truly likes them, not in some misogynistic notch-on-the-bedpost way. But he's not going to commit until he finds someone he's sure he can trust."

"Because of the woman who married his best friend?"

She shot me a wide-eyed glance. "He told you about that?"

I nodded.

"Jack hardly ever mentions her. It was a huge deal for him. When a Travis falls for someone, he falls hard. They get really intense. Not everyone is ready for a relationship like that."

"Certainly not me," I said with a stale laugh, while something in me recoiled at the idea. Jack Travis getting all intense was not something I'd ever care to see.

"I think he's lonely," Haven said.

"But he's so busy."

"I think the busiest people are often the loneliest."

I changed the subject at the first opportunity. Talking about Jack made me restless and vaguely irritable, the way I felt when I wanted something I knew was bad for me.

I talked with Dane on the phone every night telling him about my new surroundings and about Luke. Although Dane didn't want to have anything to do with a baby personally, he certainly didn't mind hearing about Luke and the experience of caring for him.

"Do you think you'll ever want one?" I asked Dane, relaxing on the sofa with Luke draped on my chest.

"I can't say no definitively. There might be another phase in my life when I might. . . but it's hard to imagine. The things I'd get out of it, I'm already getting now from my environmental work and the charity groups."

"Yes, but what about raising a child who will care about those things, too? That's a way to make the world a better place."

"Come on, Ella. You know that's not what would happen. Any child of mine would end up being a Republican lobbyist or a chemical company CFO. Life always screws your best intentions."

I chuckled, envisioning a toddler—Dane's toddler—dressed in a miniature three-piece suit and carrying a calculator. "You're probably right."

"Are you thinking about having one someday? "

"No, God no," I said at once. "I'm trying to hang on until I can give Luke back to Tara. I'm dying for a good night of sleep. Or an uninterrupted meal. And just once, I'd like to go out without all this paraphernalia. It's insane. The stroller, the diapers, wipes, burp cloths, binkies, bottles . . . I've forgotten what it's like to just pick up the keys and walk out the door. And there are all these pediatric visits I've had to schedule—developmental assessments and screenings and shots— so it's a good thing I'm not sleeping, because I'll need the extra time to work."

"Maybe the best part is that you're finding all this out now, so you'll never have to wonder."

"I think it's like rhubarb," I said. "You either love it or you hate it. But you can't ever make yourself acquire a taste for it if you're not naturally predisposed."

"I hate rhubarb," Dane said.

By the end of my first full week at 1800 main, i was still mastering the trick of carrying a bag of groceries and pushing a stroller while getting through doorways. It was early Friday evening. The traffic was so bad that instead of driving anywhere, I had decided to walk a quarter of a mile to an Express grocery and deli, and back. After the short walk in the heat, Luke and I were parboiled. The plastic handles of the grocery bags were slipping in my wet palm and the diaper bag threatened to slide off my shoulder as I maneuvered the stroller into the lobby. And the baby was making fretful noises.

"You know, Luke," I said breathlessly, "life's going to be a lot easier for all of us when you can walk. No, damn it. . . don't start crying, there's no way I can pick you up right now. God. Luke, please hush. . . ." Swearing and sweating, I pushed the stroller past the concierge desk.