“And Elijah stuck to his promise to respect your decision?”
“Elijah was truly kind to me, and I respected him for it.”
“Kindness can be more potent than roses or chocolates.”
Ann gripped the handle of her mug and raised her coffee slowly to her lips.
“So at the time of the fire, Clarke and you were not reunited?” Joan asked.
“We slept together once after I was with Elijah.”
“Did Elijah know that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe Elijah decided if he couldn’t have you, then no one could. If you had died in the fire, Elijah would have been assured you and Clarke would never be reunited.”
“I didn’t see Elijah once in the days leading up to the fire. I received no threatening notes, calls, or anything from anyone.”
“Did you tell the police or anyone else about Elijah?”
“Not a soul. Until now.”
“And Clarke was there for you after the fire.” She was surprised to hear the bitterness in her tone.
Ann seemed to pick up on it as well. “The fire brought us together.”
And it had driven Gideon and her apart. Was that not irony? She rolled her head from side to side. “When did you find out you were pregnant?”
Ann sat straighter. “The ambulance took me to the hospital, and the emergency room doctor ran a pregnancy test as a matter of protocol. When it came back positive, I nearly fainted.”
“Did you know Elijah was Nate’s father?”
“I knew it was a possibility.” Ann shook her head. “It sounds terrible.”
“It sounds human.”
“Clarke appeared seconds after I found out about the baby. I tried to hide the news from him, but he realized something was wrong and pressed me to tell. I told him, and he was thrilled. We were married two weeks later by the justice of the peace in town.”
By then, Joan had flown back to Philadelphia. She had been sleeping on Ray’s sofa, and Gideon had been blowing up her phone with calls. “Clarke does love that kid.”
“He adores Nate.”
“Nate looks like you.”
“Clarke says the same. And he has always attributed Nate’s intelligence to me.”
“Did you always wonder if he wasn’t Clarke’s?”
“I pushed the idea out of my mind until a couple of years ago. Nate was talking about math and how fun equations are for him. It was something about the way he lifted his chin that reminded me of Elijah. I just knew.”
“Did you run a DNA test?”
“I took a cheek swab while Nate was sleeping. I sent it off to an out-of-state lab. The results were definitive. There’s no way Clarke could be Nate’s father.”
Joan rose and walked to the porch railing overlooking the moonlit mountains and woods. “You’re worried Nate set the fire because he’s Elijah’s, aren’t you?”
Ann did not speak, folding her arms over her chest as she came to stand beside Joan. “I smelled his pajamas when he was showering. There was no hint of gasoline.”
She faced Ann. “If he’s as smart as you say, he could have set the jug out earlier. Easy to come back and light it.”
Ann’s face tightened with pain and worry. “Do you think he set it?”
“I don’t know,” Joan said. “He was so mesmerized by the flames.”
“You cannot tell Clarke or Gideon.” Ann’s eyes were pleading. “No one can know this.”
“I won’t say a word, but I want to talk to Nate.”
“Oh God, no. I don’t want you asking him any questions.”
“I can be subtle, Ann.” Joan now shifted to a professional tone she used with her bosses and the press.
“He’ll see you coming a mile away.”
“He’s smart, Ann. But he’s also ten. I might not be as bright as you two, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Either way, you and I have to figure out if he set it. If he did, that means he’s going to need some help.”
Tears welled in Ann’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I thought the past was all behind us.”
“Believe me, it’s always been there.”
Joan spent most of the night on Ann’s couch, tugging at a short wool blanket, convincing herself the throw pillow was really comfortable, and staring at the vaulted ceiling braced by hand-hewn logs as she thought about Nate. Whether the boy set the fire, or Elijah, or God knows who else, they had started back up when she’d arrived in town.
She reached for her phone and checked the time. It was 5:50 a.m. Accepting that sleep was never going to happen, she capitulated and decided to take a shower.
She yanked out her one last clean shirt, the red Phillies shirt she had bought for Nate, and turned on the shower. Steam rose up in the room as she stared into the mirror at a soot stain slashing across her cheek and her eyes, red with fatigue. How had she gotten to this point in her life? Slowly, the mirror fogged up, and her image vanished. She stepped into the shower.
Joan ducked her head under the hot spray and let the heat work through her hair and wash away the ash and smoke. She planted both her hands on the shower wall, leaning in as the water beat against her tight shoulder blades.
She finally stepped out of the shower, dried off, and shrugged on her shirt and jeans. She combed out her short hair until it was reasonably presentable again.
Feeling a little more human, she went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. As the machine gurgled, the sound of footsteps had her turning to see Nate walk in. Without a word, he went to the cabinet and retrieved a box of Cheerios and then grabbed a half carton of milk from the refrigerator. He set both on the kitchen island before getting two bowls and two spoons. He filled one bowl with cereal, milk, and a couple of teaspoons of sugar.
“That second bowl for me?” Joan asked.
Scrambling on the barstool, he reached for his spoon. “Yes, but I
