The event always ended with Adam dripping wet, and that evening was no exception. But he’d learned to doff his shirt before the ritual, so at least he still had a dry shirt to put on afterward. With Linus wrapped in a diaper and a towel, he carried him into the kitchen. “I can have something delivered from Prov—” He broke off at the sight of Laurel whisking a pan sauce together in the cast-iron skillet.
“Chicken piccata,” she said airily. “I told you.”
He had to admit the chicken cutlets looked perfectly golden and the lemony sauce she was tending in the pan made his mouth water. The rest of the kitchen, however, looked like a bomb had gone off.
“Mommy’s a messy cook,” he told Linus, not remotely capable of hiding a smile. Adam was pretty sure he’d never felt more content than he did at that moment.
After dinner, Laurel prepared a bottle for Linus and disappeared down the hall. He went into the kitchen and stared at the mess for a moment before he mentally rolled up his sleeves and started to work.
The dishwasher was nearly loaded when he heard a soft sound coming from one of the baby monitors that he’d spent ninety minutes that afternoon moving from one place to another until she was satisfied.
This one didn’t have a video monitor, but it did have an excellent speaker, and he notched up the volume at the sound of Laurel’s distinctly off-key voice singing, “Just My Imagination.”
He turned the volume off and rubbed his shaking hand down his face. The beard that had started growing on the trip from Seattle was full now. He dropped his hand and started opening one kitchen drawer after another until he found what he needed.
He went into the bathroom attached to his bedroom and eyed his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Then he lifted the scissors he’d found and began clipping away at the beard.
He was sitting on the wedge of deck behind the house watching the sunset when Laurel sat down beside him nearly an hour later.
“Linus asleep?”
“If he wakes up before morning again, I’m taking Becky’s advice to feed him more before he—” She broke off. “You shaved!”
He was glad for the dim light because he could feel a hot tide rising up his throat. “Been known to happen now and then,” he dismissed. “What’s with the envelope?”
“Oh.” She flipped the envelope as if she’d forgotten she was holding it. She dropped it on his lap. “A surprise.”
Frowning, he tore it open and a slick driver’s license fell into his hand. Even without good light, he was able to identify the picture of Laurel on the front. “You didn’t step outside the hospital until today. How did you get—”
“I called my father,” she said diffidently.
If she’d said she’d called Jesus himself, Adam couldn’t have been more stunned.
“That first day at the hospital,” she added, seeming to feel a need to fill his stupefied silence. “You fell asleep in the chair holding Linus and—” She lifted her shoulder. “I called my father. He put his lawyer on it and that was delivered to me yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you say something before?”
“I don’t know. Less than a month ago I was calling myself Lisa Jane Doe.” She lifted her shoulder a second time. “Now I have back my own name. I have some legal ID and some of my memories. And the most perfect son I could ever imagine. It’s...a lot.”
She’d also stopped covering up the scars on her arm. The sleeveless blouse she wore was one of several that Becky and Stephanie had gathered and sent with him to the hospital after learning Laurel only had a few items of her own.
“Is it too much?”
“You know that feeling you get when you’re afraid to breathe because you might burst the beautiful bubble that you’ve somehow managed to form?”
“Your life isn’t a fragile bubble, Laurel.”
“That’s what Dr. Green says, too.”
“Dr. Green?” He stared at her. “When have you been talking to him?”
“Every day, actually. While I left you alone to give Linus his bath, I was participating in a support group of his via teleconference.” She cupped her hands around the edge of the deck beneath them and her long hair slid over her shoulders. “I know he’s a pediatrician, but he gave me his card that one day and—” She broke off for a moment. “He’s just been very nice. He said I wasn’t the only mom he’s met who’s dealt with postpartum issues. Between him and Dr. Granger, at least I have a reason why I...left my baby. I had what’s called postpartum panic disorder.”
His throat tightened. “Sweetheart, you never needed a diagnosis.”
“I needed it. So I can stop hating myself and maybe start forgiving myself. That’s what a lot of the other moms in the group say, too.” She angled her head, sliding a look his way. “Maybe if I hadn’t been dealing with the news about my mother and Eric and—”
“Me.”
Her lashes lowered. “And you,” she conceded.
His chest ached. “Why didn’t you tell me about all this before now?”
She shook her head, a bittersweet smile on her face. “You’re no more to blame for my actions than I am for my mother’s. And I didn’t tell you before because it was something I needed to do. For me.” She shrugged her shoulders a bit. “But we’re here now and I didn’t want you to think I was keeping secrets.”
“Laurel—”
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said swiftly. Huskily. “This isn’t something I want us crying over. If I hadn’t had the accident, maybe I’d have come to my senses and returned straightaway to Linus. But I have to accept the fact that I may never know.” She picked up the driver’s license where it had fallen onto the deck and slid
