Maeve nodded thoughtfully. “But does he have eyes that ‘look like pieces of moorland sky’?” she teased in her best British accent.
“They are very blue,” Harper said with a laugh.
“And does he ‘smell like heather and grass and leaves’?”
Harper rolled her eyes and pushed on Maeve’s arm. “I said it’s not like that.”
Maeve raised her eyebrows and grinned. “Mm-hmm . . .”
Harper shook her head. “Keep reading!”
Maeve obediently turned back to the book, and as Harper listened, she watched Big Mac, their gray tiger cat, saunter in, hop on the couch, and curl up next to Keeper. She reached out to stroke his soft fur, too, and while she did, she pictured the ruddy-cheeked Dickon greeting the pale, self-absorbed Colin for the first time, and wished she had a secret garden to tend.
Twenty minutes later, Maeve realized there’d been no recent commentary from the peanut gallery and looked over to see Harper sound asleep, her breathing soft and easy. She reluctantly tucked the bookmark between the pages and reached over to stroke the heads of the big golden retriever and his feline sidekick. “Where’d we lose her?” she whispered, and Keeper opened one eye and swished his tail, but Big Mac just slumbered on peacefully. Typical cat, Maeve thought. She looked up at the clock on the mantle—it was after ten—and then she gazed at the embers in the fireplace, wondering what Gage was up to and deciding he was probably asleep, too. When they’d first started dating, she’d teased him about not being able to stay awake past ten o’clock, and he’d explained that his internal clock—from growing up on a farm—could not be reset. It was a curse from his father, he added—a comment that made her wonder. As she watched a piece of bark catch and flame up, she recalled the first time she’d heard Gage’s name, and realized there’d been no way to know how much it would come to mean to her. She and Macey had been sitting on Macey’s back porch eating ice cream from the Tennyson farm, when Ben had come home from work, seen the ice cream, and casually mentioned that he’d just hired a new guy named Gage Tennyson.
“No way!” Macey had said, as she licked her spoon.
“Way,” Ben had said.
“Wait,” Maeve had said as the progress of her own spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. “He’s not from the same family that makes Sweet Irish Cream?” She had eyed her brother-in-law, unable to believe he had someone on his crew who might have something to do with her favorite ice-cream flavor.
“He might be,” Ben had teased with a grin.
Macey had raised her eyebrows. “If you hired him, Ben, you know . . .”
Just then, there was a sound on the front porch and Keeper and Big Mac both perked up, pulling Maeve back to the present. “Are Mom and Dad home?” she whispered, and Keeper thumped his tail and hopped off the couch, landing deftly on three legs—one of his front legs, due to a bout with cancer, had been amputated—and he hurried to the door, his whole hind end wagging.
The doorknob turned, and Macey and Ben peeked in. “Hey,” Macey said, kneeling down to greet their two rescue pets. Keeper pushed his bowed head into her chest—his usual hello—while Big Mac placed his front paws, light as a whisper, on her knee and sniffed her cheek.
“How was The Crab Shack?” Maeve asked, gingerly lifting the blanket off her legs while trying not to disturb her slumbering niece.
“Amazing, as always,” Macey replied. “How was the weekly meeting of The Pepperoni Pizza and Root Beer Book Club?”
“Great!” Maeve answered, chuckling. “Except you-know-who fell asleep midchapter!” She nodded in Harper’s direction and then looked back at her sister. “There’s some leftover pizza in the fridge.”
“Want to take it home?” Ben asked.
“No, thanks,” Maeve said, shaking her head. “You guys can have it for lunch tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?” Ben pressed, holding up a paper bag containing two takeout containers, “Because we have leftovers, too.”
“Positive,” Maeve answered. “I’m pretty sure Gage got a pizza tonight, too.” She smiled. “He feels left out when Harper and I have book club.”
“He can come over, too, you know,” Macey said.
Maeve frowned. “Oh, no. This is girls’ night, and besides, he’s not a big reader.”
“Okay,” Macey said, laughing softly, “but, you know, Harper thinks he walks on water so I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
“I know,” Maeve replied. “Maybe the three of us will do something together sometime.”
“That reminds me—the Croo-Picnic is next weekend,” Ben said.
“So I heard,” Maeve replied, remembering the brief conversation she’d had with Gage about the annual summer barbecue Ben and Macey hosted for his employees and their families. “What can we bring?”
“Whatever you’d like,” Macey said.
“Your world-famous deviled eggs and blackberry cobbler are always a hit,” Ben suggested hopefully.
Maeve laughed. “Okay . . . maybe.” She gave them each a hug.
“Thanks for niece-sitting!”
“My pleasure,” she replied and then leaned over to kiss Keeper’s head. “Anytime.”
4
THROUGH A BLUR OF ANGRY TEARS, TALL, SLENDER MASON CALLAHAN gazed up at the pink and coral clouds drifting across the Georgia sky. How could a God who is supposed to be loving let someone so caring endure so much suffering? He walked across the empty hospital parking lot—still steaming and puddled from a passing thunderstorm—unlocked his car, and opened the door, but instead of climbing in, he leaned against it, wiped his eyes with his palms, and waited for the trapped summer heat to drift out.
Mason had bought the old car the previous summer from a man whose family had decided he shouldn’t drive anymore. At the time, Mason had been on the opposite end of the spectrum—he hadn’t even had his license yet,
