past. She wanted to look forward. “What will you do now?” she asked.
“Jo is trying to get me to come back.”
“Will you?”
“Maybe. For a while.”
“I hope you get a chance to return to Scotland.”
There were the people who put down roots so deep no one could tear them out. Then there were the ones like her and Daniel, the travelers, the wanderers, always seeking, never finding, always moving on.
“There’s Beau,” Daniel said.
“I’m afraid Campbell may have been right when he said Beau was your excuse. Beau’s more independent than you think, maybe more independent than you want him to be.”
The train pulled to a stop, wheels scraping and squeaking, steam billowing from underneath. She was the only person getting on. The conductor wouldn’t wait long.
Daniel looked as if he wanted to say something.
With a flash of insight, she recognized his hesitation.
Fog. Daniel had given her fog. She’d never forget that. There was a lot of fog in San Francisco.
“All aboard!”
“Bye,” she said, taking a step toward the train.
“All aboard!”
His eyes. She couldn’t pull her gaze from his eyes. From the longing, and the pain, and something else- something she thought she had to be imagining, something she told herself was a trick of the light. Love. She thought she saw love.
“Bye.”
She turned and hurried up the steps. She’d barely stepped inside before the train began moving away. By the time she made it to a seat by the window, Daniel was just a silhouette standing in front of the station, already a part of her past.
Daniel stood and watched the train until it disappeared, hardly noticing the hot sidewalk under his bare feet, hardly noticing the pain in his shoulder.
What had he expected? Nothing in their so-called relationship had merited a handshake, let alone a heartfelt goodbye.
Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe he was jealous because she was leaving, moving on to someplace new and unknown. Maybe he was attracted to her because of what she represented-the world, everything that wasn’t this, wasn’t here, someone rare, someone unique, someone exotic and strange and wonderful.
No, maybe it wasn’t love.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cleo was having the dream again. Not the pumpkin dream. She hadn’t had that since leaving Egypt. No, this was a different dream. A warm, lovely dream.
Daniel Sinclair was there. The sky was vast and blue, the grass beneath their feet as green and welcoming as tomorrow. Somewhere in the distance she heard the sound of the North Atlantic pounding against solid cliffs, and the cry of gulls overhead.
In the dream she had a secret, a wonderful secret she’d saved until this moment, this one perfect moment.
He knew she couldn’t have children, but his love for her was strong. “We’ll adopt,” he’d told her. But she’d seen the flicker of sadness in his eyes. It had lasted only a moment, but she’d seen it. You know these things about the people you love.
They walked, holding hands, fingers lightly brushing fingers. She swung around to face him. She wanted to see his happiness when she told him. “I’m going to have a baby.”
First there was a flash of joy, then confusion, then joy again. “How? Are you sure?”
She took his hand and pressed it gently to a stomach that had just the slightest swell. She nodded, smiling up at him. “They did an ultrasound to be certain.”
He pulled her into his strong, warm, comforting arms. He smelled like the sea, and he smelled like the sun, and he smelled like Daniel.
She took his face in both her hands, pulling him closer. And then his lips touched hers, all warm and soft. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so much.”
A shrill scream came out of nowhere, pulling Cleo partially out of the dream.
“Mom!”
From somewhere in the distance, somewhere far away from her dream, a child shrieked. “I was watching TV first and Carmen changed channels! Mom!
Cleo awoke with a jolt, finding herself in her niece’s bed.
She closed her eyes and rolled to her stomach. She wanted to go back to sleep. Sometimes if she woke up in the middle of a dream, she could concentrate and get herself back there.
“Mom!”
Not this time.
Cleo rolled to her back, tossed off the Peter Rabbit covers, and sat on the edge of the bed. The digital clock read 6:30. She rubbed her face. How come kids liked to get up early, but adults never wanted to get out of bed? What happened there? Was it because kids thought of each new day as a wonderful adventure, while adults knew the truth?
Barefoot, wearing plaid flannel pajamas, she left the room, almost colliding with Adrian in the hallway. “Go back to bed,” she told him.
His eyes were barely open, his hair sticking out in all directions.
“You were up late. I’ll take care of the girls.”
“Thanks.” He turned and shuffled back to the bedroom he shared with Mavis.
In the living room, the girls were still fighting.
“What’s going on in here?” Cleo demanded.
Macy jumped to her feet and immediately started pointing at three-year-old Carmen. Carmen was sitting on her hands-or rather, sitting on the remote control she held in those hands.
“Mommy and Daddy were up late last night. They need their sleep,” Cleo said. “Instead of watching TV, let’s go see what we can find for breakfast.”
No argument there. Carmen pulled out the remote control, turned off the TV, and ran for the kitchen. “Fruit Loops. I get Fruit Loops.”
Cleo had told Adrian he shouldn’t let his kids eat that sweet stuff. Without thinking, he’d replied, “Just wait till you have kids.” Realizing what he’d said, his face dropped. “Oh, hey. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. And just because I can’t physically have children, that doesn’t mean I won’t have some of my own someday.” But being married, having children, a house, a home, a car, a dog, all of it seemed so unlikely. There were her nieces, though. She would watch them grow. And she would try to make it to some of their school programs. Maybe she would take them ice-skating, or to the zoo. Maybe they would visit her occasionally so Adrian and Mavis could have some time to themselves. But it wouldn’t be the same. Of course it wouldn’t be the same as having children of her own.
The kids dragged out boxes of cereal while Cleo got the milk and orange juice. In the two months that she’d been at her brother’s, she’d gained ten pounds. She could actually look at orange juice without gagging, but she didn’t think she’d ever be able to drink it.
“I’ll pour the juice,” Macy said, retrieving three glasses.
