when I said I was going for a drive."

"I had a pretty good idea."

"Why did you come?"

"I didn't want you to go alone."

She stiffened. It was only a barely perceptible movement, but he sensed

her shoulders straightening, her chin firming. "I'm not fragile,

Michael."

"Okay. I wanted to be with you."

She turned. His eyes were kind, like his father's, but in them she

could still see the boy who had driven her home from the beach. Degree

by degree her body relaxed. "Thanks."

She turned the car and followed his directions. The roads didn't seem

familiar. She'd thought they would. It occurred to her, and made her

feel foolish, that she would never have found the house on her own. They

didn't talk now, except for Michael's occasional "turn right,"

"bear left," but listened to the soft, soothing sounds of Crosby,

Stills, and Nash through the car speakers.

He didn't have to tell her to stop. She recognized the house. It was

like a picture, developed and stored in her mind. It was very much the

same as it had been, secluded by trees, hedges, the winter bloomers of

the hills. It was rustic, as only the wealthy could afford. Redwood

and sheets of gla.s.s, terraced lawn falling into woods and stream.

She saw, as Michael did, the sign speared into the ground that

proclaimed the house up for sale.

"We could call it fate," he said, and touched her arm. "Do you want to

go in?"

Her hands were linked hard in her lap. She could see her window, her

bedroom window where she had once stood with Darren and gleefully

watched a fox dart through the trees.

"I can't."

"Okay. We can sit as long as you like."

She could see herself, wading in the stream, Bev laughing as Darren

splashed madly in his bare feet and rolled-up overalls. She remembered

a picnic the four of them had shared, a blanket spread under a tree, her

father quietly strumming his guitar, Bev reading a book while Darren

dozed in her lap.

She'd forgotten that day. How could she have forgotten it? It had been

such a beautiful day, such a perfect day. The gra.s.s had been cool, the

sun warm and lazily yellow where it pushed through the leaves, the shade

soft and gray where it hadn't. She could hear her father's voice, and

the words he'd been singing.

Never too late to look for love / Never too soon to find it.

They had been happy, Emma thought. They had been a family.

Then, the next day they had given a party and everything had changed.

"Yes," she said abruptly. "I want to go in."

"Okay. Look, it might be better if they didn't know who you are, about

the connection, I mean."

She nodded, and drove through the open gates.

Michael closed a hand over hers as they stood in front of the door. Hers

was like ice, but steady. He put on his best smile as the door opened.