“When she was released from prison, she moved to California,” Tony admitted.

“How will you feel when she tells you that she wants to move back to California or back to the island or anywhere?”

“I’ll feel like shit, but it’s her decision.”

Jim smiled. “Anthony, you’ve made great progress over the past two years. I’m proud of you.”

As Tony walked back toward his dormitory, he contemplated the session. He didn’t hate Jim the way he had in the beginning. Truthfully, it felt good to talk, better than Tony had ever imagined. That didn’t mean he liked all that they discussed, but in his heart, Tony knew it was true. He’d been in control of Claire’s life for longer than she knew him. That wasn’t a way to live. Not for her, and not for him. She would get better. When she did, she deserved, for the first time in most of her adult life, to live her own life.

So what? He was building the house for her. If she didn’t want to be there, he was truthful when he said she could sell it.

He’d made progress. Tony grinned, thinking of Jim’s last comment. That was definitely something Tony planned to say to Nichol as much as possible. How hard was that? I’m proud of you. Four words that felt better than closing the biggest deal. Yes, those would definitely be in his father vocabulary—if Claire allowed him to be with Nichol.

Tony looked at his cheap commissary watch. He had four minutes until standing count.

What you are willing to sacrifice is the measurement of how you love.

—Jada Pinkett Smith

“She came up to me at the park. At the park, John! Are you listening to me?” Emily asked.

“I’m listening to you. It sounds like you took care of it,” John replied.

“I told her to stay away, from me, from Nichol, and from Claire.” Emily turned circles in their master bedroom suite. “I was so upset. I mean, after that damn book, she has the audacity to come up to me! To me! And ask to talk to Claire… to do another story?!”

John reached for his wife’s hand. “Come here.” He tugged her toward the bed. “Sit, calm down. You said your piece, and you walked away. If she bothers you again, you can call the police. She’s a reporter. She falls under the guidelines of the restraining order.”

Emily sat next to her husband and sighed. “I’m just afraid…”

“Of what?”

“I said something. I told her that Claire couldn’t answer her questions. I told her that Claire wasn’t talking to anyone. I shouldn’t have told her that much.”

John’s chest inflated with a deep breath. “Did you tell her it was off the record?”

Emily grinned. “I think I may have threatened her life if she repeated anything I said.”

John nodded as he pulled Emily closer. “Well, I guess that could legally be interpreted as off the record.”

“That’s how I meant it.” She lay back on the soft comforter and sighed. “This feels so good.”

“Did you go to Everwood this morning?” John asked.

Emily nodded. “We went for a little walk. I keep hoping she’ll realize that she’s outside or something. Then I helped Claire with her lunch. I swear she isn’t eating when I’m not there. Not that she eats that well when I’m there.”

“Did she talk?”

“Not really.”

They both turned as their bedroom door opened and a rush of little feet came running in. Within seconds Nichol and Michael were up on their bed, giggling, and hugging John and Emily. Pulling Nichol into his arms, John turned and saw Becca, their nanny, standing in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Vandersol. Nichol asked for you. The next thing I know—they’re both running at full speed,” Becca explained.

John reached around and tickled Michael’s tummy, sending the noise level of the room up a few decibels. “It’s all right, Becca. We needed a little positive energy in here.”

“I can take them back downstairs—”

“They’re fine,” Emily replied. “Besides, it’s about time for supper…”

John sat in his home office, finishing his review of a proposal, when his phone buzzed. It was a text message from Harry.

“I’D LIKE TO SPEAK TO YOU AND EMILY, IN PERSON. I CAN BE IN IOWA TOMORROW OR THE NEXT DAY. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF WE CAN SCHEDULE SOMETHING”.

John sighed. He’d meant to contact Harry since the news about Amber broke, but he didn’t know what to say. Truthfully, he’d had enough fires of his own, so he wasn’t anxious to step into another. John replied to the text:

“WE’LL WORK SOMETHING OUT. LET US KNOW WHEN YOU’RE IN TOWN.”

“GREAT, TOMORROW NIGHT, I’LL GET BACK WITH YOU.”

“SOUNDS GOOD.”

His thoughts filled with their friend as John searched room to room, looking for Emily. Poor Harry had to learn that his sister had murdered his friend. Well, John’s sister-in-law had been accused of attempted murder—twice—and she wasn’t guilty either time. Maybe Amber wasn’t either? John had read that she’d pleaded not guilty. The trial wasn’t scheduled to begin until early fall.

He turned the corner to Michael’s nursery and stopped at the vision of his wife and children. Emily’s attention was too centered on the book and children for her to notice his presence. It was moments like this, watching the woman he loved, rocking back and forth with both Nichol and Michael in her lap, that he could forget how this all came to be. Nichol’s little head drooped forward: despite her cousin’s fidgeting, she was sound asleep. Emily’s animated voice continued softly as she continued to read. With each page, Michael’s lids grew heavier and heavier. Their son’s earlier restlessness to try to stay awake gave way to the power of the story, jammies, and methodical rocking. His little head rested against his mommy and his limbs stilled. John waited as Emily continued reading.