A Time To Come Home

Wiping away the rest of the tears, she headed for the front door. Her chest ached. Whether it was from being without Vicodin or from the hardest decision she’d ever had to make, she couldn’t be sure.

Within moments, she was trudging down the sidewalk by the glow of the street lamps toward the very bus station where she and Jaye had arrived.

She knew that abandoning her child was unforgivable, just as what she’d done to Tyler Benton ten years ago had been unforgivable.

But it couldn’t be helped.

She’d been barely seventeen when Jaye was born, no more than a child herself, grossed out by breast-feeding, impatient with crying and resentful of her new responsibilities.

A tidal wave of love for her daughter, which gathered strength with each passing day, had helped Diana grow up fast. She tried her best, but harbored no illusion that love alone would make her a good mother.

Diana waited for the sparse early-morning traffic to pass before crossing a main street, placing one foot in front of the other when all she wanted was to turn back. But she couldn’t. Not only did she lack the courage to confess to her brother that she had a drug problem, she couldn’t risk having him say Jaye couldn’t stay with him.

Despite his bachelor status, Connor represented her best hope. Her parents, to whom she hadn’t spoken to in years, were out. She had no doubt that her brother would take good care of Jaye. Until Diana kicked her habit and put her life back on track, Jaye was better off with him. And without Diana.

She blinked rapidly until her tears dried, then turned her mind to her uncertain future. Once she spent a portion of her dwindling cash on a return bus ticket to Nashville, she’d need to find a cheaper apartment, search for a job that paid a decent wage and somehow figure out how to get into drug treatment.

Even now she craved a pill. She reached into the front pocket of her blue jeans, her fingertips encountering the reassuring presence of the three little white Vicodin tablets left from her stash.

Despite her desire to do right by her much-loved daughter, she couldn’t say for sure whether the pills would still be in her pocket when she reached Nashville.

CHAPTER ONE

Six months later

DIANA SMITH WIPED away the bead of moisture trickling down her forehead with the pad of her index finger. It felt warm against her skin, a marked difference from the drenching sweats that used to chill her body when she denied herself the Vicodin that held her in its grip.

It had been months since she’d stopped desiring the prescription pain pills, longer since she’d done an abbreviated stint in detox and then gone through the hell of withdrawal. And longer still since she’d crept from her brother’s town house in the dark of night while Connor and Jaye slept.

The air had been crisp then, cold enough that she could see her breath when she exhaled. Now it was stagnant and sultry, the kind of heat typical of Maryland in the waning days of August. But the heat wasn’t what had Diana sweating.

She sat in the driver’s seat of her secondhand Chevy with the driver’s-side window rolled down, a good half block from her brother’s brick town house. No lights shone inside as far as she could determine, suggesting nobody was home. She had no way of knowing if anyone would arrive soon, although it was past six o’clock on a Friday.

She waited, her entire body on alert whenever a car appeared. But it was never the silver Porsche her brother drove. She counted up the months since she’d last been here in Silver Spring, surprised that six of them had passed. It felt twice that long, because every day without her daughter seemed to drag to twice its normal length.

She hadn’t spoken to Jaye once in all that time. She’d picked up the phone countless times, but fear had paralyzed her. How could she expect a child to understand she’d done what she thought best when her own adult brother didn’t?

She’d left phone messages on Connor’s answering machine to let him know she was okay but had only spoken to him the one time, after he’d tracked her down through a private investigator.

Connor had kept his temper in check, even offering to put Jaye on the line. Diana had ached to hear her child’s voice and longed to promise her they’d be together soon. But she’d resisted the allure, unable to face the questions about why she’d gone or when she’d be back.

As she waited, she heard birds singing, the distant sound of a stereo playing and a quiet that made little sense. A neighborhood like this should be alive with activity late on a Friday afternoon, after businesses shut down for the day. Only holiday weekends followed a different pattern.

“Oh, no,” she said aloud, as the importance of today’s date sunk in. The last Friday in August. The start of the long Labor Day weekend.

Connor could have gotten off work early and headed somewhere with Jaye to enjoy the last gasp of summer. She might not glimpse her daughter today after all.

Her hopes rose when she heard the whoosh of approaching tires on pavement, but a blue compact car and not her brother’s Porsche came into view. Before discouragement could set in, the car pulled into Connor’s driveway.

Diana slouched down in her seat, her right hand tightening on her thigh. Both doors opened simultaneously. A woman with short, dark hair emerged from behind the wheel, something about her vaguely familiar. But Diana barely spared her a glance, her attention captured by the passenger. By Jaye.

The little girl reached inside the car and pulled out a number of plastic shopping bags. Her hands full, she bumped the door closed with her hip, then came fully into view. Her long gilded hair was the same, but her skin was tanned by the sun and she appeared a few inches taller. A growth spurt, common enough in a nine-year-old. But Diana had missed it.

The sun was low in the sky. It backlit Jaye so that she looked ephemeral, as out of reach to Diana as if she were an other-worldly creature.

Diana remembered the unexpected wave of love that swept over her the first time she held Jaye in the hospital. The love no longer surprised her. She braced herself for it, but it still hit her like a punch.

The dark-haired woman joined Jaye at the foot of the sidewalk and took a few of the bags from her. The woman said something, and Jaye giggled, the high-pitched girlish sound traveling on the breeze. Diana’s lips curved. She leaned closer to the open window, closer to Jaye, forgetting her notion to be inconspicuous.

The woman ruffled the top of Jaye’s blond head, and then Jaye skipped up the sidewalk to the front door of the town house.

The woman followed, a small object that could only be a house key in her free hand. Despair rolled over Diana, settling in the pit of her stomach. The woman unlocked the door. A cry of protest rose in Diana’s throat. Feeling as though she was choking, she watched helplessly as the woman opened the door.

Jaye scampered inside, out of sight. The woman closed the door behind them. This time it was a tear and not sweat that slid down Diana’s cheek.

A sharp tapping interrupted her thought. The knocking came again. Faster. Louder. Diana turned toward the sound—and saw her brother’s handsome, scowling face through the passenger window.

Her stomach pitched as she mentally called herself all kinds of a fool. Checking her rearview mirror, she spotted the silver Porsche parked behind her car. She’d been so absorbed in Jaye that she hadn’t heard Connor pull up.

He rapped sharply on the closed window again. “Diana, unlock the door,” he ordered.

The temptation to flee was so sharp that Diana’s foot moved to the gas pedal, but she suppressed it. Her brother deserved better. She reluctantly pressed the unlock button, and Connor opened the door and slid onto the worn fabric of the passenger seat, not bothering to close the door behind him.

He was dressed as though he’d come from the brokerage firm, in a navy silk tie, a long-sleeved blue dress shirt and dark, tailored slacks. But his resemblance to a cool, collected stockbroker ended there.

“I don’t know whether to hug you or yell at you,” he said in a low-throated, angry growl. “My P.I. told me you quit your job and moved out of your apartment. Where in the hell have you been?”

She tilted her head. “You’re still using that private eye?”

“Off and on. I need someone to tell me what you’re up to. You certainly won’t. Do you know how worried I’ve been about you?”

She gazed into her lap and fought tears. She’d been on her own for so long it hadn’t occurred to her that he’d worry. “I’m sorry,” she said without raising her head. “I should have let you know I was moving.”

“Hell, yeah, you should have. You should return my phone messages, too,” he said gruffly, his voice thickened by emotion. “You didn’t even call after I told you about Drew Galloway being denied parole.”

The date Galloway could have gained his freedom seared into her memory, Diana had discovered the outcome of the parole hearing before she received Connor’s message. But her throat had swelled at the mention of her brother’s killer, so she didn’t tell Connor that.

Connor heaved a sigh and ran a hand over his forehead. “It must be a hundred degrees in this car. Come into the house so we can talk where it’s cooler.”

“No.” She punctuated her comment with a firm shake of her head. “I can’t come in.”

“Want to tell me why not?”

In a softer voice, Diana said, “Jaye’s in there.”

“Isn’t Jaye the reason you’re here?”

She nodded. “Yes. But only to see her, not to talk to her.”