He brought a mechanic's toolbox and a printed list of local employment opportunities.
Sarah opened the door and immediately folded her arms.
If you're here to feed us again, the kitchen is already full.
Jack glanced past her.
Good. I'd hate to compete with the soup.
She tried not to smile.
It almost worked.
What do you want?
I heard your car needs a transmission.
Sarah stiffened.
Who told you that?
Maggie.
How does Maggie know?
I asked whether you had transportation.
Why?
Because I know a mechanic who might be able to help.
Sarah shook her head.
I can't afford a repair.
Didn't say you had to pay today.
Jack—
Sarah, I'm not asking you to accept a gift. I'm offering to help you find a way to get to work.
She looked at him carefully.
There was no pity in his expression.
That made it harder to refuse.
Pity was something she could fight. She could remind people that she had worked for eleven years, raised a child, buried a husband, and survived more than they knew.
But practical help was different.
Practical help acknowledged that she was struggling without suggesting she was worthless.
What kind of work? she asked.
There's a parts distributor near the clubhouse. They need someone to handle invoices and inventory. Maggie spoke to the manager this morning.
Sarah frowned.
She did what?
She asked whether they were hiring.
Without asking me?
Jack nodded.
That was probably overstepping.
Probably?
Definitely.
Sarah stared at him.
Then, unexpectedly, she laughed.
It was a small, reluctant sound, but it loosened something in her chest.
Jack smiled.
There's the problem, she said.
What problem?
You people don't know when to stop helping.
We've been told.
Repeatedly, I imagine.
By people who later asked us for help again.
Sarah shook her head.
For a moment, the tension between them eased.
Then Jack noticed the folded business card on the table.
What's that?
Sarah's expression changed.
Someone I met yesterday.
She handed him the card.
Jack read the name.
Frank Delaney.
His jaw tightened.
Where did you meet him?
At the grocery store.
What did he say?
That he knew my grandfather.
Jack looked up.
Your grandfather?
Apparently, his name was David Hale.
Jack went very still.
Sarah watched him.
You know something.
I know Frank Delaney.
How?
He worked near the garage where I used to work.
Was he friends with my mother?
Jack hesitated.
Not exactly.
What does that mean?
It means I never trusted him.
Sarah pulled out a chair.
Then tell me why he approached me.
I don't know.
You're lying.
Jack didn't answer immediately.
He could have told her everything he suspected. He could have explained the letter, the disappearance, the pregnancy, and the possibility that the woman he had mourned for thirty-four years might have been alive long enough to give birth to a daughter.
But none of it was certain.
And he refused to turn suspicion into another burden Sarah had to carry.
I think Frank knows something about your family, he said. "I don't know what it is yet."
Sarah looked down at the card.
He owns the company that owns this house.
Jack's eyes narrowed.
What?
The apartment complex. Delaney Property and Development. They sent me an eviction notice.
How much do you owe?
That's not the point.
It is if they're using it against you.
Sarah's face flushed.
I don't need you to fight my battles.
I'm not trying to.
Then stop looking at me like I'm about to fall apart.
Jack fell silent.
She regretted the words almost immediately.
He had done nothing to deserve them.
I'm sorry, she said quietly.
Jack shook his head.
No. You have every right to be angry.
I'm not angry with you.
Maybe not. But you're tired, and you're frightened, and you've spent too long trying to carry everything alone.
Sarah looked away.
The accuracy of his words hurt more than an accusation would have.
Jack placed the employment list on the table.
Take a look. If you want the job, call the number. If you don't, that's your decision.
She picked up the paper.
Thank you.
He nodded.
As he turned toward the door, Sarah spoke again.
Jack?
He stopped.
Did you really love my mother?
The question caught him off guard.
He looked at her, and for the first time since arriving, he seemed uncertain what to say.
Yes.
Sarah waited.
I loved her more than I understood how to explain.
Then why did you leave?
Jack lowered his gaze.
Because I thought I was building a future for us.
And were you?
I believed I was.
She studied him.
For a moment, she could see the young man he must have been, the one who had loved Rebecca before the world taught him how easily love could be taken away.
I'll think about the job, she said.
Jack nodded.
That's all I'm asking.
After he left, Sarah stood at the window and watched him cross the lawn.
He moved with a slight stiffness in his right leg. He paused beside his motorcycle, looked back at the house, and then put on his helmet.
She found herself wondering whether her mother had ever watched him leave somewhere.
Whether Rebecca had waited for him to return.
Whether she had cried.
And whether, somewhere in the years between then and now, she had carried a secret so heavy that she had been unable to share it even with her own daughter.
That evening, Lily found Sarah sitting at the kitchen table with the employment list.
Are you going to get a job?
Sarah looked up.
I'm going to try.
At the place where Bear works?
Not exactly.
Will he be there?
Probably.
Lily smiled.
Good.
Sarah raised an eyebrow.
Why is that good?
Because he looks scary, but he isn't.
Sarah laughed softly.
That's an interesting way to describe someone.
He gave me money.
Yes.
And he fixed my bike.
Yes.
And he made sure you ate.
Sarah's smile faded.
Lily climbed onto the chair beside her.