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that echoed across John’s heart now.
    “Not my will, but yours be done.”
    John let the words play in his mind a few more times. They seemed right for Jesus, but for. him? John Baxter? He was merely a man, and since this morning, not a very strong man, at that. He couldn’t possibly pray the way Jesus had in the garden.
    God, I’d be lying if l prayed for your will now. Instead I’m begging you, God, make her well. Take me if you want, but make her well. She… she means so much to all of us, God.
    He opened his eyes and saw the pictures again, their five children. Why had Elizabeth brought it up today, after three years of forgetting? They hadn’t ever really been all together? Was that how she saw it? She found the strangest times to remember, and whenever she did, it sent him reeling for the better part of a week.
    What had they told each other back then? That they’d do what they had to do and never look back, right? Wasn’t that it? Today was a time to talk about Elizabeth and the kids and whatever time they still had left together. A time to pray that cancer would be defeated in this battle, the way it had the first go-around.
    This wasn’t any time to remember the hardest part of their lives, a part they were supposed to have buried long ago.
    If only every few years she wouldn’t bring it up.
    John blinked and stared at the faces of his kids once more. Maybe he was being too hard on his wife. He was no better than she, really. How many times had he sat in this chair and stared at that mantel, at the spot to the left of Brooke’s picture, and wondered what the boy would’ve looked like at seventeen? What he looked like now? How often in the moments before falling asleep had he let himself go back to everything he and Elizabeth had been through.
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    He liked to think he never looked back, that he could live with their decision to keep the past hidden. Hidden from their chil dren and from each other, and most of the time even hidden from themselves.
    They’d done what they had to do. Period.
    No options, no second thoughts, no regrets.
    But in reality, he was no better at forgetting the past than Eliz abeth was.
    In fact, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to thinking about it at least every now and then. Maybe more often than that.
    Not because he’d known what she was talking about almost as soon as she’d mentioned the fact that they’d never really all been together. But because he’d known instantly how long it had been since that awful time in their lives.
    He looked at the calendar on his wristwatch. Thirty-five years, seven months, two days.
    Exactly.
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CHAPTER THREE
    By Friday night, Erin had figured out a way to get the money, and an hour later Sam was convinced, too.
    They’d sell his little Ford Contour, and until they could afford a second car again, Sam would drop Erin off at school each morning on the way to his computer job. He’d skip lunch so he could leave an hour early and swing by to pick up Erin sometime around five o’clock.
    By the time they had the For Sale signs made, Erin had talked herself into believing the arrangement was actually a good thing. They’d save on insurance and gas, and she’d have a reason to stay and correct papers until Sam picked her up each day.
    “You really think this’ll work?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “We oughta call the attorney and tell him what Candy and Dave are up to. They’d never get away with it.”
    “And we’d never get the baby.” Erin took hold of Sam’s arm, her tone full of quiet desperation. “Please, Sam. Just pray someone buys the car.”
    He looked at the sign. “Five thousand dollars for a car that’s not even two years old?” A sad chuckle slipped from his mouth. “It’s worth more than twice that. Someone better buy it.”
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    The next morning Erin followed Sam to the busiest supermarket in Austin, especially on a Saturday. He parked the car at the front of the lot in an area set apart