Robyn Jennings lived in a small ranch on the southwest side of Wilmington. Maggie used the address from Will’s application that Josh had texted her weeks ago. She pulled along the curb, studying the property.
Darkness obscured the unattached garage, and the home itself boasted a tiny stoop centered between two large lit windows. Someone was home—hopefully not Will. But it was a Friday night and he was young. Probably out with friends.
Maggie’s heart thudded at the thought of coming face-to-face with the woman who might’ve had Ethan’s other child.
Ethan’s other child.
No, it wasn’t true. She was about to prove that to herself.
She squeezed her eyes closed, welcoming the black void. If only she could make all of this disappear so easily. But she couldn’t. She opened her eyes again. She was here for answers.
Gathering courage, she opened the door and slipped into the night. Gravel crunched beneath her sandals as she walked up the short driveway. An old white Dodge hunkered just outside the garage. Her legs wobbled as she followed the pavers to the steps leading to the stoop.
The night air smelled of lilacs and earth. Cars whipped past on the main road just outside the subdivision. Somewhere in the distancea siren pealed. As she climbed the steps a warm breeze lifted her hair.
On the darkened stoop she drew a steadying breath and then knocked. Her respirations were quick and shallow as if she’d just finished a run on the beach. Questions buzzed inside her head like a dozen angry bees.
She was biting her nails. She lowered her hand.
God, help me.She winged the ancient plea heavenward. She hoped He would forgive the ambiguous request. She couldn’t seem to formulate anything more meaningful.
The door swept open and a woman appeared, silhouetted by the light behind her and shielded by the patio door between them. Was it the woman they’d found online?
“Can I help you?”
“Are you—are you Robyn Jennings?”
The woman tilted her head. “Who’s asking?”
“My name’s Maggie. Um, I wondered if I could have a minute of your time.”
“What’s this regarding?”
Maggie gathered her courage. “Your son.”
The woman glanced over her shoulder, then thrust open the patio door. But rather than inviting Maggie inside, she scurried onto the porch.
Maggie made room for Robyn, who closed the entry door behind her and remained inside the enclave of the open patio door. Maggie’s stomach sank like an anchor at her suspicious behavior.
“What do you want?”
“I’ve recently become aware that”—she swallowed hard—“that you may have known my husband, Ethan Reynolds. Is that true?”
Maggie whipped out her phone and pulled up the photo ofyoung Ethan. She turned it around, hands trembling. “This is my husband—my late husband—when he was twenty. Did you know him?”
Robyn gasped. A solid five seconds passed before she tore her eyes from the photo. “I—I never knew that man. Never knew anyone by that name.” She reached for the doorknob. “You should go. I’m in the middle of something.”
She was lying. “Please. I need to know—”
“You have to go.” The patio door was falling shut.
“Did he love you? Did he know he had a son? Please, you have to tell me.”
Robyn whipped around. “I already told you I never knew him. I’m sorry but I can’t help you.”
“Wait.” Maggie shoved a piece of paper at her bearing her phone number. “Could we talk another time? I’m leaving town tomorrow. I don’t live here.”
Robyn stuffed the paper into her jeans pocket and closed the door firmly behind her. A second later the pneumatic closure released the patio door and it, too, clicked shut.
