“We’ll have to break the law in order to get you home today,” Diana said as Willow crawled into the back of the car and Diana fastened a seat belt around her. “You’re supposed to be in a booster seat but I don’t have one.”
“I hate the booster seat. It’s for babies.”
“Nevertheless, the State of West Virginia says you must sit in an approved booster seat if you’re under eight years old.”
Willow looked glum then perked up a bit. “How long am I gonna stay with you and Uncle Simon?”
“Oh, a few days.” Diana shut the car door quickly. She hoped her vague answer would satisfy Willow, but “vague” never worked with Willow. The child’s insistence on exact answers had always amazed Diana.
“How long is a few days?” Willow asked as soon as Diana sat down in the driver’s seat. She made a production of slamming the car door and fastening her seat belt while she tried to think of a satisfactory answer. Finally she said, “Until Romeo and Christabel get tired of you.”
Willow giggled. Diana felt a wave of relief and encouragement. The child hadn’t even smiled since Diana had hugged her in the emergency room. “Romeo and Christabel love me almost as much as they love each other,” Willow informed Diana, referring to Simon’s “mature” cat, Romeo, and Diana’s young beauty, Christabel. “They won’t want me to go home.”
“Well, they rule the household, so that means a long visit for you, young lady. Uncle Simon and I want you to stay, too, Willow. And I forgot to tell you something. Your neighbor, Mrs. Hanson, is also staying with us!”
“Clarice!” the child exclaimed. “She told me to call her Clarice, not Mrs. Hanson, just like Simon told me to call him Uncle Simon. I like Clarice a whole lot. So does Mommy. But why is she stayin’ at your house?”
“Her house got burned, too, but just a little bit.” Diana backed out of her parking space and sped to the entrance of the parking lot. She felt as if she couldn’t get home fast enough. “Clarice stayed up late and talked with Uncle Simon and me last night. She seems like a really nice person. She’s funny, too.”
“She’s real funny. And she cooks good. And she’s got lots of rel’tives. I’m friends with one of her gran’girls, Sue. Sue’s big sister, Katy, is real old, like thirteen. She’s sorta nice but she never wants to play with us ’cause she doesn’t wanna mess up her hair. I don’t know why—it looks like a bird nest.” Willow sighed. “That’s just how teenagers are, though,” she ended in a world-weary voice.
Diana tried not to grin. “Did Clarice tell you about teenagers?”
“Yeah, she did.” She paused. “When’s Mommy gettin’ out of the hospital?”
Diana looked in the mirror again to see the little girl’s blue eyes full of sadness. The eyes also held a small, pitiful glimmer of hope, and Diana could not take that hope away from the child, even though she was almost certain she would be lying.
“Your mommy will come home just as soon as she’s better. The doctors are doing everything they can to help her get well. We have to believe they can do it, Willow. Your mother needs for us to believe it.”
Doubt flickered in the child’s gaze for an instant. Then Diana saw her take a deep breath before she said with resolution, “Then we will believe it. We’ll believe it with all our hearts like we believe Tinker Bell will live in Peter Pan and she does.”
“That’s the spirit!” Diana knew an adult would catch the loud insincerity of her voice, but Willow seemed somewhat soothed. Her change of expression was well worth any lie, Diana thought, and maybe, just maybe, she was telling the truth after all.
The heavy mugginess of yesterday had lifted, leaving the air warm, gentle, almost caressing. Diana looked at the cloudless, crystalline blue sky with its pale lemon of a sun. The world had turned beautiful, she thought, as if trying to make up for the destructive inferno of last night. A comfortable temperature and a pretty sky could not mend Penny, though. An image of her seared, blistered face flashed in Diana’s mind, and she felt a stabbing pain in her stomach. She almost let out a small cry but caught herself, glancing back at Willow.
The child’s earlier chattiness had stopped abruptly and now she sat looking small and somewhat ethereal with her beautiful long hair and her big shadowed eyes. She stared down at her clasped hands. Diana didn’t know if she was praying—she didn’t even know if Penny and Willow were religious—and she felt a prick of shame. How could she know so little about the two people she loved most in the world except for Simon? Was she so self-consumed she hadn’t bothered to learn who Penny and Willow really were, to learn something about their thoughts, their beliefs, their desires?
Apparently so, Diana thought dismally, so ashamed of herself she could have cried. And now I want to shed tears for my failure, Diana chastised herself. Do I always think of myself? Tears can’t change the past and tears can’t help the young child who seems to have no one else in the world except for Simon and me. Well, we will take care of her, Diana told herself fiercely. We will put our very best efforts into taking care of Penny’s little girl.
“Do you like the dress I’m wearing?” Willow asked, pulling Diana from her reverie.
“I think it’s very pretty. The nurse was certainly thoughtful to bring some of her little girl’s clothes for you to wear home today.”
Willow fingered the blue gingham of her full skirt. “She was nice. She smelled good, too, like vanilla.” She paused. “Do I have to wear this dress until Mommy gets well?”
Diana laughed. “Of course not, Willow. The dress is pretty, but it’s not right for scrambling around on the floor with the cats or playing outside. Besides, the nurse’s little girl might need the dress, so I’ll have to return it soon. I’m going to buy you some new clothes this afternoon. Jeans and cotton shorts and tops. What else would you like?”
“Sneakers. And I want a crown for when I play queen. I had one at my house.”
“Certainly, you may have a crown. Do you remember where your mommy bought it, Your Royal Highness?”
Willow giggled then said helpfully, “At a store.”
“Oh. Well, maybe I can call some stores before I go shopping and see if they carry crowns for queens. And you need underwear and socks.”
“And ’jamas,” Willow said. “The people at the hospital didn’t give my pink ones back. They were my favorites.”
“We’ll get pretty, new pink pajamas. Maybe some blue ones, too. I also have to buy a few things for Clarice, although maybe the fire didn’t reach the bedroom where she kept her clothes.” Diana could have bitten her tongue for mentioning the fire again and said quickly, “You should have seen what she had to sleep in last night, Willow! It was the funniest-looking nightgown and robe ever made!”
Diana managed to keep up a riotously exaggerated story about the negligee until they began climbing the narrow, circling roads of Ritter Park. At last she saw the large stucco, red-tiled roof of the Van Etton house sitting on a knoll in the center of its four-acre grounds, both the house and the lawn beautifully maintained and drenched in sunlight. Diana had never in her life been so glad to see the place. She pulled her car into the long driveway winding up to the house, parked, and before she’d been able to loosen Willow from her seat belt, Simon rushed out the front door to greet them. He gave Diana a glancing kiss on the cheek, then swept Willow up in his arms.
“How is the most beautiful little girl in the whole wide world?” he boomed.
“I’m real happy to get away from the hospital, and I’m extra happy to see you!”
Willow gave Simon a smacking loud kiss on his jaw and laughed as he swung her around in a circle, holding her away from him. “Do you know who else is staying here with us?” he asked.
“Clarice! Diana told me.”
“Diana, you simply cannot keep a secret,” Simon pretended to scold, winking at her. “Clarice and I have been up since dawn waiting on the two of you!”
Clarice emerged through the front door, leaning on the walker Simon must have found for her. She wore the dress she’d had on last night and had pulled her silvery hair back in a French twist. She looked paler and still tired, although she smiled brightly.
“Willow, darling!” she cried as she slowly made her way to the car. “I’m so happy you’re here. I haven’t gotten to see you since last Monday, the day before you went into the hospital!”
“That’s was a long time ago,” Willow replied. “I’m happy we both get to stay here with Diana and Uncle Simon.”
Which would not have happened without Simon’s influence, Diana thought. In circumstances like Willow’s, Child Protective Services, CPS, normally took charge of the parentless child. Early this morning, though, Simon had reached Diana at the hospital and told her he’d spoken to one of his former students who now had an executive position with CPS. The ex-student had vouched for Simon and Diana, and the government agency had given permission for Willow to stay in the Van Etton home while they searched for her relatives. Diana knew that being taken away by strangers would have been terrifying for an already traumatized child.
“Clarice, you and Simon are looking well for two people who went to bed late and got up at dawn,” Diana said.
Clarice’s eyes widened. “Where did you get the idea we were up at dawn?”
Diana looked at Simon, who quickly said, “Seven thirty, dawn—so close together. And I agree that Clarice looks well, but you, Diana, obviously did not spend a comfortable night.”
“That’s a long story,” Diana mumbled. When Simon’s eyebrows went up, she said, “I’ll explain later. Let’s go inside. If I don’t get a cup of decent coffee, I’ll collapse right here in the driveway.”
Nan Murphy, the temporary housekeeper, hovered in the entrance hall. As usual, Diana marveled at the nineteen-year-old woman with the body of a Las Vegas showgirl and the face of a horse. She always imagined there had been some terrible genetic mix-up in which one girl’s head had been mistakenly placed on another’s body. Diana felt ashamed of the thought, but she couldn’t quash it, no matter how hard she tried.
Nan wore a slightly above-the-knee-length denim skirt from which her long, beautiful, tanned legs emerged, ending in white canvas tennis shoes. Her short-sleeved white blouse looked fresh and crisp although obviously a size too large, probably bought at her mother’s insistence to hide Nan’s voluptuous curves. Her thick, light-brown hair fell in glorious waves around her equine face with its elongated nose, wide nostrils, and broad, flat forehead. Her large dark eyes, which could have been her face’s redeeming feature, sat far apart and bore no expression. Nan always appeared to be looking at a world that stirred absolutely no emotion in her.
“Our second guest has arrived,” Simon announced to her gaily as he carried Willow inside.
Nan stared at Willow, who finally gave the young woman a shy “Hello.” Nan merely nodded and stared some more.
Obviously annoyed, Simon asked sharply, “Is there plenty of fresh coffee for Diana? And I believe Penny told me Willow likes apple juice in the morning. Do you want apple juice, sweetheart?” Willow nodded. Nan stood rooted to the Oriental rug until Simon snapped, “Well, how about it, Nan? May we have coffee and apple juice?”
“Yeah, if that’s what you want,” Nan managed in her toneless voice. She’d opened her mouth just enough to show large, protruding teeth. “I guess you want me to serve it?”
“In the library, if you please,” Simon said with strained patience. “And bring some cinnamon buns and the blueberry Danish I bought yesterday.”
Nan turned and, without a word, walked slowly toward the kitchen. “Still service with a smile, I see,” Diana muttered.
Simon rolled his eyes. “I cannot wait until her mother is well enough to come back to work. Honestly, I don’t know how someone as energetic and pleasant as Martha Murphy could have a daughter like Nan. The girl must take after her father, whom I never knew.”
“If Nan took after him, I’m sure you’re glad you didn’t know him.” As Simon led them into the library, Diana smiled at Clarice. “How was your night?”
“I slept, although I was certain I couldn’t. You do look tired, though, Diana. Hospital beds are so uncomfortable,” Clarice went on. “I felt guilty sleeping in that lovely bedroom, thinking of you and Willow spending the night in a hospital room.”
Willow piped up eagerly. “Where’s Romeo and Christabel?”
Simon looked at Willow. “You know Romeo and Christabel run every time someone comes to the door. As soon as they hear your voice, they’ll be back in two minutes flat.”
“Maybe they forgot me,” Willow mourned. “I haven’t seen ’em for ages and ages.”
“It’s really only been eight days since you saw them,” Simon corrected gently. “They certainly aren’t going to forget their favorite little girl in eight days.”
As if on cue, the two cats entered the library. Christabel, Diana’s cat, pranced in with her long black-and-white fur freshly brushed and fluffy, her gigantic tail held high, and made her way straight to Willow. Romeo, as usual, trailed right behind her. He was gray, three times Christabel’s size, and possessed only three legs, a fact that slowed him down only slightly. He followed Christabel to Willow, who immediately dropped to the floor and pulled both cats onto her lap.
“I’ve missed you so much!” she exclaimed rapturously, hugging the felines. Christabel uttered a soft, sweet trill. Romeo followed suit by emitting his usual greeting that sounded remarkably like a duck’s unusually loud quack. Clarice, who had obviously not heard the cat’s robust, bizarre vocals, looked at him in shock.
“See, Clarice, I told you he quacks!” Willow giggled.
“Yes, you did, but I believed . . . Well, I thought—”
“You thought she was exaggerating.” Simon laughed, delighted. “I was stunned the first time I heard his dulcet tones, too. I thought he’d just eaten a very large duck.”
“Romeo wouldn’t hurt a duck!” Willow defended the cat passionately. “Romeo loves ducks.”
“Actually, I don’t think he knows any ducks.” Simon looked at Clarice. “Several years ago Diana was here one weekend when he turned up. In his past, his hind leg had been professionally amputated and the wound neatly healed—someone had once taken good care of him. That day, though, his fur was tangled and he obviously hadn’t eaten much for a while. He was flea-ridden, starving, and meowing—or rather, quacking—his head off.
“Diana rushed outside and had him in the kitchen, gobbling everything she put in front of him, before I knew what was happening,” Simon continued. “She was married then and her husband claimed to be allergic to cats, so she couldn’t keep him. I placed an ad in the newspaper and attached a few fliers to trees, but no one claimed him. A week later, I called Diana to tell her the cat had a permanent home with me. She named him Romeo.”
“That’s because I knew you would give him an impossible-to-pronounce name of some Egyptian pharaoh,” Diana said defensively.
“So I would have, but considering that he’s fallen head over paws in love with Christabel, I think you chose the perfect name for him.”
Nan walked into the room carrying a tray with coffee, apple juice, and pastries. Her flat stare locked onto the cats.
“What’s the matter, Nan?” Simon asked pleasantly. Diana stifled a smile. Simon knew Nan couldn’t stand the cats.
Nan jerked her head at Romeo. “That gray one gets fur all over the rugs the way he drags himself around.”
“Then it’s a good thing we have an excellent vacuum cleaner,” Simon returned equably, reaching for the coffeemaker’s glass carafe, not the elegant silver coffee pot that he preferred when coffee was being served. “I don’t see any sugar here, Nan. I already told you Mrs. Hanson takes sugar in her coffee. Also, you brought only one blueberry Danish.”
“That’s because you ate all the Danishes except for that one,” Nan returned snippily.
Simon’s color heightened. Clarice, clearly sensing the contentious atmosphere in the room, said quickly, “I know I ate at least three.”
“You had one,” Nan maintained. “He ate most of them.”
Simon’s face was growing red. “Nan, I did not—”
“Yes, you did,” Nan interrupted firmly.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t even like them,” Diana lied—she could have eaten her weight in them. “Thank you, Nan.”
As soon as Nan had cleared the doorway, Simon snarled, “I don’t think I can take one more day with that girl!”
“You have to,” Diana said, trying to sound pleasantly calm. “Her mother is spending the last two weeks of her sick leave in Portland with her sister, and you can’t call her back to work. She’ll resume her duties in exactly sixteen days. You can stand just about anything for sixteen days, even Nan Murphy.”
“Mommy says Nan doesn’t got charm,” Willow offered.
“Your mother is absolutely right.” The red in Simon’s face began to fade as he looked at the beautiful little girl sitting on the rug gently stroking the two madly purring cats. “Ready for some apple juice, Willow?”
After Willow drank her juice and ate the lone blueberry Danish, her eyelids began to droop.
“You didn’t get much sleep last night,” Diana said. “I think you need a nap.”
“I don’t take naps so early,” Willow informed her in a voice blurred by exhaustion.
“You can at least rest your eyes.” Diana pretended to study the matter, although she and Simon had already talked over sleeping arrangements. “Would you like to sleep in the room next to mine?”
Willow looked at her, troubled. “Isn’t your room upstairs?”
“Yes. You’re not afraid to sleep upstairs, are you?”
“Well, no, but before we got here you said the cats could sleep with me but Romeo can’t go up the stairs.”
“Romeo usually sleeps in Uncle Simon’s room and it’s upstairs. Simon carries him up.”
“But Uncle Simon doesn’t want to go up and down the stairs all day for naps and playing and all the stuff I do in my bedroom. And Romeo’s kinda heavy. I’m afraid I’ll drop him if I try to carry him to my room upstairs.”
Diana smiled. “I’ll carry him up for now, but you’ve forgotten this house has an elevator my great-grandfather had installed because he was in a wheelchair the last few years of his life. Romeo can take the elevator up and down.”
The fact that Romeo did not operate the elevator didn’t seem to cross Willow’s increasingly tired five-year-old mind. Satisfied that the cat could ride to the second floor in the elevator whenever he chose, Willow followed Diana, who carried the fifteen-pound cat up the stairs. Christabel zipped up and down the staircase twice before she calmed enough to lead the way, her long, fluffy black tail waving like a banner.
Diana ushered Willow into a bedroom near the end of the hall. Sunlight shone brightly on the soft pink, pale green, and powder blue chintz decor that Diana’s grandmother had chosen. “Do you like the room?” Diana asked.
Willow’s eyes had widened as they swept over the room. “I sure do like it! I love beds with a lid on top.”
“That’s called a canopy.”
“Oh yeah. I forgot. Mommy said someday I could have a bed with a can’py.”
Mommy again. The child’s smile faded again. Then she looked around sheepishly. “My room at home is lots littler than this one. I might get scared in here all by myself.”
“Do you know what’s really special about this room?” Diana asked exuberantly. She put Romeo down and walked to a side door that opened into a large yellow-and-white bathroom. “This bathroom adjoins my bedroom!” Willow frowned over “adjoins.”
Diana took Willow’s hand, crossed the bathroom, and opened the opposite door leading into her own tan-and-amber bedroom. “Wow. This room is pretty, too.”
“I made it the color of the desert—tan for sand, amber for the sun. But the nice thing is that we can leave the bathroom doors open at night and it’ll be like we’re sleeping in the same room. You’ll have a night light and the cats, and we can see each other from our beds. You won’t be scared then, will you?”
“Well . . .” Willow frowned in thought for a moment then said decisively, “No. I won’t be one bit scared.”
“That’s great!” Diana beamed. “It’ll be fun, Willow, you wait and see!”
The child smiled, and the tightness in Diana’s stomach eased a bit. She’d feared Willow would be totally withdrawn or nearly hysterical. She knew the little girl hadn’t completely absorbed the enormity of the fire’s destruction—that would come later, especially if Penny died—but at least for now Willow was coping better than Diana had expected. She appeared to be as strong as her mother, who’d seemingly been so alone in the world yet managed to give her child a good and happy home full of love, security, and also, most important, fun.
The doorbell rang, and within five minutes Simon appeared in the bedroom. “Glen is here to see you, Diana.” He looked at Willow. “How about climbing into bed, young lady, and letting me tell you a story? I know dozens of them. When Diana was young, they always put her right to sleep.”
Willow curled up on the bed, and Diana placed Romeo beside her while Christabel leaped up to claim Willow’s other side. Simon sat down on the bed and began one of his interminable tales about ancient Egypt—tales that had always put a young Diana to sleep because they sounded like university lectures rather than children’s bedtime stories. She still didn’t have the heart to tell him. Besides, they were surefire sleep-inducers.
Willow will be snoring in less than five minutes, Diana thought as she descended the stairs. Glen Austen, the man Diana had been dating since March, sat in the library talking with Clarice. He was slender with ash-brown hair and even features. Most women would probably not have rememberd him unless they’d encountered his considerable quiet charm. Although usually restrained, as soon as he saw Diana, he jumped up and strode to her, taking her forcefully into his arms.
“My God, Diana, I turned off my phone and went to bed early last night. I didn’t hear the news about Penny until this morning. People say she’s not going to live!”
Diana saw distress in his large brown eyes and the crease that always appeared between his eyebrows when he was worried. He’d met Penny when he’d dropped by to see either Diana or Simon during the day, and the two of them had formed a casual friendship. Diana and Glen had invited her to have dinner with them at the country club in May, a night that had been fun for all of them. They’d asked her to come with them to the dance at the club tonight, but Penny had declined, saying she’d be a third wheel.
“Glen, she is so terribly burned. When I left the hospital this morning with Willow, they told me there’s been no change in her condition from last night.” Diana’s voice shook, and she felt tears threatening. “She’s still unconscious and . . .”
The tears came and Glen again pulled her close to him. “I know it must have been awful, and this sounds cold, but try not to think about Penny right now. There’s nothing you can do for her, and you need to stay strong for Willow.” He leaned back and looked into her eyes. “But you’re all right?” he asked anxiously. “When I talked with you on the phone early yesterday, you said you were going to stop by Penny’s on your way home. When I heard about the explosion this morning, I thought you’d been in it!”
“I almost was. I was late and I’d just pulled up in front of Penny’s house when it simply blew up. I’ve never been so shocked, Glen. I have never seen anything so terrible in my life. And poor Penny . . .”
Glen winced and handed her a tissue that Clarice had been waving in his direction for at least two minutes. Clarice skittered out of the room, and Diana mopped at her wet face.
“Please, no more about Penny, honey.” Glen pulled Diana toward the middle of the room to the comfortable loveseat on which he’d been sitting with Clarice. “You’re so pale and your eyes are sunken. You look like you might collapse. Try to concentrate on something positive.” He paused. “Mrs. Hanson told me Willow is all right.”
“Yes. She was back in the woods when it . . . happened.”
“Why was she in the woods after just having surgery?”
“Something about catching lightning bugs.”
“I’m glad she’s okay.” Glen took the damp tissue from her, and stroked her wet face. “I’m even happier you weren’t hurt.”
“Oh, Glen, I told her I’d be there around eight o’clock. If I’d been on time . . .” She shuddered. “I know I’m lucky but I feel so guilty saying it.”
“You are lucky. Penny seemed like a nice woman, and I know she was a good friend. We’re all sorry about what happened to her, but you have no reason to feel guilty because you are alive and well, sweetheart,” Glen said, kissing her forehead.
Nan walked into the library and Diana realized the girl had been standing in the doorway for the last couple of minutes. Nan fixed her expressionless gaze on Glen. “Do you want coffee or anything?” she asked tonelessly.
Glen shook his head and Diana said, “None for me either, Nan, but thank you for asking.”
“It’s my job to ask,” Nan snapped. She turned quickly and strode from the room, her back straight, her head held high, resentment emanating from every line of her body.
“I think this will be her last housekeeping job,” Diana said drolly. “She hates it.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing. She’ll probably come back to the university and try harder than she did her first year, knowing this might be the only kind of job available to her without a college degree. She was in my European History class. She’s smarter than she seems.”
Diana doubted his last statement, but she didn’t argue when Glen smiled at her, shallow lines forming around his brown eyes. Puppy dog eyes, she always thought but never told him. Diana knew Glen wished he were the elegant, edgy ladies’ man. That type definitely didn’t have puppy dog eyes—eyes begging for affection, eyes so often betraying hurt and rejection.
She reached up, touched his light-brown hair, and looked fleetingly at the short stubble on his pleasant face. He must have noticed Diana’s glance, because his hand immediately flew to his chin and cheeks. “I showered but I didn’t take time to shave after I heard about the fire. I was so shaken up I would have given myself a few fairly bad nicks.”
“You don’t always have to be perfectly groomed, Glen. It’s Saturday.”
“We were supposed to go to the country club dance tonight.”
Diana sighed. “Oh well, I don’t think either one of us was looking forward to the dance all that much.”
“I was. I thought it would be a nice change from the usual dinner and a movie. I even sent my best suit to the cleaners.” Diana didn’t meet his gaze. She hadn’t given a thought as to what she would wear. “Should I send flowers to Penny?” Glen asked suddenly.
“No. She’s in the burn unit. I’m sure they don’t allow flowers.” Diana paused. “I saw her briefly last night before they took her away in the ambulance. Mercifully, she was unconscious. She looked so awful. I didn’t even try to see her this morning, although I did ask about her. She’s still unconscious and her condition hasn’t improved.” Diana drew a long, ragged breath. “I’m certain she’ll die.”
“My God, what a shame.” Glen’s voice shook slightly, and Diana knew he was appalled. He’d been acquainted with Penny, but he hadn’t known her well. Nevertheless, he clearly felt dreadful for the lovely young woman and her child. “Does anybody know what happened at her house?” he asked. “It couldn’t have been faulty wiring. That doesn’t cause a house to explode.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Diana considered telling Glen about the gun that Simon had seen in Penny’s house. Then she glimpsed the toe of a white tennis shoe around the corner. Nan was standing just out of sight at the library entrance, eavesdropping again. This wasn’t the first time Diana had caught the young woman listening to private conversations, and she knew that she should reprimand Nan, but not now. Still, she was glad she’d said nothing to Glen about the gun or the events at the hospital. She didn’t know what Nan Murphy might do with the information—probably try to sell it to a newspaper. “An arson investigator will probably check the house today,” she went on. “He’ll be able to tell us what caused the explosion.”
“I suppose so.” Glen put his arm around Diana and gazed into her eyes. “I’m just so thankful you weren’t in that house, Diana. You don’t know how much I care for you.”
Diana felt guilty, as Glen kissed her gently on the lips. His voice had deepened with emotion when he spoke of how much he cared for her. She wished only that she felt the same way about him.