When dinner was over, Adam discovered he was staying the night. The invitation was so natural he found no space for refusal, even if he wanted, which he didn’t. Honor handed him Peter’s largest set of sweat clothes and sent him upstairs. The guestroom was in the alcove over the kitchen. All the family bedrooms were in the newer stone portion of the house, upstairs above Peter’s study. The house was silent when Adam came back downstairs from his shower. Adam found Peter seated in the living room, staring blankly at a dying fire. “Thanks for the clothes.”
Peter gave him a mildly unfocused look. “They fit all right?”
“Fine.”
Peter motioned Adam into the chair next to his. “Has Kayla told you about her mother?”
“A little.”
“Look at Kayla and you see Amanda. The intelligence, the drive, the astonishing way she throws herself into her passions.” He stared at the fire for a time. “Amanda had lung problems all her life. Phlebitis finally took her. It was a dreadful time for Kayla. Amanda sent her to boarding school in America, mistakenly thinking it would be best for Kayla not to be around for the worst bits. Other than that, the two of them never fought. None of the standard mother-daughter struggles. They were . . .”
“Friends.”
“I was about to say, inseparable. But yes. Friends as well.” Peter coughed hard, then rasped, “Then my daughter grows up with all the spirit and passion of her mother. She dedicates her life to this astounding project, only to be brought low by the same vile group that has dogged me for years.”
Adam watched Peter struggle from his chair. “Can I ask you something?”
Peter waved a weary hand.
“Why did you hire me? The company is in crisis, you’re faced with an impossible situation. Why add something new?”
“Honor asked me the very same thing. I will tell you what I told her, for there is no other answer I can give you.” He shuffled wearily across the floor. “I felt the hand of God upon our meeting.”
Adam sat in the empty room long after the last light had died.
Adam came fully awake at precisely 5:17. He knew because the only light he could see was an illuminated digital clock. He went straight from deep sleep to full alertness. At first he had no idea why. Then the chair on the opposite side of the guestroom creaked, and he realized he had heard the sound in his sleep.
He jerked upright upon the pallet. “Kayla?”
Her whisper was more shiver than sound. “I had a bad dream.”
He did a fan-dance with the blanket, slipping into his trousers. He slipped the sweatshirt over his head and rose barefoot from the pallet. “Let’s go make some coffee.”
Kayla came limply up from the chair. One hand kept a quilt clutched about her shoulders. When he opened the guestroom door and led her downstairs, it was to a silent house.
Honor ordered her kitchen in the manner of someone used to fumbling through mornings. The coffee fixings were all set together, the cups hung from hooks directly over the machine. A platter on the fridge’s bottom shelf held the clay crocks of butter and spreadable cheese and marmalade. Adam laid a fire while the coffee brewed. Kayla let herself be lowered into one of the chairs by the fireplace, as pliant as a quilted doll.
“How do you take your coffee?”
“Milk, no sugar.”
He doctored their mugs, cut off the kitchen lights, handed her one painted with a smiling kitty, and drew his own chair closer to hers before settling down. He sipped his mug, and waited.
Kayla asked, “Why did your father leave home?”
“Are you trying to avoid talking about what frightened you?”
“Probably.”
“When I asked Mom why he’d left, she said she had only two answers for me. First, that no matter how much it hurt her to be alone just then, all she had to do was look at me to know loving my father had been the right thing to do. And second, God would see us through this.” Adam stared at the fire for a long moment, then finished, “I didn’t think much of those answers at the time.”
Kayla raised her mug and realized it was empty. “Could I have some more, please?”
Adam rose from his chair, poured her another mug, brought it back and set another log on the fire. The wave of sparks col-ored her face in a different light, and for an instant Adam saw her as she might look in an African dawn. Far from the gray and the cold of an English winter. Out where light was harsh and dawn’s only veil was dust and need. He had a sudden impulse to lean over and kiss her. Kayla looked at him, her gaze filled with a submission that defeated him.
He returned to his chair and waited.
“I dreamed about all the mistakes I made with Geoffrey.” She brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead. “I woke up feeling powerless to keep from making the same mistakes again. No matter how hard I try. No matter how much I want . . .”
Adam shifted his chair closer and reached for her. She allowed herself to be bundled up, quilt and all, and resettled in his lap. She curled her arms around his neck and rested her head upon his shoulder. Adam smelled the clean sweet scent of her hair, the faint trace of perfume, the heady flavor of her skin. His mind kept repeating two dreadful words. Four days.
She said soft as the rising dawn, “I wish I knew what to do.”