that the way you felt, Alice? About our child?â
And about you. And Jeff. She squeezed her eyes shut, recalling her dizzying hope and happiness, then her utter despair. In one fell swoop, she had lost everything.
âIs it, Alice?â
She opened her eyes; she knew they were glassy with tears. âYes.â
âIâm sorry, Alice. Iâm so sorry.â He moved his fingers over her hands, stroking, caressing. âI didnât realize. I didnât know how much...the baby meant to you.â
It took a moment for his words, their meaning, to sink in, but when they did anger took her breath. âBecause it meant nothing to you! When I got pregnant, all you felt was trapped. You agreed to marry me because that was the honorable and manly thing to do. But you never wanted me and you never wanted our baby.â She yanked her hands from his grasp and stood. âNow, excuse me. I have things to do.â
Tears flooding her eyes, she started for the door, moving blindly between the tables and patrons, praying she could keep from humiliating herself until she made it outside.
She cleared the front door, and the tears spilled over. The cold stung her wet cheeks, and she realized sheâd left her sweater inside. Sheâd sooner die than go back for it and have Hayes see her this way, she thought. Maggie would save it for her.
Hugging herself, she hurried across the porch and down the steps to the parking lot. She reached her car and fumbled in her purse for the keys, coming up empty-handed.
Her keys were in her sweater pocket. Damn.
She sagged against the car. She couldnât go back in there. She couldnât face Hayes. Sheâ
âYou forgot this.â
Heâd followed her. Alice brushed the tears from her cheeks, then turned. She took the sweater from his outstretched hand, not meeting his eyes. She didnât think she could bear to see the pity in them.
âThanks,â she murmured, her voice still thick with tears. She dipped her fingers into the pocket, found her keys and pulled them out. âI guess Iâd betterâ â
He covered her hand with his. âIâm sorry, Alice.â
âOur relationship didnât work out,â she said stiffly. âThatâs life. Thereâs nothing for you to be sorry about. I donât want your apologies or your pity.â She slipped her hand from his. âJust leave me alone.â
âI wasnât referring to our relationship.â He turned her gently to face him. âIâm sorry we lost the baby.â
She drew in a shuddering breath, her eyes welling with tears again. She fought them spilling over. âRight. I really believe that, Hayes.â
âYou should. Because I am truly sorry.â He slid his hands up to her shoulders. âI didnât want the baby the same way you did. I couldnât, donât you see? We were so different, and at such different places in our lives. But the baby was mine. Ours. It was alive, growing. A part of my life already, even if only for a few months.â
Alice battled to breathe evenly. The pain balled in her chest, her throat. Twelve years ago theyâd hardly spoken about the miscarriage; now, all these years later, it felt as if it had just happened. As if she were alone in that antiseptic hospital room, stripped bare of all her dreams.
âIt...hurt...so much.â
Her breath caught on a sob, and he drew her against his chest. âI know, sweetheart. I know now.â
She slipped her arms around him, holding tightly, sobbing against his shoulder. âI wanted her more than...anything. She was mine. She was inside me. Growing. A part of me.â
For a long time she cried, until she didnât have any tears left. But still he held her, murmuring sounds of comfort, gently rocking. The heat of his body warmed her. The scent of him seeped into her consciousness until it filled her senses. Beneath her hands, she became