The next morning, Mary Clare came out of the bedroom, surprised to find the ladder to the attic extended. She had spent more time in the attic this week than she had her entire childhood. A creak sounded from above her head. “Mother?”

“I’m up here,” came her mother’s clipped voice.

Mary Clare climbed the ladder and poked her head into the attic. Her mother was holding a frame in her hand. Mary Clare climbed the rest of the way up and wiped her hands on her PJ pants.

“It sure is hot up here. I can’t believe you were able to sort through all these things already.”

Mary Clare had made pretty good progress this week as her mother had requested. She held her breath, waiting for the backhanded “but” that was sure to follow. “You’re all set for an open house, then?” Mary Clare studied her mother’s face, surprised to see her mother seemed fragile. “What is it, Mother?”

Leaning back on a newly packed box, her mother pressed the pads of her fingers under her eyes as if to hold the tears at bay. Unsuccessfully. “I can’t believe I’m going to sell this house.”

Mary Clare froze. She didn’t know how to respond to her mother’s tears. Her mother wasn’t an outwardly emotional person. The only time Mary Clare ever saw her cry was at her father’s funeral. And even then, it was followed by a few quick swipes to hide the tears.

“I can’t believe it either.” Mary Clare had lived in this house her entire life until she left for college. This house was home. A hint of regret clawed at her throat. Why had she been in such a hurry to grow up and move away?

“The house across the street took almost a year to sell. I figure if I get a jump on it, I’ll be able to head south with Aunt Carol next winter.” Her mother pushed off the box she had been going through and turned toward the ladder as if she had just settled something in her mind.

“Are you sure you want to move?”

“I can’t put things on hold for you.” Her mother’s sharp tone made Mary Clare clench her jaw.

“I didn’t mean…” Why is she bringing this up again?

“It’s time for me to retire. I won’t be around forever, you know.”

Mary Clare swallowed around a lump in her throat. “I appreciate your letting Henry and I stay here for the summer. We both appreciate it. But you’re right, you need to do your thing now.”

Her mother picked up a framed photograph and seemed to bristle at the expression of gratitude. It seemed her mother had been hankering for a fight. “Of course, I love spending the time with my grandson. I never got to see him enough before your divorce.”

Mary Clare bit back her reply. How could she argue? Chip had dictated their schedule and it rarely included a trip to Mills Crossing, a place he called backward and boring.

Her mother drew in a deep breath, as if composing herself. She held out the frame she had been holding. The photograph revealed a smiling Mary Clare on the day she graduated from high school in her white gown, carrying a dozen roses, a tradition of the Catholic school she had attended. Next to her, her mother and father’s smiles reflected all the dreams they had pinned on their only daughter. “I was very proud of you. I had such high hopes for you.”

A hot flush settled on Mary Clare’s shoulders. “You’re not the only one who’s disappointed at how things turned out.”

“Oh, I didn’t…” Her mother let her words trail off.

“I know you didn’t want me to get married to Chip so young.” She lifted a shoulder. “And you were right. But now that I made my bed, I have to lie in it. Isn’t that what Dad would have said?”

“People in our day stuck things out. We didn’t give up easily.”

“You think I gave up easily?”

“I hardly knew Chip. It was like he thought he was too good for us.”

Mary Clare didn’t know how to respond to that. Chip had a knack for looking down his nose at people. Was she a little guilty of the same thing? Ashamed, she shoved the thought aside.

“I hate that things turned out like this, but I couldn’t suck it up anymore.” She dragged her hand along the top of a cardboard box, drawing a line in the dust. “But please, don’t talk negatively about Chip in front of Henry.”

“I would never.”

Oh, she would. Her mother lacked a filter. “Thanks, Mother. I appreciate it. Because no matter how things worked out for me and Chip, he’s still Henry’s father.”

Her mother shrugged, as if she might be able to do something about that. Suddenly her face lit up and she leaned behind her and pulled out a big flashlight. “Are you camping overnight at the track with your brother next week?” Her brother worked odd shifts and days, making a trip only possible midweek.

“Yeah.” Mary Clare tried to muster some enthusiasm but came up empty-handed. “Henry’s been bugging me to go.”

“Here.” She handed her the flashlight. “You might need this.”

“Thanks.”

“And you might want this, too.” Her mother handed her the photograph she had been holding.

Her mother took a step down the attic ladder, flattening her hand on the dusty attic floor near the opening for balance.

Mary Clare stared at the opening. The tips of her mother’s hair, colored a shade too dark for her age, was the last thing she saw before her mother disappeared from view. Mary Clare turned her attention to the smiling girl in the photo.

What happened to that confident girl who was ready to take over the world?

* * *

A few days later, Jesse approached the bonfire, studying Mary Clare who seemed transfixed by the fire. Oblivious to anyone.

Oblivious to him.

Today had been a fantastic day at the local track. The boys had a great time riding. The fun had been extended into a two-day event. Families had set up RVs and camped in the pits. Motocross and camping all rolled up into one. He would have loved to do this as a kid. And he was a little surprised Mary Clare had come along. Camping seemed too outdoorsy for her.

But he was glad she had.

The soft breeze blew a strand of hair across her cheek and she absentmindedly dragged it away. Jesse wasn’t sure why Mary Clare never came on his radar before now. Maybe because she was the nerdy little sister of his best friend. Maybe because her parents would have shot him dead if he had tried anything with her. Or maybe because he was just out to have fun when he was a teenager. Even Jesse had known not to hurt his best friend’s sister.

That’s all he would have done. Hurt her.

A feeling he wasn’t sure he wanted to acknowledge twisted his gut. The tables had turned. Now she was in a position to hurt him. Just like his mother had. Jesse had worked hard all his life to protect his heart—loving and leaving women before they had a chance to leave him. That’s why he had only suggested to Mary Clare that they should just “have fun.” Quite frankly, he was a fool. Women like MC didn’t take things like relationships casually.

It was probably just as well.

Shaking his head, Jesse dismissed the thought. A thought that had crowded in on him as he traveled to a few tracks this past weekend. He loved his job and never thought much about living on the West Coast and traveling until recently, first with his dad’s health and now Mary Clare’s return. Neither of which would hold him there long-term.

The pyramid of logs collapsed, sending orange sparks floating up into the night air. Relaxing his shoulders, he grabbed a camping chair from under the RV’s awning and dragged it over to the bonfire. No need to let the ghosts of his past haunt him.

Or the ghosts of what would never be.

Jesse shook the chair to unfold it and planted it next to Mary Clare in the grass. Resting his hands on the back of his chair, he leaned over toward her, breathing in the scent of burned wood and a hint of coconut shampoo. “Can I get you a beer?”

She lifted a bottle from the cup holder in the arm of the chair. “I’m good.” She tilted her head toward his chair. “Sit down.” Her voice sounded raspy, inviting. “Stop staring at me. You’re making me self-conscious.”

Chuckling, Jesse settled in and stared at the red and orange flames licking at the wood.

She glanced over at him, the flames casting her face in a pretty golden hue. “Henry’s sound asleep. He had a lot of fun today.” She took a sip of beer, the glow of the fire glinting in her eyes. “I can’t thank you enough. I never thought he’d take to riding a dirt bike this quickly.” Mary Clare had acquiesced to allowing him to do ovals in a wide open field adjacent to the real track. Nothing much could possibly happen in that situation, but he figured it was a big leap for Mary Clare who seemed overly cautious about everything.

“My pleasure.” His eyes scanned the empty chairs around the bonfire. “Everyone else call it a night?”

“Amanda is getting Billy settled in. I think he was using his sleeping bag for a sack race in the camper.” She stared off into the fire and laughed. “I don’t think Henry ever did that sort of thing. I always said he has an old soul.”

“He’s a good kid.”

Mary Clare reached across and squeezed Jesse’s hand. Her hand felt soft on his. Something in his heart stirred. “He never had a solid male role model. Even before his father and I separated, Chip was never around. He was always traveling. When he was home, he was on the phone or otherwise absent.”

“That’s tough for a kid.” Jesse would sit on the front stoop every day after school waiting for his mom to come home. No matter how many times he willed her Chevy to pull up the gravel road it never did. After about a year, he started to imagine she had been killed in a horrible accident and her car was down a ravine—her shopping bags strewn across the weeds—therefore no one knew to contact them.

In a twisted sort of way, it made him feel better. Until she broke the illusion and called him when he was a senior in high school. By then, he was too hurt to listen to her. He plowed his hand through his hair, then took a swig of his beer.

“How was your weekend? Did you get a lot of work done at the tracks?” Mary Clare asked.

“I did. But I’d need to work that way every day for a month to catch up. Business is good. Real good.” He tapped the bottle on the arm of the camping chair. “To be fair to Carson, we might have to bring another partner in.” He shook his head. “I can’t hold up my end.”

“I hope you can figure something out. Motocross is your passion.”

He shrugged noncommittally. He shifted his gaze to the fire and watched the flames. It crackled and a spray of sparks shot from the bonfire. “Think maybe we can enjoy the time that we’re both in Mills Crossing?” He reached out and covered her hand with his. He sensed a twitch.

A spark popped and jumped out of the metal ring of the campfire. “I wish I could just forget about everything and just be.” Her voice had a faraway quality to it. “Maybe then my stomach wouldn’t hurt and my head wouldn’t be crowded with all the things that might go wrong.”

“Why don’t you? Live in the moment. It does wonders for me.” He turned toward her. He had trouble reading her heavily shadowed expression. He reached out and trailed his fingers up her arm. She seemed to stiffen. “You know you miss out on a lot if you’re always living in the future.”

She nodded. The flames from the fire danced in her eyes, no doubt hiding the true emotions that lingered deeper. “How exactly do you suggest I live in the moment?” Her voice wobbled over the last few words.

He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned toward her. Her ragged breath whispered across his cheek. His gut tightened. He lifted his hand and swept the hair from her cheek. “Like this.” Their gazes lingered. He leaned closer, covering her mouth with his. Her lips soft under his. She seemed tentative at first, then her lips parted and the kiss deepened. She tasted sweet, sexy and like a hint of barley from the beer.

After a moment, he pulled back and groaned. What he wouldn’t do to be alone with her.

“That definitely made me forget all my problems.” Her sweet laughter washed over him. He followed her gaze to the night sky, awash in a million bright stars. “What a way to complicate things,” she scolded herself.

He reached over and squeezed her knee. “We’re living in the moment. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

She cut him a sideways look. “Oh, it’s complicated.”