“You owe me that money, Tom,” Claire said, fighting the urge to yell as she turned her car onto the road leading to her parents’ place to pick up her dog and daughter. “You know I need it for my down-payment.”

Every time she used her hands-free feature in the car, she felt like she had to shout. Her mother always accused her of sounding angry.

Right now, she was. A bit.

“If I don’t get it I’ll lose my chance to buy my house,” she continued, hoping her cousin’s lackadaisical heart would be moved by her plea.

“Yeah, well, I know that. I’m waiting for some money, too,” he said, heaving out a substantial sigh as if he were even more hard done by the situation than she was.

“Last week you said you’d have the money by tomorrow,” Claire said. Then blew out her own frustrated sigh. ”I should never have sold you that car. Maybe I should come and take it back.”

“Well now, you can’t do that,” Tom said. “You signed that car over fair and square.”

“You not paying me is hardly fair and square.”

“If you need the money so bad, why don’t you borrow it from your mom and dad?”

Claire clenched her hands on the steering wheel of her car, wishing Tom was right in front of her so she could pinch him like she used to whenever he annoyed her. Though right now what he needed was far more than a pinch. More like a punch.

“There’s no way I’m asking my mom and dad to borrow any money,” Claire said. “Not when my cousin is the one who owes me $8000.”

As if she would go to her parents for the money, anyway.

Claire remembered too well the financial feuds her mother and father went through after they moved to this large, expensive home on its large, expensive lot. It seemed like they fought every night.

Though things were better now, money was still tight, much to her mother’s chagrin and her father’s frustration.

“When is the earliest you can pay me?” Claire asked, pretending she hadn’t heard all his excuses.

“I’ll talk to a guy who owes me the money,” Tom said. “I’ll tell him I need it quicker.”

“Give me a date,” Claire insisted.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Tom said. And Claire knew that was all she was getting out of him.

She said goodbye, then called up Devon’s number. While her hands-free system dialed, she pulled a long, slow and steady breath.

She wasn’t above asking God to help her out on this. She knew she would need divine intervention for everything to come together. Devon had never been keen on the agreement Claire had signed with Mrs. Blatchford. And since getting power of attorney over affairs after her stroke, he had let Claire know loud and clear what he thought of their deal.

Not much.

“Hey Claire,” Devon said, sounding extra cheery.

“How’s your mom doing?” she asked. Claire had meant to visit the past couple of months, but life had gotten busy and Calgary wasn’t around the corner.

“She’s doing okay, though it will be a long haul before she’s back to normal.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Claire said. She paused a few seconds, deciding how to move on to the next topic without sounding hardhearted.

“I’m guessing you’re phoning about your agreement with my mother,” Devon said, thankfully bringing up the topic for her.

“You’re exactly right.” Claire slowed as she turned down her parents’ driveway, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. She was cutting things close making phone calls on her way to pick up Emma, but once she got her daughter, she couldn’t have these discussions in front of her. She needed this done as soon as possible.

“What can I do for you?”

Claire bit her lip, realizing that she would be making the same excuses her cousin Tom had just made to her.

“I was wondering if I could ask for an extension,” she said, disliking how desperate she sounded. Too much was on the line for her and she wished it didn’t matter as much as it did. It was hard enough finding a reasonably priced house that she could afford in Sweet Creek. But this wasn’t just any ordinary house, this was her old home. The place she wanted so badly for Emma. The home she hoped to create for her daughter.

And Nik would destroy it if he got it.

The silence that followed her request wasn’t encouraging.

“I know we said I had to come up with the money in the next week,” she continued, hoping he was thinking instead of waiting to find a way to say no. “But I am waiting for my cousin to pay me for the car I sold him. I’ve got two thirds of the down payment together already and once I get that money from him I’ll have it all.” She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, sending up another silent prayer.

“I should tell you I have another offer on the house,” Devon said. “It’s higher than yours, so I don’t have much incentive to give you a break.”

He sounded so reasonable, but behind his words she heard a faint reprimand. Devon knew Claire and his mother were the ones who had agreed on the price. Claire also knew Devon had told his mother it wasn’t enough money. But Mrs. Blatchford insisted, reminding Devon that it was Claire’s childhood home.

“I have a deal with your mother,” Claire said.

“And I’m honoring that deal,” Devon said. “So you don’t have to worry about that. Now I just need you to honor your end of it and we’ll be okay.”

Claire pulled up beside her mother’s small car, fighting the panic tightening her chest as she tried to think of something to convince Devon to give her some time. But she drew a blank.

“Okay. I’ll get it done. Give my greetings to your mother. I hope to come and visit her in the next couple of weeks.”

“That would be nice,” he said. He then said goodbye and hung up. The dial tone echoed in the car.

Claire turned the engine off and dragged in a long, slow breath as an ache began at the base of her neck. She had no choice. She had to trust that Tom would pay what he owed her.

She thought of Emma playing on that swing set, constantly talking about the bedroom in the house that would be hers once they bought it. This was her childhood home. Claire had a much stronger stake in it than Nik did, who, according to him, only saw it as a business opportunity.

Besides, the house was perfectly situated between her parents’ place and the school. Once Emma was older, she could walk to school. It was close to Claire’s work; it had a large yard with lots of space for Emma to play in.

Ever since she and her parents had moved to this place, Claire missed her old home with its unique cubbies, hidey-holes and the awkward closets her mother always complained about.

She loved the huge, open kitchen that looked out over the yard. But most of all, she loved the deep, oversized bay window in the dining room. On rainy days she would drag her blanket and book and sit on the window seat, curled up to read and watch the rain falling on the yard.

The other reason she wanted the home had more to do with her well-meaning mother dropping vague hints about how different Emma’s childhood was from Claire’s. Living in an apartment, there was no decent yard to play in. Her mother meant to be sympathetic, but it came across as patronizing and judgmental.

Claire tried not to state the obvious — that she was a single mom doing her best. By purchasing second-hand clothing, eating at home, taking Emma places that cost nothing, driving an old beater of a car and living in a crappy but cheap apartment, she’d pulled together most of the down payment herself. Something she was proud of. When she got Lance's sports car after he died, she saw it as divine intervention. She could sell it and get the rest.

But now it looked like the dream she had worked so hard and made so many sacrifices for was slipping from her hands.

Panic gripped her heart with an icy fist. She couldn’t spend another winter in that drafty apartment. Shivering each morning as she prepared her daughter’s lunch. Struggling with drains that would plug, pipes that would leak and that smell her daughter hated so much slowly getting worse. Spending another Thanksgiving and another Christmas in that apartment was too depressing to contemplate.

All summer she’d imagined Christmas in the house. A large spruce tree with twinkling lights in the living room, a fire snapping in the hearth, music on the stereo and garlands of greenery snaking up the wooden bannister to the upstairs bedrooms.

And the smell of gingerbread cookies baking in an oven that worked. To think of that all being taken away was heart-rending.

It doesn’t have to happen.

A thought snaked around the edges of her mind.

It’s eight-thousand dollars. Surely, by now, your parents could help you?

But she had never asked for their help and it had been a point of pride. Ever since she had given them the news that she was pregnant — that she and Andy decided to get married to give their child a home — she had keenly felt their disappointment.

She had always been the good girl. The one who did everything right. Not like her sister, Tess, who had tossed aside a great career opportunity, broke up with her fiancé and taken off to Europe.

Claire was the hope of the Kruger family. She was a scholar headed for a law degree and a bright future.

Then she got pregnant.

And after Emma was born, Andy left her. While her mother hadn’t said anything at the time, Claire keenly felt her mother’s disappointed shame. As well, her relief was that none of this happened in Sweet Creek.

As a result, when Claire moved back here, she was determined to show her parents and the rest of Sweet Creek that she could give Emma a good life.

And that she could give her a decent home.

Claire shook off the negative thoughts, stepping inside the house to the sound of her daughter’s laughter and the scent of baking. Making cookies again, Claire thought, knowing her mother would send half of the batch home with her and Emma.

She toed her shoes off and set them on the rack inside the foyer of the house. Following the spicy scent of cookies, she walked through the large high-ceilinged living room with its metallic gas fireplace and white furniture. She stepped up the two stairs into the kitchen. Emma sat on the granite island, frowning, her tongue clamped between her lips as she concentrated on piping some icing onto a cookie. Her hair was neatly braided, and she wore an oversized apron covered with smears of flour. Claire’s mother looked up as Claire came into the kitchen, flashing her a smile.

“Can you wait a moment? We just have to finish up,” she said.

Claire tossed her purse on a chair and then came to join them. “Gingerbread men. Already?”

“We’re practicing for Christmas,” Emma said.

“That’s three months away.”

“Emma wanted to make gingerbread men,” her mother said.

“Well, those look amazing,” she said. “Can I have one?”

Emma didn’t even look at her, still focused on what she was doing. “Don’t take too many,” she said. “Grandpa asked us to save some for him.”

Claire looked at the dozens of gingerbread men spread out over the counter and guessed there would be lots for her father to eat. She took one that looked like a practice cookie and bit off one lopsided leg. It was still warm, and it made her realize how hungry she was. In spite of the down-time when Nik had come to the coffee shop, the rest of Claire’s day had been too busy to even grab lunch. And no chance to talk to Cory about her reaction to having her brother around.

“Are you almost done?” Claire asked, glancing at her watch. “We need to get home on time so I can make supper.”

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment,” Emma grumped, as she finished up her cookie. “It smells bad and it’s dark.”

Claire ignored her mother’s concerned look. She wasn’t sure what had caused the smell Emma was referring to. The landlord knew of the stink; she had told him enough times. But it had only gotten worse. Nor could she do anything about the small windows that let in precious little light.

Her thoughts shifted to her old house with its large south-facing windows. She remembered playing in the sunbeams, warming herself in the sun. Again, she stifled a flash of fear at the thought that Emma might not have the chance to make the same memories. She had a righteous claim to that house, and she had to make sure it happened.

Emma turned to her grandmother. “Can we stay here tonight?”

Deborah gave Emma an apologetic look. “I’d love that, but I have company coming tonight so there won’t be any room. Your great uncle Steven and his whole family will be staying here.”

Her mother sighed as she glanced at Claire. “It’s not really a good time, but they are between moves and they asked and what could I say? He’s my brother.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me about that,” Claire said. “I certainly didn’t figure on staying here.”

“But I did. I just don’t like that smell,” Emma grumbled.

“Sorry honey,” Claire said, gently smoothing a wisp of hair back from her daughter’s forehead. “I will talk to Mr. Landlord about the smell again. I’m sure it’s just something in one of the other apartments.”

“It’s really yucky,” Emma said, looking at her grandmother as if she had a solution to the problem.

“Mr. Landlord hasn’t been very cooperative,” her mother said with a sniffy tone. “I sure wish you could just move out of there now.”

“Working on that.” Claire fought down a shiver of panic.

“When will you know if the house is yours?”

As if it were a foregone conclusion.

“I have until Monday to meet the conditions. And I can’t until cousin Tom pays me for the car.”

“You sold that car to him weeks ago.”

“Five to be precise.” Claire took another bite of her cookie, for a moment wishing it was Tom's arm she was taking off. Such viciousness!

“You should take it back and sell it again.”

“I should.” Claire inspected the cookie, trying to figure out what part to eat next. “But I signed it over to him. He’s the legal owner of the car.”

She tried to ignore her mother’s eye roll. She knew she had been negligent, but she had trusted Tom. If you couldn’t trust family, who could you?

“Have you spoken to Mrs. Blatchford about extending the agreement?”

“I can’t. She had a stroke, remember? Her son has Power of Attorney over her estate and he’s the one I dealt with.”

“You should never have sold that car to Tom. I know his father often despairs of that boy ever turning his life around. I thought things were going well, but they’re not. I can’t believe you assumed he was dependable enough to purchase your car. As for Devon, I think he should give you some more time. After all, it’s not your fault Tom is so untrustworthy. Besides, you have wanted that house for so long.”

And here we go, Claire thought fighting her annoyance as her mother kept talking. If she didn’t distract her mother, she would keep going and eventually return to Claire’s lack of judgement. And with that, the unspoken negatives on Claire’s current situation.

“Apparently there’s another buyer,” she said, the comment bursting out of her. “And he offered more than I did.”

“Who?”

Claire looked over at Emma, her lips pursed in concentration as she iced the next cookie.

Claire lowered her voice. “Nik Austin. He’s Cory’s long-lost brother and Joyce’s long-lost son.”

Her mother’s wide eyes told Claire she had shifted her mother’s focus.

“The one she gave up for adoption?” Deborah asked.

Claire patted the air between them, signing to her mother to lower her voice.

“Yes. That one. The only one. And he’s back in town to connect with them.”

“And he’s buying that house out from under you?”

Claire made another shushing motion, glancing at Emma, but her daughter’s tongue was out, and she was frowning. A sure sign she wasn’t listening.

“It’s not a done deal,” Claire said, easing out a sigh. “Not until Monday.”

“Do you have any other options?” her mother asked.

Claire looked around her parent’s house, a thought teasing her. Did she dare ask? Was it worth putting up with a few more eye rolls and some condescension to give her daughter the home she always wanted to?

Please, Lord, she prayed, show me what to do? I’m scared.

As she prayed she wished the panic that was circling would ease off.

Ask your mother. Just ask.

She took another deep breath, sent up another prayer and was about to speak when the shrill ring of the phone cut her off.

Her mother glanced at call display while the phone sent out its insistent demands and let it ring.

“You’re not answering it?” Claire asked, puzzled at her mother’s actions. As long as she could remember, her mother never, ever let the phone ring. Wasn’t polite, she told them. Besides, her mother’s innate curiosity needed to be satiated. She always answered.

“It’s the bank. Your father can deal with them.” Her mother flapped her hand in a dismissive gesture.

“What does the bank want?”

Her mother heavily sighed. “It’s fine. Just some… well… bookkeeping things we need to take care of.”

“Is everything okay with the store?”

“The store is doing well.”

“And you guys?”

Her mother’s mouth became a prim line as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll be fine. We just need to get through this… this thing.”

Claire felt a niggling dread, guessing “this thing” had everything to do with her parents’ finances and how they had overextended themselves building their house.

While she felt bad for her parents, she also realized there was no way she could approach them about a temporary loan to buy the house.

Don’t panic. Relax. Tom said he was getting the money together.

She had to believe that.

Emma finished the cookie she had been decorating, but she took her sweet time taking her apron off and washing her hands. Claire tried not to fuss or hurry her along, because she knew that would only make her daughter move slower.

“Is Mooch in the backyard?” Claire asked, walking to the French doors.

“He had a lot of fun playing there,” Emma said drying her hands on the towel her grandmother gave her. “I don’t think he likes it in the apartment, either.”

Claire fully agreed with Emma. When her parents had given Emma a dog for her birthday that spring, Claire tried to explain this to them. She was working, she didn’t have time to take care of a dog, nor did they have a suitable place for him. But her mother had reiterated the fact that come fall Claire would live in the house next door. With a great big yard. Mooch would have lots of room to play then and she agreed to watch Mooch at their place until then.

“I’ll get Mooch if you can get Emma ready to go,” Claire said to her mother, opening the door and calling for the dog. He was stretched out on the lawn beside the swing set, snoozing in the warm sun. He lifted his head then lowered it again, as if hoping Claire would forget about him. He was as unwilling to leave as Emma was.

Ten minutes later Claire had her reluctant passengers in the car and with a final farewell to her mother, she drove away.

“Can we get pizza for supper?” Emma asked as they drove back through town to get home.

“No. I have chicken out and I thought we could have potatoes and beans with it.”

“I hate ‘tatos,” Emma grumbled.

“Please don’t say that,” Claire said, reprimanding her daughter. “You’re lucky to have such good food to eat.” And she got the potatoes from Tess, who got them at the Farmer’s Market she worked at from time to time.

“Gramma said we could have supper with her,” Emma said. “That would be good food too and her house smells nice. And Mooch would have room to play.”

“Maybe Mooch should stay at Gramma’s all the time,” Claire muttered.

“No, he’s my dog,” Emma said, hugging him tight, as if Claire would take him away any minute.

“I know he is, honey. And he’s a good dog. He just needs more room than we have.” Claire suppressed yet another sigh as they pulled into the parking spot behind the apartment. Claire compared the dingy building with its broken and taped-up windows, its missing siding, to her parent’s immaculate home.

As she always did when she parked by the apartment she glanced at the house beside it, counting down the time.

Once again, she pushed down the flutter of panic that her dream was dying and, grabbing Mooch’s leash, stepped out of the car. But Emma was already unbuckled and opening the door on her side.

“Honey, wait until I can get Mooch,” Claire warned.

But it was too late. The door was open and Mooch saw his opportunity. He scrambled past Emma and shot out of the open door.

“Mooch. Get back here,” Claire yelled, hurrying around the front of the car to catch him.

He didn’t listen and instead scooted through the opening in the fence before Claire could stop him.

“Mommy, you have to get Mooch before that man gets him,” Emma called out.

“I know. I know.” Claire knelt at the opening of the fence looking through. Of course, Mooch headed right for the flower beds he had dug in before. Claire suspected he had buried a bone there some time over the summer and was determined to get it now.

“Mooch. Come here,” she called, unwilling to go through the fence in case Nik was home. But the dog wouldn’t come. Pushing down a beat of frustration she squeezed herself through the hole and ran over to Mooch, who was now spraying dirt behind him, his paws a blur.

She grabbed him by his collar, pulling back on him. “Mooch, stop,” she grunted as the dog lunged toward the flower bed again.

“Is he okay, Mommy?” Emma called out from the fence.

“He’s fine,” Claire said looking with dismay at the hole he had made and the white lily bulbs he had dug up. “I wish I could say the same about this flower bed.”

Emma slipped into the yard and ran over to Mooch’s side, hugging him again.

“Honey, don’t do that, please,” Claire said, pulling Mooch away from her daughter. “He’ll think you’re rewarding his bad behavior.”

“But I think he feels bad,” Emma said, pouting her displeasure at her mother’s reprimand.

Claire doubted that. Mooch was lunging at the flower bed again, ignoring her.

“Really? Again?”

The frustrated voice behind her made Claire’s heart plunge. Nik was home after all.

She turned to apologize and felt even worse when she saw his angry expression. Which made her wonder how he felt about his visit with Cory this afternoon.

“I’m sorry. He got out of the car before I could stop him,” she said, trying not to sound too apologetic. After all, when she took ownership of the house, the flower garden would be her problem.

Nik glanced from Mooch to Emma, a fleeting glimpse of distress crossing his face. Then, as quickly as it came, it was replaced by a stern frown as he caught sight of the bulbs and dirt scattered on the lawn.

“Again, I apologize. I’ll come after supper and clean it up,” Claire said, feeling she should make restitution. After all, he was living there at the moment, no matter what her deal with Mrs. Blatchford was.

“That’s okay.” He waved off her offer. “I’m getting great at this.”

“Why don’t you like my dog?” Emma asked.

This seemed to take Nik by surprise.

“Well, it’s not that I don’t like your dog,” Nik replied, looking rather disconcerted. “It’s just I don’t like him digging in the flower beds.”

Emma seemed to consider this then waggled her head. “Okay. I understand. I will be more careful with him. So he doesn’t do it again.” She shook her head as she patted Mooch on the head. “You silly dog. You shouldn’t make a mess of Mr., um…” She looked at Nik, frowning. “What’s your name again?”

“Nik Austin.”

“Okay. Mr. Nik Austin’s flower beds,” Emma said. She tilted her head to one side, as if studying him. “How long will you live here?” she asked.

“Why?”

“Because my mom and I will be moving in. When Mrs. Blatchford sells us the house.”

Now it was Nik’s turn to frown. “What?” His gaze flicked to Claire. “What is she talking about?”

“Mrs. Blatchford and my mom,” Emma put in before Claire could find the right words to explain what Emma was talking about. “I’m going to sleep in that room, there.” Emma pointed to one of the gabled windows. “I will paint it pink, like my Aunty Tess painted her room when she lived there. It had princesses in it. Gramma said I can have the bed when I move into the house. My mommy used to live in this house and she love, love, loves it. So do I. It’s a happy house.”

Nik turned to Claire. “Are you the one who has the Offer to Purchase in place right now?”

“Yes. I am.”

Nik’s expression shifted, and he took a step back.

“I have a week to finalize the deal,” Claire said, a defensive tone creeping into her voice.

“Five days, actually,” Nik corrected.

His comment annoyed her. “Whatever. I’m sorry to say I’ll get the money together one way or the other.”

He angled her a skeptical frown. "You look like you don't believe me."

"It's not me. It's Devon who doesn't think you'll manage it."

And now she was really annoyed. Why was Devon talking about her to Nik? He had no right.

But instead of saying more she turned to Emma. “We have to go and have supper,” she said. “I’m sure Mr. Nik doesn’t want Mooch hanging around causing any more problems.”

Emma grimaced, showing Claire what she thought of Claire’s command.

“Now, please?” Claire said.

“I have an idea,” Emma said, clapping her hands together. “Why don’t we make supper and bring it over to Mr. Nik’s place? We can eat in the house. That way we don’t have to smell that awful smell.” She tossed a grin Nik’s way, suddenly full of charm and warmth. “Our apartment has a bad smell and Mr. Landlord won’t fix it. It makes me want to barf whenever we eat.”

“Emma,” Claire said, shocked at her daughter’s forthright and rude comment. “We don’t talk like that.”

“But I do talk like that,” she said, innocence personified.

“You shouldn’t and you know better.” Claire put her free hand on her daughter’s shoulder, steering her toward the hole in the fence. “And now we need to leave.”

Emma pulled a grumpy face then waved to Nik. “Goodbye, Mr. Nik, maybe we can visit another time.”

But Nik just stared at them, looking confused. As if he wasn’t sure what to make of Emma’s sudden switch in allegiance.

Claire wasn’t either. But for now, she had supper to make and a list longer than her arm of things to do before the sun came up again.

So she said goodbye and took the dog and Emma back to their place through the fence.

* * *

Nik slid his damp palms down the side of his blue jeans as he stood by his truck.

All these years of wondering. Of not knowing who his mother was or why she had done what she had were coming to a close.

Would Joyce tell him everything? Would she explain?

Rebecca would have told him to pray. To forgive. There were many times she would comfort him when he cried, wondering why his mother had given him up. Wondering why the Jensen’s didn’t want him anymore. Why the Baleys were so cruel. So many questions she couldn’t answer. So she would pray with him, reminding him that God’s love was a faithful love.

Still, he hesitated.

The easiest thing would be to leave. To walk away from the questions and the pain.

But he knew they would follow him. He needed to face them once and for all. Hopefully, talking to his mother could give him some answers.

And when he tore down that house he could eradicate the pain the Baleys had inflicted on him and finally put that part of his life behind him.

Maybe coming to Sweet Creek was just what he needed to do. Maybe, when he left, he could find the peace that had eluded him for so long.

Despite his self-talk, his heart pounded like he had just run a marathon. He clenched and unclenched his fists, drew in a long, slow breath and strode up the sidewalk to the apartment before he could change his mind.

He was disappointed to see his fingers shake as he punched in the numbers Cory had given him on the keypad.

“It’s me, Nik,” he said when Cory’s voice came through the intercom.

“I’ll let you in. Just open the door when you hear the buzzer,” she said, her voice distant. Reserved.

He paused for a moment, second thoughts assailing him but when the door buzzed, he yanked it open and strode through.

Nik walked down a long, narrow hallway, checking the numbers as he went. A door at the end of the hallway opened and Cory stood there, smiling.

But as he drew near, he could see that her smile seemed tight and her eyes held a glint of concern.

“Everything okay?” he asked as he came near.

She glanced back over her shoulder into the apartment. “Mom’s nervous, that’s all. How about you?”

“Ditto. But we’re still okay, right?”

Her careful smile struck him as hesitant.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Nik shoved his hands in the back pocket of his jeans, trying to still the trembling of his hands. He did nothing, waiting for Cory to make the next move; to let him know what to do.

After what seemed like eons but was probably only seconds, she indicated that he follow her inside. He pulled in another breath as years of questions, doubts and tears trailed behind him like a dark cloud. His step faltered when he saw the woman sitting in the recliner facing him.

“Mom, Nik is here,” Cory said, her voice quiet.

Nik stopped and all he could do was stare.

All his life, whenever he thought of his mother, he pulled out the hazy memory he had of her wearing blue jeans and a sweatshirt, carrying him, holding him tight, her long hair brushing his face.

The next memory was of her leaving, walking out of the door of a large, white room, filled with other people, the hood of her sweatshirt covering her head. He had tried to run after her but he was pulled back.

This woman was nothing like that. This woman looked old. Tired. Wrinkles fanned out from her eyes, and two deep lines bracketed her mouth. Her hair was short and hung in a grey bob framing her face.

His first emotion was disappointment.

But as she looked up at him, her brown eyes so much like his, so much like Cory’s, filled with tears. She struggled to her feet, wincing in pain.

“Nik. My son,” she said, her voice thick with emotion as she came toward him.

He had rehearsed this moment so many times. Thought of it so often. Sometimes he ran to her, wrapped his arms around her and cried on her shoulder.

Others he simply looked at her, told her she’d had her chance and walked away.

But this wasn’t his imagination—it was reality. And all he could do was freeze and stare at this woman trying to reconcile past with present.

“I’m so sorry,” was all she said, blinking rapidly, tears drifting down her cheeks.

Move. Do something.

But he couldn’t.

Finally, Joyce lowered her hand but Nik saw the anguish on her face.

“I made some coffee,” Cory said. “Why don’t we sit down and have a cup?”

Nik blinked, trying to pull himself into the moment, wondering why he could look at this woman who was his mother and not feel something at her apology. In all the movies and television shows this was where the violins came in, sweet and sweeping, and people embraced and held each other close, reunited at last.

But this woman created none of those emotions in him.

What kind of monster was he that he couldn’t even hug his own mother? And, even worse, as he sat down the only person he could think about was Rebecca. The woman who had poured unconditional love into him and who had taught him of God’s love. Who had prayed with him and comforted him.

“Just sit wherever,” Cory said. “I’ll be right back.”

Nik nodded, then eased himself onto a worn couch across from Joyce. His mother, he corrected himself.

“So, how long have you lived here?” he asked, resting his hands on his knee. Thank goodness it wasn’t jittering. Yet.

“About a year now,” Joyce said, her eyes fixed on him. “Cory and I moved around a lot before we ended up here.”

“I see,” was all he could say. Silence followed his comment and he glanced to the kitchen, hoping Cory would appear soon. He had felt more comfortable with her around.

He scanned the living room, his eyes skittering over the few plants and knick-knacks set out on the bookshelf on one wall. He came to an abrupt stop, having caught sight of a picture. He walked over to it, picking the framed photo up.

A toddler laughed at the photographer, tucked in the arms of a young woman. Joyce in better years, Nik guessed.

“That’s you. When you were three,” Joyce said from her chair. “Your father took that picture.”

“I have a father?” Matthew had said nothing about a father when they finally connected.

“Had. He died a week after that picture was taken.”

“I see.” His hands clutched at the photo, a storm of varying emotions washing over him. He’d had a father. At one time, he’d had a father and a mother. A complete family.

“He was very proud of you and was so excited to be a dad,” Joyce continued, her comments only stirring up the uncertain feelings.

“What… what happened to him?” Nik asked, swallowing a knot of pain, surprised that this revelation generated such feelings.

“He was hit by a truck as he was walking home from work. Never found the driver.”

“Do you have any photos of him?”

“There’s an album on the coffee table,” Cory said.

Nik turned as Cory spoke. She was carrying a tray holding two mugs and a plate of cookies, which she set on the table, then picked up a red album the word ‘Photos’ barely illegibly engraved on its cracked and worn surface.

Nik remembered a time when he lived with the Baley family. They had gone to a park and he had wanted to somersault down the hill. Rick Baley had warned him not to but he did anyhow. He could still recall the feeling of disorientation and movement beyond his control as he tumbled down the hill end over end.

That’s how felt now.

He took the album from Cory. For a moment he just held it, running his finger along the cracked edge. Should he open it and be shown what he had lost when his mother gave him up?

Finally, he turned the page and the first thing he saw was a wedding picture. Joyce and…

“What was his name?” he asked.

“Taylor,” Joyce said. “Taylor Luciuk.”

Nik stared at the young couple, his eyes shifting from Joyce to Taylor. His mother and his father.

“You look exactly like him,” Cory said.

Nik studied him closer. “I guess I do.”

Nik flipped another page and his eyes fixed on another photo of a man holding a baby.

“That’s Dad and you,” Cory said, pointing to it.

Nik struggled to quiet his pounding heart. Find his footing.

He looked over at Joyce, then down at the picture. His family. The one he lost.

“And what about your adoptive parents?” Cory asked. “Where do they live? Are they still alive?”

Nik held her gaze, wondering for a fleeting second if she was mocking him. Then he realized they had no clue about the Jensen’s.”.

“Mom and Dad... Audry and Karl,” he corrected, still struggling with the sting, “got divorced three and half years after they adopted me. I went into the foster system after that.”

“Oh, no,” Cory cried out. Her distress was obvious as was the look of shock on her face. “I can’t believe that… Mom was assured you would be taken care of. She was convinced you were in a good place. That’s so heartbreaking…” her voice trailed off.

Her reaction surprised him. What had happened to him was such a part of his story it seemed as if everyone who knew him knew of it. Rebecca did, his friends did, even his ex-girlfriend did.

Now, here he was with his closest family members and they had no clue.

“You were in foster care?” Joyce cried out. “Why did no one tell me?”

“It was a closed adoption,” Nik said. He couldn’t keep the bitter tone out of his voice. “You wanted nothing to do with me.”

“That’s not true,” Joyce exclaimed, leaning forward and reaching out with one hand as if to connect with him. “That’s what the social worker recommended. And I didn’t want to mess things up for you. I didn’t want to get in the way of your new parents.”

“Your adoptive parents divorced?” Cory asked, as if she still couldn’t understand.

“Looking back, I think they were having troubles before they adopted me. I think they were hoping having me would change things, but they only made their situation worse.”

“Were you ever happy?” Joyce pleaded.

Nik hesitated, not sure what to say. He held Joyce’s anguished gaze and saw more tears spill down her cheeks. For a moment he felt sorry for her.

“I was happy for a while,” he said. “But my adoptive parents fought a lot. I spent a lot of time by myself in my room playing with all the toys they bought me.”

“You said you went into foster care after that,” Cory said, laying her hand on his arm. “What was that like?”

“Terrible.” Nik clenched his hands into fists, struggling to keep his emotions in check. It was that house, he thought. It was being back in that house that brought back all the wrong memories.

Cory covered her mouth with her hand, crying as well.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “We never knew. We had no idea.”

“You were supposed to be safe. You were supposed to be in a good place,” Joyce cried out. “I was told it was the best solution.”

Nik looked down at the album, at the different pictures pasted in it, glimpses of the life that he had before everything fell apart. His knee started jittering, shaking, bouncing up and down.

Then Joyce got up, crying, walking down the hall. The door shut behind her and Nik felt the breath he’d held slip out of him.

His mother was leaving him again.

He looked at the mugs of coffee Cory had poured, wondering what to do. His body hummed with a mixture of anger and pain.

He stood, setting the album on the table. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I have to leave, too.”

“But you just got here,” Cory said, getting up as well.

“I know. And I apologize,” he said, running his palms up and down his thighs. “Thanks for having me." The words sounded hollow and small.

He walked out the door, Cory right behind, keeping step with him as they walked down the carpeted hall. When they came to the door leading outside, he stopped and turned to her. “So I don’t think that went particularly well.”

“I understand. We knew this would be hard for you but I had hoped my mother would be a little more understanding.”

Nik looked into her eyes, struggling again with his emotions.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He sighed, not sure how to encapsulate all the feelings storming through him.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

Cory gave him a tremulous smile, and then he gave her what he couldn’t give his mother. A tight hug.

She clung to him for a moment, then pulled away, swiping at her eyes. “So how long you sticking around?”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I put an offer in on a house.”

Cory’s mouth eased into a smile and Nik saw her relax. "So you'll be staying?"

"For a while," was all Nik would tell her.

"I'm glad to hear that," she said. She reached out and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I know this evening didn't go the way we all hoped it would, but like you said, it's a start, right?"

“You’re right,” Nik agreed.

"I'm glad you came," Cory said. "Let me know when you want to come again."

"I'll be back," Nik promised her. "I need to sort a few things out first."

Cory nodded. "Of course. I understand. There's a lot to process. I think I was being romantic when I hoped we would all fall into each other's arms and be one big happy family."

Nik gave her a wry smile. "To be honest, I hoped for the same."

She returned his smile and walked with him as he went through the front doors. She stayed on the step with her arms folded over her chest, watching Nik get in his truck.

Nik backed out of the parking lot and glanced over to see Cory waving to him. The sight warmed his heart.

But as he left, he knew it would take a few days before he would see his mother again.

He just needed time.