“That’s inviting some bad karma.”

“And it wasn’t even worth it.” Faith folded the invoice. “You’ll be pleased to know that Lena’s Pap smear was normal.” She tucked the paper back into the envelope. “I should go tell Nell about Jared. The doctor should’ve called by now.”

“Wait.” Sara said, “I know it’s not likely to come up, but Nell doesn’t know about Will. I mean, me and Will. Together.” She felt her heart start to jump, like she was telling a fib to her mother. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

If Faith was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”

Sara felt compelled to give an explanation. “It’s just that Will’s still legally married and …” She let her voice trail off. There was no reason to lie. “They just loved Jeffrey so much. They wouldn’t understand how I was able to move on.” Sara paused. “Sometimes, I wonder how I did it myself.”

“I’m glad you did.” Faith leaned against the table. “Will loves you, you know? I mean, crazy love. He was never this way with Angie. From the day he met you, his feet stopped touching the ground.”

Sara smiled, though the last thing she wanted to think about right now was Will’s elusive wife.

Faith said, “Seriously, I’ve never seen him like this before. You’ve changed him. You’ve made him—” She shrugged, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “Happy.”

Unreasonably, Sara felt tears well into her eyes. “He’s made me happy, too.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” Faith wriggled her eyebrows. “ ‘This, too, shall pass.’ ”

Sara wiped her eyes. “There’s been an alarming number of people quoting Bible verses at me today.”

“My mother got my name from the Bible. I’m supposed to be the substance of things hoped for. Talk about wishful thinking.” Faith pushed away from the table. “I really should get Nell. How bad is an infection at this stage?”

“They’ll probably bring in somebody from the CDC.” The Centers for Disease Control had a dedicated team serving the Atlanta area. “It’s good that we’re close.”

“That doesn’t sound cheerful.”

“No,” Sara admitted. “Infections are unpredictable. People respond differently to treatment. No two patients have the same outcome. If the infection is somewhere like his heart or his brain, then the odds are low he’ll survive, and even then, it’s a tough recovery.” She felt the need to add, “But he’s young and otherwise healthy. That counts for a lot.”

“Shit, here she comes.” Faith waited for Nell to make her way up the porch steps. She had a FedEx padded mailer in one hand and a small envelope in the other.

“I guess you’ll get your wish.” Nell tucked the envelope into her back pocket. “They say they take up a collection when stuff like this happens. I didn’t want to be rude, but it’s not like I’m an invalid.” Her words were hard, but Sara could see the relief on Nell’s face. The deep lines had smoothed from her forehead. Some of the tension was gone from her jaw. “They’re nice boys. I shouldn’t complain.”

Faith said, “They feel as helpless as you do, Mrs. Long. Doing something for you, even something that you’re capable of doing on your own, makes them feel better.”

“I suppose,” Nell admitted. She held up the FedEx mailer. The word PERSONAL was written across the back in red marker. “The delivery guy dropped this off while we were in the street. It’s addressed to Lena. Says it’s personal. I didn’t know if I should open it or not.”

“Is there a return address?” Faith sounded disinterested, though Sara knew better.

Nell squinted at the label. “It’s all smeared. Should I open it?”

Faith’s shrug was almost believable. “If you want. It might be something Lena needs.”

Nell guffawed. “They say the same thing here as in Alabama—you can piss on my face, but don’t tell me it’s raining?”

Faith’s smile showed her teeth.

“That’s what I thought.” Nell went to the kitchen and retrieved her purse from the counter. Sara wasn’t surprised when she pulled out a large utility knife, but Faith obviously was. Her eyebrows shot straight up.

“Let’s see what personal thing we got here.” Nell sliced open the top of the padded mailer. She peered inside the envelope, her eyes narrowed as if she wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing.

Sara asked, “What is it?”

Nell reached into the package. “I don’t—”

The mailer dropped to the floor.

Nell held up a tiny jacket, the sort of thing you’d buy for a baby. It was dark blue with orange piping down the sleeves and an Auburn University logo across the back.

Her lips parted in surprise. She looked at Sara, then Faith, then down at the little jacket again. She cupped the hoodie sewn into the back of the collar.

Wordlessly, Nell ran into the hallway, her shoulder catching the corner. Sara was close on her heels as Nell entered the spare bedroom.

“He didn’t—” Nell’s voice caught. She stood in the middle of the room, the jacket gripped tightly in her hands. “How could he not—” A strangled cry came out of her mouth. She buried her face in the small jacket. “Oh, God.”

Faith came up behind Sara. Her mouth was set. Guilt virtually radiated off her skin.

“This is a nursery,” Nell whispered, clutching the jacket to her chest. “He was working on a nursery.” Her fingers traced the back of the closet door. The outline of several balloons had been drawn with a pencil. Cans of brightly colored paint were on the floor. There were art brushes and sponges and trays to hold the paint.

Nell stared at Faith. Her tone was deadly sharp. “You knew.”

Faith didn’t bother to lie this time.

A phone started ringing. Nell checked her pocket for her cell phone. Her voice shook as she answered, “Possum, what is it? I’m busy now.” She listened, nodding a few times before she closed the phone and put it back in her pocket. “Jared’s got an infection.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. “They say I need to get back up there.”

“I’ll drive you,” Sara offered.

“No.” Nell held the baby’s jacket against her chest. “I need some time alone, all right? Can you drive her back?” She was talking to Faith. “I just need some time, okay?”

Nell didn’t wait for an answer. She left the room. All the air seemed to go with her.

Faith let out a long sigh. “That was awful.”

Sara said nothing.

Faith studied her carefully. “Sara?”

Sara shook her head as she took in the nursery, the way the light from the windows fell across the floor. The yellow walls were cheery and warm. She could imagine sheers hanging in the windows, a summer breeze rustling the edges. Balloons would be painted around the walls to match the closet door. The jacket would hang on a tiny plastic hanger—something colorful to match the décor. The hoodie wasn’t sized for a newborn, but at three to six months, Lena’s baby would be big enough to wear it. Faith said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”