“Thanks for the recap,” Christy-Lynn said dully.

Wade sighed, mentally kicking himself. Nice going, jackass.

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to make a point, which is that none of this is your fault. There was something about Stephen, something that made it okay to cross whatever line he wanted, even if it meant hurting people. He did it to me back in college. And now he’s done it to you. I couldn’t understand it back then. How could he stab a friend in the back and never bat an eye? Now I realize it was his pattern. I also realize it had nothing to do with me. Or you. It was him. He didn’t care about anyone but himself.”

“He cared enough to persuade Honey not to end the pregnancy,” Christy-Lynn said as she rose to refill her mug. “I can’t help thinking that if things had been different Iris might have been our daughter, and there would never have been a Honey Rawlings.”

Wade eyed her with open skepticism. “How would that have worked? You didn’t even want kids, remember? In fact, it sounds like you gave the matter quite a lot of thought, though you never said why.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“And you’re not going to.”

“No,” she said flatly. “And it’s water under the bridge now, isn’t it?”

Wade nodded. “Fair enough. And I wasn’t judging. I was just curious.”

“I know you weren’t. It just gets old, you know? Always defending your choices. No one ever imagines your reasons might be well thought out, that it might actually be the least selfish choice you’ll ever make. Not all of us believe our lives are meaningless unless we reproduce.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Christy-Lynn sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s just a sore spot for me right now.” She set her mug on the counter and crossed to the sliding glass door, arms folded over her chest as she stood facing her own reflection. “I can’t get her face out of my head. She has Stephen’s chin, that crazy dimple right in the middle. But she looks like Honey too. She’s beautiful.”

Wade let out a very long breath, lost as to how to respond. “I can’t imagine how hard all this must be.”

She turned back to him, her face near crumpling. “She barely speaks. Did I tell you that? Since the accident, she barely says a word. And she has nightmares. She’s afraid everyone’s going to leave her. And she’s right. Rhetta’s got to be eighty, and she isn’t well. And her uncle . . .” Her voice choked down to a whisper. “There’s a good chance she’ll end up in foster care.”

The tears came in earnest then, sliding silently down her cheeks, as if she was entirely unaware of them. Wade stared at her in astonishment. How was it possible that after everything, she could stand there gulping back tears for the child who embodied her husband’s betrayal?

He swallowed a groan, scrambling for something to say that wouldn’t come off sounding pompous or condescending, but came up empty. And so he let her cry. Because she needed to, and because he didn’t know what else to do.

Feeling helpless and desperate to make himself useful, he began closing up the takeout containers, gathering plates and silverware. After a few moments, Christy-Lynn blotted her eyes on the sleeve of her robe and moved to the sink. Neither spoke as they did the dishes, but the rhythm of the simple domestic act seemed to smooth the tension. When the dishes were stowed and the counters wiped, she turned to him.

“I’m sorry about tonight. You came over and did this nice thing, and all I did was weep into my soup. It’s all I seem to be doing lately—crying.”

“I’d say under the circumstances you’re entitled, although I do prefer you when you’re not crying.” He reached for the takeout bag on the counter, preparing to toss it when he noticed it wasn’t empty. “Hey, look, we forgot the fortune cookies.” He handed her one, then tore into his, snapping it in half to fish out the small bit of paper.

“Do not confuse activity with accomplishment.” He scowled as he crumpled the fortune and dropped it into the bag. “Appropriate for an aspiring novelist, don’t you think? Now you.”

Christy-Lynn made a face as she handed him her cookie. “You read it.”

Wade fumbled with the wrapper, dropping crumbs all over the clean counter in the process, but eventually managed to liberate the tiny scrap of paper. “Salvation lies in doing the thing that frightens us most.” He cocked his head. “Mean anything?”

“Not really. But everything frightens me lately.”

He studied her a moment, shaken and vulnerable in her oversize robe. So beautiful. And strong in ways she hadn’t begun to grasp. “I think you must be one of the bravest women I know,” he said with an intensity that startled him.

Christy-Lynn seemed startled as well, her smile fragile and yet strangely incandescent. Suddenly, Wade found himself fighting an overwhelming desire to touch her cheek. It had probably been a while since she’d been touched, held—kissed. It had been a while for him too.

Jesus! What was he thinking? He took a step back, horrified by the direction of his thoughts. Support, empathy, even friendship were perfectly acceptable reactions to her situation, but he’d just gone down a completely different road, and he needed to do a U-turn ASAP.

Christy-Lynn reached for his arm as he prepared to step away. Her fingers were still cool from the dishwater. “Thank you for the food. You’ve been very . . . kind.”