eremy studied the journal for much of the next week.

For the most part, Doris had been meticulous with her notations. In all, there were 232 names in the book, all written in pen; another 28 women were listed by initials, though no reason was offered as to why they weren’t further identified. Fathers were usually, but not always, identified. For the most part, Doris had included the date of the visit, an estimate of how far along the mother was, and the predicted sex of the baby. The mothers signed their names after her prediction. In three instances, the women she’d written about hadn’t even known they were pregnant.

Beneath each prediction, Doris had left a space where she’d later written in the name and sex of the baby once it had been born, sometimes with a different-color pen. Occasionally she included the birth notice from the newspaper, and as Lexie had told him, Doris had been correct with every prediction. At least with those she’d actually made. There were thirteen instances where Doris hadn’t predicted the sex of the baby-a fact that neither Lexie nor Doris had mentioned. In those cases, Jeremy assumed by further notes that Doris made, the mother would eventually miscarry.

The entries, one after the next, seemed to blend together.

February 19, 1995, Ashley Bennett, 23, twelve weeks along.

Tom Harker the father. BOY Ashley Bennett

Toby Roy Bennett, born August 31, 1995.

July 12, 1995, Terry Miller, 27, nine weeks along. Lots of morning sickness. Second baby. GIRL Terry Miller

Sophie May Miller, born February 11, 1996.

He continued reading, searching for patterns, trying to spot anything unusual. He read through the journal, entry by entry, half a dozen times. By midweek, he began to feel something gnaw at him, as if he were missing something, and he read through the journal again, this time starting from the back. Then he read through it again.

It was Friday morning when he finally found it. In half an hour, he was supposed to pick up Lexie so they could close on the house. He still hadn’t packed for his trip to New York, but all he could do was stare at the entry that Doris had scrawled in shaky penmanship.

Sept. 28, 1996: L.M.D. Age 28, seven weeks along. Trevor Newland, likely father. Found out accidentally.

Nothing else was listed beneath, which meant the mother had miscarried.

Jeremy gripped the journal, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. Only one name, one he didn’t recognize, but initials that he did.

L-M-D. Lexie Marin Darnell.

Pregnant with someone else’s baby. Another lie of omission.

Another lie. . . .

His thoughts started racing with the realization. Lexie had lied about this, just as she’d lied to him about spending time with Rodney. Just as she’d once lied about where she went after seeing Doris . . . and before that, lied about knowing the truth about the mysterious lights in the cemetery.

Lies and hidden truths . . .

A pattern?

His lips tightened into a grim line. Who was she? Why was she doing this? And why on earth wouldn’t she have told him? This he would have understood.

He didn’t know whether to be angry or hurt. Or both. He needed time to think things through, but that was the thing: There was no time. Soon he and Lexie would own a house; in a week they’d be married. But Alvin had been right all along. He didn’t know her, had never known her. Nor, he suddenly realized, did he completely trust her. Yes, she’d explained her deceptions, and taken in isolation, each had been explained. But was this going to be a regular occurrence? Would he have to live with twisting of the truth? Could he live that way?

And who had sent the e-mail? Again, it came back to that, didn’t it? The acquaintance he had looking into the routing information for the mysterious e-mails had called earlier in the week to let Jeremy know that the e-mail most likely came from out of town and that soon he hoped to have an answer. Which meant . . . what?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. The meeting with the lawyer to close on the house was scheduled in twenty minutes. Should he postpone the closing? Could he, even if he wanted?

Too much to think about; too much to do.

Moving on autopilot, he left his room at Greenleaf; ten minutes later, with his thoughts in disarray, he pulled to a stop in front of Lexie’s house. Through the window, he saw movement, and she stepped onto the porch.

Idly, he noticed she’d dressed for the occasion. Wearing tan pants and a matching jacket over a light blue blouse, she smiled and waved as she skipped down the porch steps. For an instant, it was easy to forget she was pregnant.

Pregnant . . .

Just like before. The realization brought his feelings of anger to the surface once more, but she didn’t seem to notice as she slid into the car.

“Hey, hon, how are you? For a minute there, I wasn’t sure we would make it on time.”

He couldn’t bring himself to respond. Couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to confront her now or wait until he had more time to process what all this meant.

She put a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” she ventured. “You seem distracted.”

He squeezed the steering wheel, trying to keep control. “Just thinking.”

She watched him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he said.

She continued to stare, unsure whether to be concerned. After a moment, she settled back and buckled her seat belt.

“Isn’t this exciting?” she said, trying simultaneously to change the subject and lighten the mood. “Our first house. We should celebrate after this. Maybe have lunch before you head off to the airport. Besides, I’m not going to see you for a couple of days.”

He slipped the car into drive, and it lurched forward. “Whatever.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic about it.”

He pretended to be absorbed in the road as he pulled away, his hands tight on the wheel. “I said I’d go.”

She shook her head and turned toward the window. “Thanks a lot,” she muttered.

“What? Now you’re mad?”

“I just don’t understand why you’re in such a bad mood. This is supposed to be exciting. We’re buying a house; you’re heading off to the bachelor party. You’re supposed to be happy. Meanwhile, you’re acting like we’re heading to a funeral.”

Jeremy opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. If they had an argument now, there was no way it would end before they got to the attorney’s office. He knew that. He didn’t want to make this public, nor was he even sure how to begin. But they would talk about this later. No doubt about it.

Instead, they drove the rest of the way in silence, the mood inside the car growing heavier with every passing minute. By the time they reached the office and saw Mrs. Reynolds waiting out front for them, Lexie was unwilling to look his way. As soon as the car stopped, Lexie opened the door and got out; she headed toward Mrs. Reynolds without waiting.

Fine, he thought. She was angry? Welcome to the club, my dear. He shut the door and trailed slowly behind her, showing no desire to catch up.

“Today’s the big day,” Mrs. Reynolds said, smiling as Lexie approached. “You two ready?”

Lexie nodded; Jeremy said nothing. Mrs. Reynolds looked from Lexie to Jeremy and back again. Her smile faded. She’d been around long enough to recognize a spat when she saw one. Buying a house was stressful, and people reacted in different ways. But it wasn’t her business. What was her business was getting them both inside to sign the papers before the spat evolved into something that might cancel the deal.

“I know they’re already waiting for us,” she prompted, pretending not to notice their sullen expressions. “We’ll be in the conference room.” She took a step toward the door. “It’s this way. You two are getting one heck of a deal. Once the house is finished, you’re going to own a real showplace.”

She held the door open, waiting for a response.

“Down the corridor,” she urged again. “The second door on your left.”

Once inside, she hurried past them, almost forcing them to follow. They did, but as fate would have it, the lawyer wasn’t in the room.

“Take a seat. I’m sure he just stepped out for a minute. Let me check on him, okay?”

Lexie and Jeremy sat kitty-corner to each other as Mrs. Reynolds disappeared from view. Jeremy reached for a pencil and began tapping it absently on the table.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Lexie finally asked.

Jeremy could hear the challenge in her tone but said nothing.

“You’re not going to speak to me?”

Slowly he lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Tell me what happened with Trevor Newland,” he said, his voice quiet. “Or should I call him Mr. Renaissance?”

Lexie’s eyes widened only slightly, and she seemed on the verge of answering when Mrs. Reynolds reappeared in the doorway with the lawyer in tow. They took a seat at the table, and the lawyer spread the file in front of them.

The lawyer began to explain the proceedings, but Jeremy barely heard him. Instead, his mind flashed back to the past. The last time he’d been in a room like this, he’d been finalizing his divorce with Maria. Everything seemed the same, from the large cherry table surrounded by padded chairs, to the shelves filled with legal books and the large windows that let in the sunlight.

For the next few minutes, the lawyer explained the contract page by page. He walked them through the numbers, showed them the totals of the bank loan and the home inspection, the appraisal, and the prorated taxes. The total suddenly seemed overwhelming, as did the fact that he’d spend the next thirty years paying for the house. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Jeremy signed where needed and then slid the pages to Lexie. Neither of them asked questions, neither one held up the process. At one point, Jeremy saw the lawyer exchange glances with Mrs. Reynolds, who simply shrugged in response.

In time, the lawyer reassembled the three files: one for the seller, one for his own records, and another for Jeremy and Lexie. He offered the file, and Jeremy reached for it as he rose from the table.

“Congratulations,” the lawyer said.

“Thank you,” Jeremy answered.

There was no small talk as Mrs. Reynolds led Jeremy and Lexie from the room; once they got outside, Mrs. Reynolds congratulated them as well before heading quickly for her car.

Outside, in the sunlight, neither Jeremy nor Lexie seemed to know what to say until Lexie finally broke the silence.

“Can we go to the house?” she asked.

Jeremy studied her before responding. “Don’t you think we should talk first?”

“Let’s talk when we get there.”

The first thing Jeremy noticed when they pulled up to the house were the balloons tied on the post near the front door; he saw the WELCOME HOME banner beneath them. He glanced over at Lexie.

“I put the balloons and banner up this morning,” she explained. “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

“It is,” he said. He knew he should say more but didn’t.

Lexie shook her head, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement that spoke volumes. Without speaking, she opened the car door and stepped out. Jeremy watched her walk toward the house, noting that she neither waited for him nor glanced back.

Jeremy sensed she was as disappointed in him as he was with her; that his anger mirrored her own. He knew what had happened with Trevor Newland; she knew that he knew as well.

Still, she seemed to want to avoid talking about it.

Jeremy got out of the car. By that point, Lexie was standing on the front porch with her arms crossed, facing away from him, toward an ancient grove of cypress trees. Jeremy walked toward her, aware of the sound of his steps as he moved onto the porch. He stopped when he was close.

Her voice was almost a whisper.

“I had it all planned, you know? About today? I was so excited when I got the balloons and the banner from the store, and I had it all planned out in my mind. I figured that after we closed, I’d suggest a picnic and we’d grab some sandwiches and sodas at Herbs and I’d surprise you by bringing you here. To our house, on the first day we owned it. I thought we’d sit on the back porch and . . . I don’t know, just be excited because we both knew that a day like this would never come again.” She paused. “It’s not going to be like that, is it?”

Her words made him regret his actions, if only for an instant. But none of this was his fault; all he’d done was learn something about Lexie that she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him. And he’d called her on it.

He heard her draw a long breath before she faced him. “Why do you want to know about Trevor Newland? I already told you about him. He showed up in town one summer a few years ago, we had a fling, and he left. That’s all.”

“That wasn’t what I asked. I asked what happened.”

“I don’t see why that matters,” she said. “I cared for him and he left and I never saw him again. I never heard from him again.”

“But something happened,” he pressed.

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “I was thirty-one before we ever met, Jeremy. I didn’t come out from under some rock, and I didn’t spend my life hiding in an attic. Yes, I dated people before you were around, okay? And yeah, I even cared for some people, too. But so did you, and you don’t see me asking about Maria or your old girlfriends. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. It’s like I have to tiptoe around every subject so I don’t offend you. Yeah, maybe I should have told you about Trevor, but with the way you’re acting lately, we still would have ended up fighting.”

“The way I’m acting?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice rising. “A little jealousy is normal, but this is ridiculous. First Rodney, now Trevor? Where’s it going to stop? Are you going to ask me the names of every guy I dated in college? Do you want to know who I went to the prom with? Or how about the first boy I ever kissed? You want all the details? Like I said, when’s it going to stop?”

“This isn’t about jealousy!” he snapped.

“No? Then what’s it about?”

“It’s about trust.”

“Trust?” Her expression was incredulous. “How am I supposed to trust you if you don’t trust me? This whole week I’ve been afraid to even say hello to Rodney, especially since Rachel got back, for fear of what you might think. I still don’t know where she went or what’s going on with her, but I’ve been on pins and needles trying to keep you happy, so I haven’t even had time to ask. But just when I think things are getting back to normal between us, you start asking about Trevor. It’s like you’re looking for excuses to pick a fight, and I’m tired of it.”

“Don’t blame me for this.” Jeremy answered. “I’m not the one who keeps hiding things.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“I read Doris’s journal!” Jeremy retorted. “I saw your initials in there!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Her journal!” he said again. “It’s right there in her notes-that LMD was pregnant, but that Doris couldn’t tell the sex of the baby. That to Doris, it meant that the woman would miscarry. L-M-D. Lexie Marin Darnell! It was you, wasn’t it.”

She swallowed, not hiding her confusion. “It was in the journal?”

“Yeah, and so was the name Trevor Newland.”

“Wait . . .,” she said, her confusion growing more evident.

“Just tell me,” he demanded. “I saw your initials, I saw his name, and I put two and two together. You were pregnant, weren’t you?”

“So what?” she cried. “Why does it even matter?”

“It just hurts to think that you didn’t believe in me enough to tell me. I’m tired of these secrets between us-”

She cut him off before he had a chance to finish. “It hurts? Did you ever stop to think about my feelings when you saw the journal? That I might have been hurt? That maybe I didn’t tell you because I don’t like to remember what happened? That it was a horrible period of my life, and I never wanted to relive it again? It has nothing to do with trusting you. It has nothing to do with you at all. I got pregnant. I had a miscarriage. So what? People make mistakes, Jeremy.”

“You’re missing my point.”

“What point? That you wanted to pick another fight this morning and were looking for any excuse to start one? Well, you did find one, so congratulations. But I’m getting tired of this. I know you’re under stress, but you don’t have to keep taking it out on me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“With your writing!” she said, throwing up her hands. “That’s what this is all about, and you know it! You can’t write, and you’re taking it out on me, like it’s somehow my fault. You’ve been blowing everything out of proportion, and I’m on the receiving end. A friend is in trouble, so I talk to him, and all of a sudden, I don’t trust you. I don’t tell you that I had a miscarriage four years ago, and it’s because I don’t trust you. I’m sick of being made to feel like I’m the bad guy because you can’t come up with an article.”

“Don’t blame all this on me. I’m the one who made the sacrifice to come down here-”

“See!” she said. “That’s exactly what I mean! You made the sacrifice.” She practically spat out the word. “That’s exactly how you’ve been acting! Like you ruined your whole life by moving down here!”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but that’s what you meant! You’re stressed about writing, and you take it out on me! It’s not my fault! And did you ever stop to think that I’m stressed, too? I’m the one who made all the wedding plans! I’m the one who’s been in charge of renovating the house! I’m the one who’s doing all this while carrying a baby! And what do I get? ‘You didn’t tell me the truth.’ Even if I did, even if I’d told you everything, you still would have found another reason to be mad at me! Nothing I do is right anymore. It’s like you’ve changed into a person I don’t even know.”

Jeremy felt his own anger flare again. “That’s because you don’t think I do anything right, either! I don’t dress right, I don’t order the right foods, I want the wrong kind of car, I didn’t even get to pick the house I’m going to live in. You’ve been making all the decisions, and my ideas count for nothing!”

Her eyes flashed. “That’s because I’m thinking about our family. All you think about is yourself!”

“And what about you?” he shouted. “I’m the one who had to give up my family because you wouldn’t. I had to risk my career because you wouldn’t. I live in a piece-of-crap motel surrounded by dead animals because you didn’t want people in town to get the wrong impression! And I’ve been the one paying for things you want-not the other way around!”

“Money? You’re mad about the money, too?”

“I’m going broke down here, and you don’t even notice! We could have waited on some of these renovations! We didn’t need a five-hundred-dollar crib! We didn’t need an entire dresser full of clothes! The baby’s not even here yet!” He threw his hands in the air. “So you can see why I’m stressed about writing. It’s how I pay for all this stuff you want, and I can’t do it here. There’s no news to draw on, there’s no energy, there’s nothing here!”

When he finished, they both stared at each other for a long time without speaking.

“Is that what you really think? That there’s nothing here? What about the baby and me? Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“You know what I mean.”

Lexie crossed her arms. “No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”

Jeremy shook his head, suddenly exhausted. All he’d wanted her to do was listen. Without a word, he started off the porch.

He walked toward the car, then decided to leave it. Lexie would need it; he’d figure something out later. He fished the keys from his pocket and threw them near the tire. Heading up the drive, he didn’t bother to look back.